Author's Note
"All dialogue in bold" is spoken in a foreign language.
Rated M: Graphic War Violence Discretion advised.
Krankheit
Schneeblume hummed a soothing, jubilant tune as she swayed with her own dictated cadence.
The pristine-white mare always found that her work went that much faster if she performed to the beat of her favorite music… though the actual music was not always required. Case in point, she had gotten through most of her piled-up dishes that she had left for the past week.
Even the structured, meticulous Alemaneians were allowed to be lazy at least one day out of the month.
Or week.
Though as Schnee massaged the gritty side of her sponge into the plate, digging the ceramic portion of her once mangled right hoof into its squishy dampness, she knew she could not take credit for the use of all these dishes in the slightest; she lived alone!
The source of the surge in dirty eating-ware also happened to be the source of the four firm knocks on the front door of her humble abode.
Her ears perked up and she flipped her jet-black, flowing mane out of her face as she angled her head back. Her lavender eyes brightened in familiarity and in keeping with her musical mood, she called out in sing-song:
“The door’s open, meine Lieben!” she beckoned in her native accent, one that flowed off her tongue like the smoothest of elixirs.
Her words were met with a perhaps too forceful of an entry by three fillies whom had grown so close to her over the last few years.
Though again, as Schnee (and many others) had to remind themselves, the Cutie Mark Crusaders were no longer the troublesome fillies that roamed Ponyville streets getting themselves into trouble.
Well, at least not all the time anymore.
Blabbering loudly as they entered Schneeblume’s domain, the Flower Mare caught a glimpse of the odd trio from her sink.
They were definitely no longer fillies.
She smiled fondly and allowed her posture to relax at the sight of three teenagers; all had matured in both body and personality over the years into beautiful young mares.
“Hey Schnee!” Scootaloo greeted, having trotted into the kitchen.
The rest followed right behind her, and all had lain their backpacks near the door as they came in.
“Girls!” she exclaimed with her iconic, bright smile.
“Schneeblume!” exclaimed Sweetie, and Apple Bloom followed up with her own:
“Howdy!”
All three stepped in for a nice (albeit somewhat wet due to Schnee’s previous cleaning activity) hug filled with smiles and other silent, positive emotions.
“Feel free to set up in the living room, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll join you soon,” Schnee said, ushering her younger friends out of the kitchen.
Sweetie Belle replied on behalf of the three of them as they exited the kitchen at Schnee’s request.
“Okay! Let us know if you need any help with anything,” she offered.
Schnee dismissed them all with an appropriate wave of her hoof.
“Nein! You all get nice and settled. I’ll bring out some tea and snacks so you can tell me how your days went, ja?
“And try not to break anything this time!” she feigned annoyance with her ever-pearlescent smile.
She received a couple giggles and assurances in return, though they were all muddled under the idle and excitable chit-chat of young mares.
Schneeblume sighed blissfully as she recalled her own days of gossiping with her classmates, debating whether to ask certain colts out on dates back in Alemaneia. Considering she was barely pushing twenty-six years by now, those times were not all that long gone.
Well, at least before the war broke out.
Schnee’s lips pursed, and her seemingly invincible expression sagged under the mere thought—the concept—of the Equidae Continental War.
She didn’t break down into a crying fit at this point, complete with incoherent mumbling and horrific flashbacks.
The years in Equestria and her pilgrimage back to her home country for soul-searching did wonders for her trauma.
But all knew that those scars—deeply embedded into her physical body and psyche—much like the trenches of Equidae would forever remain in some fashion.
And as Schnee returned to washing the remaining dishes and placing the kettle on the stove, she found it futile to draw her attention away from the beginning… from when she was a young mare of eighteen like them wearing pretty dresses and gossiping about boys.
Like any true Alemaneian, when the Kaiserin declaimed her call to arms against the hordes of Anglomaneia and Prance, she stood up tall and proud. So willing was she to cast aside her own promising life for a new experience… one in the Imperial Army that promised glory and adventure to all who would hold their hooves in union with the Empire in taking up arms.
She, like so many others, quickly found out that there was not a shred of glory to be had.
Brief flashbacks of every single engagement and major battle she fought in rushed into her mind like a compilation of historical footage… many of such terrible, brutal struggles she barely escaped by the tips of her jet-black locks.
And then in that final battle… everything came crashing down for everypony.
Then, Schnee recalled after getting her hoof prosthetic, she made her way to Equestria to escape it all… to bury her memories and her deeds in layer upon layer of false satisfaction, self-pity, and figurative self-flaggelation.
And it only took three little fillies to extract it out of her. Through a misunderstanding, they managed to do what no amount of mental coaching or even a doctor had managed to do: uncork the horrors that she let fester within her and afford herself a good, solid cry. Howls of anguish that had demanded to be shed.
And here she was now. A former elite stormtrooper living it up in Equestria with three of the best young mares (and others!) for company that anypony could ask for.
This country truly was the land of opportunity… and unexpected luck.
The fog of her musings was wiped away when the kettle had completed boiling its contents… though perhaps with a bit too much of a start than she would have liked. She could have sworn through its monotone, high-pitched beckoning, she heard the distinct call of a trench whistle, and a reaction to go over the top was strong.
Her coat bristled for the smallest moment as she blinked away a scene of her overlooking an enemy trench, spitting machine-gun fire back in her direction.
Only fleeting this time. Progress was progress.
More than comfortable with using her wounded hoof for the task, she poured hot water into four individual mugs which were loaded with tea bags. Once those were properly steeping, Schnee set the kettle back onto the stove and, with some sleight of hoof and master balancing that all ponies were capable of, she placed the tray on her back.
With a smile having rebounded onto her face, she strolled out into the common room with her head held high and her straight mane flowing down her neck.
And for added effect that the Crusaders did not notice earlier, Schnee had a little blue bow tied around the base of some of her locks. As the three sat on the couch and found this happy mare sauntering her way over to them with a grace and precision only a soldier could have, they independently remarked to themselves how this mare could have been a once fearsome soldier of a dead Empire?
But, her stories were true. Her personal effects left behind from those terrible times corroborated every bit of them, in tandem with the news in Equestria. And the loss of her own front-right hoof, evident by an identical, shiny, ceramic replacement further hammered home the point that looks were certainly deceiving.
All could agree since that very day those few years ago, every single pony in this room did an immeasurable amount of growing up.
“Alright!” Schnee exclaimed as she continued her expert balancing act with their mid-afternoon snack. “Who’s ready for some tea and cakes??”
Each of the three fillies expressed their own version of elation.
“Right over here, Schnee!”
“Whoo! Just what Ah needed after that test today, lemme tell ya.”
“Heck yeah! You comin’?”
To her credit, the second-nature Alemaneian stoicism partially remained on her face, but dissolved quickly in the presence of her friends…
…to be fair, said stoicism rarely stood a measurable chance in the presence of these three. Or, anypony in Equestria, really.
So, she let loose a hearty giggle, and rolled her eyes while making her way over to the coffee table separating two sets of sofas.
“Ja, ja… I swear, you three are insatiable!”
With some ease and grace afforded to her by her life’s work, she hunched low and delicately slid the tray of goods onto the tabletop with nary a spill…
…however, a single spoon was not so lucky, and happened to tumble off the side of the serving tray and down toward the floor.
The sound of pristine metal striking hardwood shook her out of her pleasant stupor, her ears having perked up and her eyes widening for fractions of a second.
“Ach!” she exclaimed, scanning the floor for the piece of silverware that so happened to evade its rightful place on the coffee table.
Schnee was able to see out of the corner of her eye, exactly where the spoon landed, but the infernal piece of metal slid under the sofa. Thankfully, it was as simple as locating it and swiping it back out into the open with her hoof…
…but in hunching down and peering under the confines of said sofa, she was bemused to discover not one, but two pieces of metal glimmering back at her.
One was the spoon, which she took back into her possession.
The other was a flat, circular pin the size of a large coin. To anypony else who would have seen such an object, it would seem fairly normal to lose under such furniture.
But from the way the light reflected off its slightly jagged, southern curve… the single letter Schnee was able to read, an air of familiarity brightened up her features.
Well, at least marginally. Pleasantly stricken eyes were softened via a gentle nostalgia enveloping her features as she scooped out the pin from under the sofa.
And Sweetie Belle recognized a military medal almost immediately.
“Lost a pin, Schnee?” she inquired as the mare in question got back to her hooves.
That same nostalgic look was still plastered over her face as she scrutinized the awarded pin in her hoof. Yet even so, those four words engraved on the circumference did much to sully her relief in finding something she lost:
Schlacht an der Seele.
And just like that, her smile was turned completely upside down. Schnee averted her gaze as she held her decorative service award in her hoof, idly fumbling it about as she debated if she should do something with it.
Namely, in her mind, put it away.
Or just toss it in the fireplace and burn it, like it ought to have been.
Schnee finally acknowledged Sweetie’s question.
“Yes… I was wondering where this had gone. I lost it when I moved to Ponyville,” she reminisced, taking a seat on the smaller couch opposite of the Crusaders.
“Yeah?” Apple Bloom asked, closing in to get a better look. “You don't look too happy 'bout finding it though.”
Schnee continued to ponder the pin’s existence as she bounced it in her hoof. She moved her jaw from side to side, and then clicked her teeth together.
“It was the absolute worst, most horrific thing I have ever, and will ever experience in my entire life,” she stated resolutely, her voice dropping to softer levels.
But, before Schnee could be inundated to the impending, imminent comforting responses from three fronts, she did have one more thing to add.
“Girls?”
All three Crusaders answered in their own way.
“Yeah?”
“Hmm?
“Whatsup, Schnee?”
“I…” she began, still not tearing her gaze away from her pin. “I think it’s time. I have a story to tell you… and I believe I’m ready and you’re old enough.”
It was a quick scramble and shuffle of hooves, but Schnee found all three young mares sitting on the long couch, looking at her both brightly and somberly. It was their usual sitting arrangement whenever Schnee needed to talk, and if that time ever came during their friendship, the latter would sit in her armchair and talk to her heart’s content.
Very theraputic.
And this time, as Schnee took her seat while grasping her teacup in her left hoof, she felt this would be little different.
“I want to tell you three what happened at Seele.”
Suddenly, the girls seemed a tad unsure.
“Schnee…?” Sweetie answered for all of them. “Are you sure?”
The former soldier mare nodded once, her resoluteness was firm.
“Yes. I must warn you though, I won’t spare any details. I can’t spare any details. I think… I think this is the last thing I need to get off my chest to be the lightest I can be.”
Apple Bloom smiled softly at those words and gestured forward.
“Then by all means, Sugarcube. Continue.”
In her right hoof, Schneeblume still held onto the pin she was awarded. Taking another rueful, if nostalgic look-over, it had collected some dust over time from when it was lost, but it still retained the luster from the day she received it. The gold glimmered in all angles of light, and there was a slight change in color if the sunlight hit it just right.
She placed it on the table with a resounding hollowness of metal striking wood.
“It was a cold, rainy, miserable morning…”
Four years of war have passed on the continent of Equidae, fifteen-hundred miles away from Equestria.
The allied Empires of Prance and Anglomaneia were all that stood against the technological and military might of the Alemaneian Empire.
As the ground became scarred with trenches and artillery… and as the inconceivable casualties mounted, the war had finally turned.
All nations were near collapse; on the brink of capitulation even as the allies drove the mangled Alemaneian armies out of Prance and back into its borders. They pursued with all they had left.
Alemaneia has gathered all its reserves for one final counterattack to restore the pre-war borders…
[Seele Plains | Alemaneia | ~Four Years Prior]
The calculated strokes of the pencil tip on the tanned, magically-waterproof paper was the only noise that she allowed to filter into her head.
The artillery nor the scattered pitter-patter of the rain were of any concern to her anymore…
…or was that machine gun fire?
As she scribbled in her journal, she merely brushed her shoulder-length mane aside. She had no ability to even muster a flinch when a bullet whizzed right above her little spot in the trench.
Her greener comrades had not developed such desensitized fortitude yet, with entire squads ducking for cover and cowering under their own helmets and hooves, crying out when a shot got just a little too close.
As Schnee—one of the most elite soldiers in the Imperial Alemaneian Army Stormtrooper Divisions—scribed the names of all her deceased classmates in her little book of pitiful memoirs, she longed for those days of yore…
The days where she was actually afraid for her life; afraid to die.
Yet as the rain pelted her endlessly, providing an extra layer of ‘tinging’ against her steel assault helmet, her reminiscence ran dry.
So did her tears. She could spare no more as she crossed off the names of her classmates who had perished in the fighting, as well as documenting exactly how, if she knew.
Somepony had to.
Summer Sun. Cut down by a machine gun.
Sky View. Shot in the neck by sharpshooter.
Winter Flame. Prench Flu.
Steel Stone. Gas attack.
.
.
Much to her chagrin, only two of her friends remained. They happened to be her closest friends, as well. They had survived through the entire war. What was one more battle?
And at that thought, Schneeblume let her stature falter, allowing her head to sink as she sighed out in anguish.
There was still one last battle to fight. And today was the day.
There was an odd feeling in her chest as she glanced up toward the cloudy heavens to find Prench and friendly Pegasi pickets engaging one another, dancing a deadly routine through the low clouds.
In that hollowed-out heart of hers, she knew that the war would be decided here.
Everypony did. Even the enemy, though they had not the faintest idea of when Alemaneia was to strike back. It was the tiniest glimmer of hope in the scores of blackened hearts that knew nothing but death, destruction, and terror unimaginable to anypony considered ‘normal.’
Schneeblume let her head wilt once more, her matted mane directing rivulets of cool rain down her once pristine-white face.
She had no mistake of what they would be up against, however. Casualties in the coming battle were expected to be enormous, though if pulled off right, most would be inflicted upon the enemy in the first hours of surprise.
But still… those defenses. A flawless execution of their vanguard infiltration were unlikely on all accounts. Further, Schneeblume knew exactly what they would be facing in their final, fateful assault against the continually fortifying enemies.
Countless would die.
She would probably be one of them.
Her ears flicked as she raised her muzzle once more.
And yet, that thought of death was actually comforting. She would greet that Grim Reaperpony with a grateful embrace, for they could afford her a decent night’s sleep.
No more nightmares.
No more stumbling upon buried, rotten, soulless corpses as they dug new fortifications.
No more watching vermin making their homes in what was left of her comrades’ faces that had been exploded by a sniper’s bullet.
No more of the anguished, heart and gut-wrenching groans and pleas of the mortally wounded and dying in nopony’s land.
It could all end in an instant.
And, if Schnee was being completely honest with herself, the thought of lifting her head and ‘peering’ over the trench for a little too long had crossed her mind multiple times.
It would be quick.
It would be painless.
It would be the sweet release she had begged for since the end of the first year covered in other ponies’ blood.
But, curse her national upbringing and morals, she had more dignity than that.
“Schnee?”
The sound of her name being called by a familiar, smooth, masculine voice forced her head to raise and find its source: Platte. One of her life-long classmates and friends.
A lithe-looking stallion of gray coat and forest-green mane, he stepped from behind the trench’s corner and brought himself into view. Judging by him being fully suited up, helmet, grenades, and all, Schneeblume had a decent idea of what would follow her name out of his mouth.
Still, she could have always been surprised.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Three minutes until we move. Artillery is reloading right now.”
While ‘artillery’ would have been a relief on a normal soldiers’ mind, especially if it was on their side, Schnee did not feel any need to react one way or another. What was left of the Alemaneian artillery were worn barrels and lower-quality shells.
Occasionally said shells would misfire, dropping right on their own trenches and causing more than their fair share of accidents.
If only she would be so lucky.
But, it was all they had right now, so they would have to be satisfied. Still, mustering barely a noticeable upturn of the left corner of her mouth, she nodded once in understanding.
“Okay. I’ll be there shortly.”
Platte nodded once and took his leave.
Knowing she had to get moving, Schnee had two more last orders of business to take care of regarding her journal. First, she flipped to the inside of the front cover and boldly inscribed something very important via her pencil.
Snowflower Autumnlight. Sixth Stormtrooper Division, Imperial Alemaneian Army. Please deliver to the address on page two.
And lastly, she flipped past two years of entries (her first journal was lost), to the nearest blank page and wrote down one last thing with more conviction than she had thought she possessed.
October 1st, Year 4 of the Great War,
Seele Plains. I was killed.
She sheathed her pencil back into her tattered uniform, as well as placing her journal in her breast pocket. Schnee patted it twice for good measure.
She hefted herself off of her haunches and glanced around for the rest of her equipment. Schnee scooped her hoof under the brim of her steel helmet and placed it atop her head, securing the strap as mud and rainwater sloughed off of its edges. Then, she sheathed her spade right on her left hip and counted the bundle of stick grenades on her right.
Ten. More could be had through grenadiers when they moved up.
She glanced around and tapped her waist to make sure she had her combat knife in place; she did.
All that remained was to join the rest of their squad. They would be leading the first wave in a surprise attack against the currently getting-mangled combined defenses of the Anglomanes and Prench.
Schneeblume, trot lazily up her trenchline, passing by ponies leaning against the walls, sleeping, cowering, or even dead.
Yet, with each one that seemed a little too young to be here fighting (there were a lot of them) she made sure to pat them and make sure they were holding it together.
A pair young colts were working a fixed sniper-rifle emplacement behind a steel plate, eyeing up and down this sector of enemy trench line. Schnee patted them both on their backs and they turned to face her.
She smiled softly and nodded, and their features in kind seemed to brighten a little bit at the wordless reassurance from a veteran.
Schnee’s worn boots did little to prevent mud and water from seeping in and drenching her hoof. Parts of it she couldn’t feel at this point, but that would change in the next few minutes. Rigorous drying and stretching prevented onset of trenchhoof when the announcement went out.
Still, the squelching and sinking of her calloused, cut, and abused hooves in the muddy floor of the trench was unpleasant nonetheless.
Yet, it was all she had to keep her company as she marched unflinchingly down the trenchline to her rally point. Nothing broke her from her trance of accepting her likely death.
Not the occasional bullet whizzing above her head.
Not the incessant, explosive roars of their own hurricane bombardment sailing towards the enemy trenches.
Nor even the pleas and agonizing cries of some of her mortally wounded comrades curled up against the trench walls… violently retching up their charred lungs from a recent gas attack, or bleeding out from their bellies for being careless over the top.
Schnee stepped over the pools of watered down blood with nary a care. This was her reality. This was her world.
As far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as a home anymore. This was all she knew. The trench was her cradle–her rite of passage from her first battles. Her keeper, her guardian, and her sanctuary.
And it would be her grave.
Schnee was not sure what happened over the next couple of minutes… as she just awoke from her stupor and found herself amongst her squad and two remaining, closest friends: Platte and Rot.
To her right stood Platte as he always had been through these four years by Schnee’s side. She gave him a sideways glance as their commanding officer went on about some needless details of their objectives that they had heard many, many times. The pouring rain ran a miniature waterfall down the edges of his helmet, and the drops that collected and fell to the earth just in front of his vision gave a more sinister edge to his fierce ‘battle face’ as it were. A little extra collected around the aperture where his horn was allowed to protrude through.
But, when he spied Schneeblume’s eyes on his, he broke character and smiled back once, nodding tersely… a gesture Schnee was more than happy to return.
To her right was Rot, another unicorn mare of pale coat with a reddish tint to her flowing form, accentuated by her blood-red mane that flowed to just below the back of her head. Bright blue eyes met Schneeblume’s from under her own helmet and her own hollow, troubled stare was also replaced by a more welcoming grin. Rot was a mare that Schnee had the pleasure of calling a friend throughout her childhood.
No one needed to say a word to each other. They were all they had left from their class, and more or less each other’s anchor.
They were family… and that familial bond forged through the blood spilled and likewise the very life-giving essence coursing through their veins would serve them well in the final engagement to come. Just knowing they were there sent Schnee’s heart beating, running away but not with fear, but with hope. They could do anything.
They could make it out of this together!
“Guys! Come on, this needs all your attention’s. One more review to make sure this hammers in properly…” came the bark from their lieutenant over the incessant noise of artillery shells raining down upon their enemy across.
The trio and other five enlisted ponies in their squad listened enough to get the details right, though the respect they had for him was nascent at best. After all, this Lieutenant Trommel was a replacement for their officer of two years, who had sadly been lost when he was blown apart by an artillery shell.
There was nothing to bury.
“Okay… once the bombardment ceases, we need to be right on top of this particular section of trench,” Trommel highlighted on a map. The laminated cartograph needed to be shaken so the water did not collect and obscure their vision.
“Once we secure the forward firing line, we’ll radio in our progress and move down these two separate capillary trenches towards the second line of defense… we’ll need to be careful so that we don’t get flanked.
“And I can’t stress enough: we have to keep moving. Don’t fucking slow down!”
Trommel drew his bandaged hoof up the representation of the enemy trench network, hovering over a much wider quadrilateral area that both aforementioned capillary trenches connected to.
“Next, we hit the supply depot. This will likely have a larger concentration of Anglomane forces so we’ll need to toss our grenades like our lives depend on it if we have any left. It’s vital that we clear every pony from this sector, or secondary machine guns and field artillery in the area will have their way with our precious forces.
“If we can take this, we must hold it at all costs. We should be able to get reinforcements by that point but the enemy will counterattack. Here we stand until our regular troops can secure it. Then we progress towards the third-line defense.
“The enemy will throw every mare and stallion at us right here. They will hold this until they’re all dead… so it’s our job to make it so. Once we’ve secured a hole in the third defense line, our infantry can pour in and roll up the flanks.
“And from there, we can eject them from our lands!”
An officer on duty announced:
“Thirty seconds, soldiers! Heaven be with you all!”
On that call, Rot and Platte lit their horns and retrieved their bayonets from their sheaths. Said bayonets had an aperture at the end that allowed it to be slid over the horn and be locked into place with a twist. Once that was done, all of them fetched their reinforced gas masks and slid them over their faces, ensuring a tight fit. Said gas masks held a distinctive, red tint to the goggles portion.
The trademark, faceless expression of the Alemaneian Stormtrooper.
Rot glanced over at Schnee and Platte.
“One last hurrah.”
With a sardonic bit of humor, Schnee nudged into both of their shoulders on either side.
“Think we can get some hot tea after this? The war’ll be over, after all.” she asked.
“Assuming we don’t die…” Platte added.
“Not acceptable,” Rot asserted. “We’re stormtroopers. Either we’re all surviving or we’re all dying.”
“Then hot tea it is! Either in victory, or in death!” Platte declared loudly.
The bombardment increased in frequency of shells fired, the sequence of booms, explosions, and roars blending together almost like a machine gun and a train. Yet even so, the supervising officer could be heard loud and clear.
“YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS ALL FOUGHT AND DIED TO PREVENT HIS FROM HAPPENING: OUR LAND, STOLEN BY THE ENEMY! DON’T LET THEIR NOBLE SACRIFICES BE IN VAIN!
“ONE LAST PUSH!
“ONE LAST CRAWL!
“ONE LAST STRUGGLE! THE QUEEN ASKS ONE FINAL EFFORT TO TOSS THE ALLIED HORDES OUT OF OUR HOME! DRIVE THEM BACK INTO THEIR WRETCHED HUSKS OF NATIONS!”
Just then, the shrill scream of the trench whistle blew, sending a pure injection of adrenaline straight into everypony who heard it.
And at that moment, Schnee’s mind switched from ‘conscious’ to ‘automation.’ With one smooth movement, she planted her hooves against the forward trench wall, her boots sinking into the firm muck, and hefted herself over the top. Her squad followed in kind.
And like her squad, a collective cry emanating from the depths of their souls spread forth over the destruction. Silenced by continuing artillery, a sea of ponies three-thousand strong of the stormtrooper spearhead poured onto noponies land with one final roar.
Heralding their arrival, three errant shells shrieked and slammed themselves into the earth a couple hundred feet in front of them, but Schnee and her friends continued onward without haste. Rain pelted their metallic helms, their hooves clopped into the ground with wet slaps, and mud was splashed in all directions, again muffled by the continuing artillery. Small particles of debris and dry gravel rained down on them much like the torrent pouring from the sky, striking their helms with audible ‘tings.’
Schnee galloped right through the bloody remains of a blown-open skull, coating herself with some foreign bodily matter. Adrenaline placed her cares elsewhere though. The wind blew the pouring rain onto her face and soaked any of her exposed coat to the bone. Her eyes honed in on the enemy trench under hellish bombardment that drew closer and closer.
And if they timed their approach right, the barrage would end…
NOW!
On Schnee’s mental cue, the last four shells sailed over their pony wave of elite shock troops and threw enemy trench materials and dirt sky-high. A lightning strike exploded on the backdrop as Schnee and her squad were less than a hundred feet away.
Fitting.
The end of the hurricane bombardment was timed perfectly to the second. Platte drew in front suddenly and lowered his head so his bayonet was poised to strike.
And as the three of them with backup descended upon the first firing line of the trench, Schnee spotted some shaky movement. The flat-planed helmets characteristic of the Anglomanes stood out immediately.
A lone soldier poked his head out and paid the price when Platte’s bayonet slammed and sunk into him with a terrifying squelch. It pierced out the back of his neck as he drove him into the ground upon landing in enemy trench.
Schnee lept in posthaste and once her boots landed amongst the mucky floor (and mutilated remains of unfortunate soldiers caught in the barrage) of her enemy’s trench, her mind was back in her control. Slamming her shoulder against the rear trench wall to cease her movement, adrenaline dictated she quickly draw her combat knife to deal with any living soldiers she and others had inadvertently mingled with.
A quick glance to her left revealed Platte forcing the now lifeless husk of a former pony off of his bayonet, which was now stickily coated in blood.
Movement caught Schnee’s peripheral vision in the next millisecond as an Anglomane soldiermare was getting back to her hooves, but before the Alemaneian could deal with her, Rot fell upon her and pinned her to the ground with an ensuing, futile struggle on the former’s part.
In the next instant, Rot had sunk her own combat knife into the Anglomane’s belly, eliciting an sickeningly terrified, feminine shriek before the former withdrew the weapon and punched her blade into her prey’s throat. This silenced any scream with a sickly gurgle before all movement ceased.
A shrill war cry sounded out as Schnee witnessed Platte get plowed into by a burly, Anglomane earth pony, sending him careening to the ground with a distressed grunt. A hammer in the former’s hoof, Schnee lept forward and tackled her friend’s would-be assailant and slammed the cap of her helmet into his neck.
Both fell to the wet ground, though by way of Schnee’s technique, she fell atop him and unceremoniously plunged her own blade squarely in the center of his neck, the metal sinking in with morbid grace. Pained, gurgled whines sounded through the pooling blood his throat but Schnee had not finished him just yet… opting to grip her knife’s handle and yanking it to the side, splitting his throat open and splattering her mask with his bloody essence.
Schnee looked up, staring down this section of trench and came face to face with four stunned-silly enemy soldiers of various coat-colors. All were wide-eyed and struck with abject horror at the fate that befell their former comrades.
“SHIT! STORMTROOPERS!”
“FALL BACK GODDAMNIT, FALL BACK!”
Fall back they did, scrambling over one another to slip into the nearest capillary trench or down the next bend to sound the alarm. The lone unicorn of the group charged their horn as they retreated but a bolt of red-hued magic sailed from back over Schnee’s shoulder and struck the aforementioned unicorn right in the face.
The magic cratered the enemy’s snout and left a steaming, hollow hole where half the unfortunate pony’s nose and right eye were. They crumpled to the ground with nary a scream.
Platte offered his hoof to Schnee when he stood beside her, which she accepted. He then hoisted her off her first kill of the engagement.
“Come! Let’s clear this sector!”
Lieutenant Trommel motioned for Rot to join her friends and she gratefully obliged. He would take the greener troopers down the other side. For now, the three were on their own.
“Let’s go!” Schnee ordered, and the three took off down their side of the trench. She sheathed her knife and drew her shovel.
Distant shots rang out from their own home trench as the sniper teams set up to deal with any potential reinforcements that would bear down from them on top. Gun and magic-fire erupted over the last minute, replacing the incessant booming of the artillery.
They had to move quickly: friendly, main-line infantry were scheduled to cross nopony’s land within the next ten minutes, and if their objectives were not met, their sector would be the site of horrendous slaughter.
Dozens of bodies lay strewn and mangled in this frontline trench, so much so that the trio had to step over the remains as they made their way down to their first turn. Artillery had completely wiped out initial resistance or forced it rearwards. If it was the former, Schnee presumed they would be on their way back presently.
Hence, their sense of urgency.
Right as they were about to round the bend into their target capillary trench, valiant screams and cries of battle sounded above them, along with Anglomane profanity as an entire platoon of soldiers rushed over the trenchtop to meet their foes head-on.
Schnee and company prepared for said entire platoon to drop down on them, but friendly machinegun fire from their own vigilant trenchline tore into the group. Bullets shredded skin and bones, and sprayed blood in every direction as those once valiant cries became horrific shrieks of mortal agony. Stallions and mares who weren’t killed immediately in the hail of piercing machine-gun salvo crumpled down into the trench as they awaited death to take them. Their eyes were wide, mouths never ceasing to project their pleas, their last words, their regrets…
...well, those that weren’t choking on their own pooling blood or twitching violently.
Safe from attack for the moment, Rot and Platte rounded the corner… but Schnee stayed for a split second to spare a look.
Perhaps a second too long. She didn’t realize that, gazing upon that raw carnage, her breathing rate increased. She was hot under her mask on such a cold morning. The rain had no effect on her anymore. Her eyes were nigh-comically wide, and her filter was constricting her airflow.
What’s happening?!
She flicked her eyes and retreat back up against the perpendicular corner, looking in every direction and drawing her gaze from place to place as if anything might provide her salvation. Schnee’s mind was awash in a mush of inchoate thoughts that only served to heighten her sudden bout of anxiety, scrambling over her hooves all the while.
She had seen terrible carnage before! What was happening?
“Schnee??”
The masked, helmeted mare in question shook her head harshly as she snapped out of her peculiar stupor.
“SCHNEE!” came Rot’s commanding call.
Schnee was suddenly aware of the incessant gunfire, cries, and every other sound of battle that had become like white noise to her over the years. She snapped her attention to both of her friends, who had dropped low onto the trench floor.
“Are you daft?! We need throwing skills, now!”
Schneeblume, in her now-cleared mind, took cover behind the adjacent trenchwall and hoped their allies on either side could hold off any advancing infantry down the firing line. She sat on her haunches and, in haste, sifted through her grenade sack to fish one of the stick explosives.
She juggled it once in her hoof and gripped it properly.
“Bereit zu werfen!!” she signalled, stick grenade nestled in the crook of her right hoof. She awaited her comrades’ final confirmation.
“Sling it!”
On that command, Schnee pulled the primer from the bottom of the grenade and heaved it down the capillary trench, into the haze of rain and smoke.
A couple of seconds later, horrified cries were followed by a somewhat muffled explosion that coincided with the rolling thunder. Terrifying screams of terror and pain followed immediately, and from that, she gauged her success in her throw.
Desperate magical bolts of various colors were shot in Schnee’s and her friends’ directions, and the mare had to duck behind the trench wall to prevent from getting her head taken off. The errant bolt slammed into the adjacent corner and sent mud flying in all directions, spraying her mask, which she needed to wipe off with her sleeve.
Schnee fished out another grenade and pulled the primer as a group of enemy troops emerged from beyond the veil of smoke and rain, bloodlust and wounded scowls ready to charge straight at her group and reclaim their lost territory.
Rot and Platte opened fire immediately with their horns, though their accuracy waned in the face of a fusilade of return-fire, on top of all the friendly and enemy gunfire streaking over their heads.
“THROW MORE, GODDAMMIT!” Rot shouted, and Schnee did not need to be told twice.
Once again, she aimed with her left hoof guiding and hurled her explosive, the stick grenade coruscating gracefully through the air.
It struck the point-Anglomane soldier right in the face, blunting the enemy advance in its tracks right as the aforementioned grenade buried itself in the mud. A few seconds later, the lead two ponies ceased to exist in an explosion of mud, water, and a chunky red mist.
Schneeblume shuddered as she did not even look away from the act… though a hardened soldier like her had no time to reflect on the immediate past, especially when she had two friends crawling their way forward.
“NICE!” Platte praised over the deafening cacophony of battle. “Keep them coming!”
“JA!” Schnee replied, having enveloped herself in this moment of warfare. She hurled another grenade with pinpoint accuracy and an accompanying grunt of exertion. She screamed out towards her enemies for the day:
“EIN GESCHENK FÜR EUCH!”
Schneeblume’s mind shifted into automated once again, and fetched grenade after grenade from her collection as she tossed them. The enemy trench became more and more decimated as the integrity wore down into nothing but simple piles of mud and dirt. Bodies and parts became strewn about as even from this distance, the ground turned into a viscous, reddish ooze mixed with the falling rain that harbored a horrific smell of ‘rotten’ iron.
And slowly but surely, her friends made headway, cutting down any remnant Anglomane opposition with their horns.
Schnee huffed as she fetched her second-to-last grenade from her bag, hefted it once in her hoof, and pulled the primer. She guided herself with her hoof much like she had and moved to chuck the explosive in her hand.
A shrill, feminine cry of righteous fury to Schnee’s immediate right drew her attention, and her entire form was tackled to the ground as the grenade left her hoof.
It flew off in some random direction out of sight, and Schnee saw stars as her helmeted-head actually bounced off the muddy ground.
Barely regaining her bearings, the stunned and equally horrified Schneeblume came face-to-face with a young, teal-coated Anglomaneian mare with utmost fury in her hazel eyes and a snarl on her face. Schnee had just realized that she had been pinned to the ground, and her pupils honed in on the sharpened, dirty, rusty knife that her aggressor was attempting to press straight into her face.
“FUCK YOU, ALLIE FUCK! DIE! ALL OF YOU FUCKING DIE!” she snarled and frothed.
Schneeblume’s blinked vigorously as she came to complete control of her body once more. Only then did she realized that she was holding her enemy’s hooves at bay above her with all of her might. Only then did she realize that her heart was racing, her muscles were aching, her teeth were snarling under her mask, and that her eyes were tearing up from how much everything hurt both physically and mentally.
And only then did she come into complete coherence with the fact that, in letting her training take over, it hurt so much to do what she had to do in that moment lest she be a physical victim of this war.
Schneeblume assumed full control and poured all of her strength into her front legs, where after a trembling struggle she redirected her assailant’s force down towards the ground right next to her own head. Much to her enemy’s abject shock, the knife sunk into the mud.
Schnee seized the opening and decked her in the jaw, forcing the Anglomane off of her in a stumbling daze.
The former scrambled to her hooves but her enemy recovered faster than she had anticipated, and Schnee bore the entirety of a boot-clad hoof connecting squarely with the left eye with an audible crack. Her ears were left ringing.
Schnee stumbled backward over her hooves, and took note that her right goggle had a crack right down the center, but was still secure. Enough distance was put between her and the Anglomane mare that Schnee was able to draw her shovel and aim its head at the young, aggressive invader.
Yet as the latter earthpony withdrew her combat knife from the muck, Schneeblume let some foreign words slip in her heavy accent that she had no control over:
“NO! FUCK YOU!”
There was not even an acknowledgement to her words as the teal-coated Anglomane charged her with a feral, nigh rabid cry of zeal.
Schnee tracked the knife and blunted it with the flat of her shovel. She both felt and heard the metal connect with foreleg and completely shatter the bone within. Her enemy had no time to scream in utmost agony before Schnee smashed the shovel’s head into her jaw, likewise shattering it under the strength of her back-hooved strike.
Acting once again by instinct, Schnee afforded her wounded enemy no respite, and she cleaved the sharpened edge of her shovel into the Anglomane’s neck, cutting straight through muscle and bone with a nightmare-inducing crunch and squelch. Only then was the unfortunate, young mare able to finally loose a hellish wail from the depths of her lungs, vocalizing all the pain she was enduring as she unwillingly collapsed.
Schnee ended it with a final, brutal smack to her face with the shovel flat. Her opponent was now silent and motionless in the mud… mud that rolled off of her coat in rivulets and dissolved in her gushing blood as the rain continued its unrelenting assault.
Schneeblume only sheathed her shovel and composed herself to rejoin her allies, who had made significant progress towards their second objective with the help of a few reinforcements. On the way though, she had trot over what had remained of the Anglomane stand just down their line.
Unrecognizable body parts, fractions of ponies remaining, and all the wounded had been pulled back if the thick trails of blood were anything to go by.
They had reached the opening of the supply depot and Schnee had finally caught up with Rot and Platte. However, their reunion was to be less than eventful before their second push, as when she, her friends, and the remainder of their squad from the opposite side were ready to assault the dug-in enemies, all stopped immediately in their tracks.
“INCOMING!!!”
Nopony knew who yelled it, but the shriek of incoming artillery was more than verifiable. Platte yanked both Schneeblume and Rot by the necks and dove them all to the wet, muddy ground as a volley of shells slammed directly into the ammo square.
“What the hell?! Rot exclaimed as the shells continued to rain down into their objective. The entire earth shook ferociously as they hunkered low under the dirt and material returning to the ground.
“That’s enemy artillery! They’re shelling their own positions trying to cut us off!”
As a veteran soldier, Schneeblume was instantly infuriated… how could a commander order a waste of life that easily? Was it poor planning or a misunderstanding? She opted to not say anything as she continued to shield her face from any wayward shrapnel and mud.
And once the enemy bombardment ceased, there was no defending force left to contest the Alemaneians… only staggered, literal remnants of a formidable force in their path.
“Everypony report in!” came the weary yet still coherent voice of Lieutenant Trommel.
“Rot hier!”
“Platte hier!”
“Schneeblume hier!”
A list of names were called out from just across from the sister trench, but Schnee noted a distinct lack of a few prominent names that were a part of their squad. A pained whine droned out over the small lull of battle in their area, and the groans of the wounded and dying could be much more clearly heard.
Trommel coughed and rallied his troops.
“Then the depot is ours! We hold this until our mainline forces relieve us!” he proclaimed as he charged into the now-lifeless area. With their remaining stormtroops that followed, they sloppily stepped over the remnants of the local Anglomane defense force.
Schneeblume quickly followed suit to join the rest of her squad with Platte and Rot hot on her tail. The ammunition depot was no longer recognizable after that violent bombardment, and at the price of the enemy clearing out their own troops, the soppy ground had now become some pink-ish, sticky putty that smelt even worse than their handiwork of their trench. They were now ready to defend a ruined pile of nothing.
In an odd irony, Schneeblume’s mask would prevent her from certain death from inhaling toxic gasses… but could do very little to hold her stomach in check at what she was seeing in front of her eyes.
And that’s just what she did: she quickly scampered off to the side, removed her mask, and retched as she puked the contents of her stomach (which wasn’t much) onto the already mangled and abused ground. She allowed her hind legs to collapse, and Schnee silently seethed that the lack of a good meal in the last… ever, had allowed her body nothing to dispose of. She continued to gag and retch violently as her pupils shrank and a cold feeling of doom and unknown regret washed over her troubled mind and body.
But her own agony was quelled when war cries roared out in staggered voices from further down the Anglomane lines, shouting obscenities and patriotic words as they threatened to counterattack.
Oh no…
“Schnee!” Rot called. “Get over here! They’re coming!”
Schneeblume shakily refit her mask over her face after wiping her mouth. She turned to her comrades who were digging in as best as they can. All other unicorns were charging their horns and earth ponies drew their weapons of choice.
Her friends, however, had another plan in mind.
Trommel bellowed over the sounds of war:
“TROOPERS! STAND FIRM! WE HOLD UNTIL WE’RE RELIEVED OR WE’RE DEAD!”
Schnee dashed over to her friends, who had discovered a serviceable Anglomane machine gun that survived the bombardment. She helped them heft the dead bodies with open stomachs, missing limbs, and half-heads off the heavy weapon, and to their surprise, it was movable with wheels.
Platte and Rot moved to either side and Schnee attached its restraints to her saddle.
“Quick! Heave back! Go!”
With strained grunts and whines from all three of them, the soppy, sticky sound of dug-in metal wheels dislodging from caked mud was the harbinger for a potentially life-saving plan. They rolled the water-cooled machine gun back and turned it toward the enemy capillary trench and trench top, where they would likely storm in from for a counter attack.
“Ammo check!” Platte called out, and Schnee was right on it. She opened up the attached ammo box and found two extra belts full of primed bullets.
“Ja! Hier!” she exclaimed and set about opening up the receiver to load the weapon.
“Water in the tank?” Platte also asked, and Rot unscrewed the cap to the water jacket to check.
“It’s full!” she said, re-screwing and patting the barrel.
“Okay, Schnee: help feed the ammo. Rot, help me aim it!” Platte ordered, and at an instant, Schnee finished loading the weapon and slunk under the ammo belt to allow it to feed over her back.
She immediately became cognizant of the three of them being so closely grouped together around a heavy machine-gun—arguably one of the most high-priority targets in all of warfare.
She had no time to dwell on this fact, as through the rainy haze and the fog of war charged two entire platoons of Anglomane soldiers… at least, that’s what it looked like for the split second Schnee was able to get a glimpse.
The aforementioned heavy machine gun spit blinding fire and recoil right over her shoulder in response. The belt over her back smoothly slithered into the firing chamber as ammunition was exhausted.
A sea of ponies that charged in had been, revoltingly, cut down. The rapid-fire heavy cartridges ripped through flesh and bone alike and sent blood and other body parts in every which direction. Single bullets pierced multiple bodies, and the cries of valor, familiarly, turned into terrifying shrieks of hellish pain. Under the hail of the precise aim of her elite-soldier comrades, not a single Anglomane warrior was able to breach the shoddy perimeter the Alemaneians had created—they were torn up by both machine gun and unicorn fire, and sent crumbling atop of one another the mere instant they made themselves known from beyond the veil.
Twenty long seconds had passed, and two entire platoons—a whole Anglomane company—were completely and utterly wiped out.
Schneeblume could not look away through the entire ordeal. Mares, stallions, young and older bore faces of blind zeal-turned-excruciating, mortal horror as they were quite literally mowed down. All sounds of battle were replaced by the mortally wounded crying out for anypony who would listen… Schnee couldn’t even pick out a single pony in the piles of ripped uniforms; pooled, gushing blood; destroyed skullcaps, and multi-colored, blown-open coats.
She heard an unknown mare beg for her father to sew her stomach back up.
However, she did see a helmet-less stallion, red waterfalling from his mouth, leaned up against the perimeter parapet, cradling a stone-dead, open-eyed mare with what strength of his remained.
And even through the rain, Schneeblume saw the slight glimmer of wedding bands on their hooves.
She couldn’t look away. Her mouth suddenly ran dry with all the moisture in the air. Her surroundings, however open, closed in on her as her vision became clouded and dark. Breathing was suddenly strenuous again, and her heart felt like it would pierce through her chest and run away to join the fallen, even as if—
“SCHNEE!”
She was harshly nudged to the point of stumbling, and her vision and hearing suddenly cleared up one hundred percent. She glanced around and found Platte standing over her, unreadable expression through his mask.
“WE GOTTA GO! COME ON!”
She had not heard Trommel’s orders to press onward, as their squad plus some reinforcements were already making their way through the devastated artery trench out of the depot. Regular infantry were also spotted crossing over the tops of the trenches to secure their gains.
Schnee nodded and moved to join her three friends.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH!”
The separated trio turned to the blood-curdling yell and Schnee was just in time to watch an errant Anglomane unicorn suddenly appear from the top of the trench and gore Platte right in the neck with his bayonet. The squelch of the metal piercing her best friend’s neck and exiting out the other side would be a sound she would hear in her nightmares, along with the smaller stallion forcing a now limp Platte to his side.
Rot had no time to react before straggling enemies descended upon the remaining allies in the area… though as for Schnee, she saw complete and utter red through her widened lavender eyes and stuttering mouth.
She emitted a hellish, borderline in-equine scream that she had no idea she was capable of. Reflex assumed complete control of her actions as she charged her best friend’s assailant and slammed into the light-blue stallion’s side with the full brunt of her weight placed in her steel helmet.
She tackled the larger stallion while still growling and legitimately roaring. A sorrowful rage that had been suppressed for so long had finally peaked at the act perpetuated in front of her, and Schneeblume took no remorse in smashing her hoof twice into the enemy’s face…
...then finding a rock on the ground.
All the Anglomane stallion saw was a blood-red eyed, steel-helmeted demon holding a jagged stone in the crook of their hoof.
And all that Schneeblume saw was a terrified enemy soldier, whose life she did not care for as she brought the stone down full-force to meet his face. She left a dirty laceration and blood where her weapon met her enemy, and further, the stallion was not silent nor still.
“AHH!! HELP ME! HELP ME!”
She smashed his face again, a sharp crack signifying a shattered, bloody, muzzle.
“PLEASE! NO… NO!”
And again… this time pressing forcefully into his left eye-socket. His flailing hooves were much weaker now.
“STOP!”
“FUCK YOU!” she exclaimed, her pummeling unrelenting time after time after time.
Movement ceased from her victim below after one final blow, and both his face and Schnee’s stone were now bloody pulps of what once was.
Rot had dispatched the other few reinforcements that were no-doubt sent on a suicide mission, and was tending to the fallen Platte. A far-off stare and unblinking, open eyes with blood continuing to drip metronomically out of his mouth told Schneeblume all she needed to know about one of her closest, remaining friends.
Rot turned to her and shook her head.
“He’s gone, Schnee. But we can’t stop! We gotta keep moving or we’re next!”
Schnee blinked the tears out of her eyes and nodded curtly, and Rot offered her hoof which Schnee graciously took.
A pair of Anglomane trench raider troops dropped right next to Rot and Schnee in an attempt to surprise attack, but Rot was much too quick. She quickly angled her bayonet the moment she spotted them and let the first offending stallion skewer himself on her face.
Schnee did not have that luxury, and she dealt with her inexperienced opponent in a much more personal manner. The moment her peripheral vision caught wind of the orange-coated, lavender-maned mare attempt to club the back of her head, Schnee pivoted on her hooves and forced her would-be assailant to overshoot her mark. Her eyes widened at her mistake, and Schnee struck by plunging her knife into the base of her neck, where it met the chest.
Schnee held her there, and stared into the young eyes and slackened mouth as she cried out in an astonished, agonized, choked scream. Schnee drove the blade as deep as it would go before withdrawing it, finally allowing her enemy to collapse like an unstrung puppet and die in the mud.
“You okay, Rot?!” Schnee turned on her hooves and called back. She found Rot pushing a still-writhing carcass off her bayonet. Bloody remnants coated her bayonet which no longer shimmered in what little light reflected off the falling rain.
“Yeah! Let’s—INCOMING!” she interrupted herself when she spotted a small object being thrown over the parapet: a grenade.
Said grenade pegged Schneeblume right in the side of the helmet and landed in the mud, right for the unexpecting mare to gaze at. As her eyes hollowed out behind her gas mask, time slowed to a crawl and she could, mystically, pick out individual raindrops as they fell in front of her… still, her attention was solely focused on the ticking explosive that had landed right next to her.
Rot had already dove to cover, but Schnee was not afforded that option with the proximity of the explosive. In one smooth motion, she pivoted on her hind legs and swiped the grenade from the mud with her right hoof… then used that momentum to chuck it into the sky where she could then dive to cover and hopefully avoid shrapnel.
She saw the rainy sky above her as she slung the grenade upward…
...and then her hearing went ringing and vision went black.
Schneeblume had been on her hooves in one instant… and the next thing she was aware of as her eyes refocused themselves was that she was on her side, coated in mud and water. Her ears were still ringing. Her face throbbed.
Further, her right hoof hurt like no other, and continued to spike pain throughout her body. She could only moan as her heightened state was replaced with grogginess and unknowing. Sound slowly filtered through her ringing ears and the sounds of battle eventually returned, along with a familiar voice.
“Schnee?? Schnee!”
“R-Rot?” Schneeblume breathed out, coughing and expelling mud that entered into her mouth. “W-Was ist passiert?”
Her friend stood over her with a raised hoof, unsure immediately of how to proceed given what she was seeing.
“You’re alive… you’re okay but your hoof. Your right hoof’s been torn to shreds,” she said, then knelt down to begin dragging Schnee back towards friendlier, more secure lines.
Schnee vaguely felt herself being moved, but she had enough sense of Rot’s words that she glanced towards her right hoof… and didn’t find her hoof. Shrapnel had embedded and torn massive wounds in through her boot and white coat, and the tip was nothing but a mangled pulp of unrecognizable, fleshy mass coated in mud.
And only when she finally paid attention to it, did the true pain enter into her mind. She called out to anypony who could hear:
“AAAAAAAAAAAACHHH!! SAANIII!” she cried, tears free-falling and fogging up her lenses. Suddenly, dying was not such a glamorous relief at the moment.
While friendly troops were passing by regularly to assist the front, enemies, as previously seen, had been sneaking through to wreak havoc, and Rot was worried about them drawing the worst attention to themselves in their area.
Rot’s words were hurried yet desperate, and she removed her own mask to expose her face to some fresh air. It was matted in sweat and fresh tear stains, despite the rain. She removed her overcoat to quickly wipe down Schnee’s wound (much to her painful chagrin) and wrapped it up as quickly as she could for a makeshift bandage job.
“It’s okay, Schneee! We gotta head back and find you a medic. Come on! Help me get this mask off you, you need to breath better!” she said, and Schneeblume nodded.
She moved to remove said gas mask but Rot stood ramrod immediately when the shrieking of a shell sounded, and embedded itself close by not with a bang…
...but with a ‘pop.’
Schnee could only watch in wounded horror as true fear entered into Rot’s previously unshakable visage. A faint hissing and a white cloud began to coalesce around them.
“No… NO! WHERE’S MY MASK?! WHERE’S MY FUCKING MASK!” Rot screamed in panic instead of holding her breath.
“ROT!” Schnee screamed in return, and the only response she got was her friend grasping at her throat, gagging, frothing, and collapsing as she vomited with terrifyingly wide eyes. She coughed up blood and charred matter before rolling to her back twitching and crying out in futile begging. She said nothing… and only writhed for the remainder of her life.
Her face was now blue, and her petrified expression remained.
Schnee wailed and slammed at the muddy ground with her good hoof and what strength remained.
“ROOOOT! GOD DAMNIT! DAMNIT AAAAAAAAHH!!!”
She cried, and huffed as the pain in her hoof no longer mattered… the pain in her heart was so much more. She was now alone in a cloud of gas, with no idea of the outside world beyond her dead friends. The Anglomanes could have retaken the area by now…
...it didn’t even matter to her anymore. This was it. This was what she had prepared for.
This is how she would die: cold, wounded, crying, and alone in an enemy trench with no one to survive her.
Schnee was about to close her eyes and let whatever happen to her, happen… but she did not get the chance when she sensed movement through the toxic veil. She could only hope that the Anglomaneians would execute her on sight.
Instead, a small fire-team of Alemaneian regular infantry with gas masks and iconic steel helmets emerged, and stopped in their tracks when they found her and Rot.
“Stormtroopers! Are they dead??”
One was already on top of Rot, and didn’t need any quick analysis to make her conclusion.
“No gas mask. This one’s long gone.”
Schnee raised her wounded, bloody, coat-soaked hoof.
“Hier… Hilf mir! Bitte…”
All newcomers instantly honed in on her and waved somepony else over.
“JA! HIER! SANI!” the apparent leader, an unknown stallion, waved over. He then turned down to her and forced Schnee to face her.
“You’re lucky we found you! We have a medic! She’ll wrap you up and send you back to our lines! Your war’s done, soldier.”
Schnee didn’t have to respond, and her attention was drawn to another mask-garbed pony with a distinctive red cross on her fore-legs. She brought up a stretcher and immediately went to work with her bandages.
“Just relax for me, ma’am! You’re not alone! You will survive!”
The pain was too much, and Schneeblume blacked out as she felt her hoof being unwrapped.
Schneeblume still sat diligently in her chair, though the only difference from when she started her story, was that her eyes appeared to have run like faucets. The redness and dampness was telling, all with the accompanied, heavy sniffles as she fought to calm herself down.
This time as well, all three of the Crusaders held tear-filled eyes. None were immune to the abject horror and emotion that Schnee had just lay on them.
“I was sent back to our lines and to a field hospital, where they determined my hoof was beyond saving. So, they chopped off all the bad bits, and had me fitted for a temporary prosthetic before I could get this one in Siegstadt,” she continued, waving her hoof for emphasis.
“I was placed on a train with an open view of the quiet battlefield later in the afternoon. The destruction we wrought was… unspeakable. I was never whole after that day and that sight.
“An interesting thing happened… snow fell. Snow wasn’t supposed to happen until another month on the Seele plains. Which made it worse: it wreathed all of our dead in a white shawl, because none of us were decent enough to bury our fallen,” Schneeblume ruefully, bitterly added.
“I saw Alemaneians, Anglomanes, and Prench all helping each other out of shell holes… tending to the wounded, and just… sitting. Reflecting together. The war was over. And only after I was hauled away on that train did I soon learn of the true cost of that terrible battle,” Schnee groaned.
“Nineteen thousand ponies of all nations died that day. Not wounded and missing…
“DEAD!” Schnee yelled with enraged sorrow, slamming her ceramic hoof against the table and startling her company.
“We learned NOTHING!” she exclaimed. “We were a complete and utter failure to the fallen! Dozens of attacking and defending infantry… blown apart at once by single shells. Hundreds were mown down by machine guns. Us stormtroopers had a field day on the zeal of the defenders! And that didn't even count the wounded, maimed, nor the broken and scarred like me!
“FOR NOTHING!”
Schnee retreated into a little ball in her chair.
“They just kept coming…” her voice dipped to a whimper, referencing the machine gun incident.
“They wouldn't just stop! Why did they throw their lives away goddammit!?” she growled.
Each of the crusaders exchanged somber looks with one another, and none of them bothered to hide the misty looks in their eyes from the horrors that they had been told. How could they?
Meanwhile, Schneeblume let her posture sag and her head hang limp over her body as she continued to shake her head. This time, her sniffles and cries of anguish replaced all silence in the room.
“The trip back to Alemaneia helped me so much… but I still suffer. The dreams still come. I just want to be normal again, girls…” she pleaded.
“I miss myself… what I used to be. The innocent girl that loved to laugh and play and gossip about colts. What do I have to show for my loss of innocence? A broken body, a broken mare, and a shattered mind that will never truly heal.
“Despite the numbers I just told you, we all died. Every. Single. One of us. If we didn’t lose our lives, we lost our souls and what remained of our naive innocence. We lost everything… and I don’t know which one was worse.
“I just want to be me again.” she whispered.
Schneeblume didn’t know how long she had been crying. Her perception of time was distorted as the tears coated her eyes and clouded her vision. Still they fell into her lap and stained the chair beneath her. She didn’t care… she needed this, and there was nopony else she trusted to be this vulnerable in front of than the three sitting across.
Not the Kaiserin.
Not her Generals.
Not even her friends nor former fiance who fell in battle.
Three naive fillies.
It hurt. Every muscle and joint in her body felt like she ran three laps around the entire Southern Front. Her chest and throat burned with a righteous sorrow that refused to abate… not until she paid her final respects to everypony who fell in that battle. She did her duty to everypony else at Seele just recently…
She needed to now address herself, and her three friends seemed to know just where to start.
Sweetie Belle took the lead:
“You never did change as a pony, Schnee. Your outlook was only morphed by experience,” she stated, having already made her way in front of their host’s chair and placed her hoof on her leg in comfort.
Schneeblume looked up from behind the veil of her bangs, blinked away the fresh tears that had pooled, and found one of the more comforting sights she had grown used to over the years: all three young mares in front of her, offering their literal helping hooves.
“You’re still the same mare, hon’,” Applebloom quickly added. “I remember even last week, we still laughed at our funny times. You joked about yer family back in Alemaneia. We all talked about colts we maaaaaybeee had a crush on!”
Scootaloo rolled her eyes and presented a less-than-convinced, smug expression.
“I think it’s a little more than ‘maybe’ with you, AB…”
Schneeblume giggled. That was a fun talking night a week ago.
“But she’s right,” Scootaloo continued. “You never really did change… if that’s how you describe how you ‘used to be.’ You’ve just had a lot of… bad stuff on top of it that never let it come out.”
Sweetie Belle interjected:
“Your assertion… It’s just not true. You let yourself think you changed by everything you saw. Heh…” she awkwardly huffed. “Just from talking to you, I have a much darker outlook on some things, almost like I was actually there.
“War leaves scars and cakes on experiences that seemed to cover your true self.”
Schneeblume offered up the tiniest smirk and nudged her face toward Sweetie to call attention to her.
“And just when did you get so articulate and insightful?”
Scootaloo was ready to back that up.
“Yeah? Psh. Nerd.”
Sweetie Belle, however, was ready to prove her point.
“There, that!” she exclaimed. “That’s not the broken Schneeblume you say you are! That’s not the one who’s hiding behind false emotions! That was genuine! That endearment came from the heart!”
Schneeblume swept all three of the young mare’s grasps into the crook of her cool, right hoof. She held the three of them in a chaste but ever intimate embrace in their own way.
“I think it may be a little more complicated than that, Sweetie… but you are correct. It was genuine,” Schnee reaffirmed with an equally genuine smile.
Sweetie, however wasn’t entirely convinced.
“From where I’m sitting… I don’t think it is that complicated, respectfully. I think it’s just really, really gradual. Visiting Seele again was a huge stride in that path, though. You were wounded, Schnee… in many more ways than one. You can and will heal.” she said, smirking confidently.
Scootaloo was ready to back that up.
“I’ll say! But in the end, do you feel at least a little better when you told us all of… that?” she referenced.
Though Schneeblume averted her eyes for a split second, the answer came to her almost instantaneously.
“Yes. I do. I needed that, actually… more than you three know.”
“And that’s what’s important!” Apple Bloom weighed in again. “And I reckon I speak for all of us when we say that we’re so happy you’re letting us be a part of this very important thing in your life.”
Schneeblume leaned forward and wrapped her front legs around everypony’s necks, embracing the Crusaders as one.
“I would not have it any other way.”
There they remained in their embrace for an undetermined amount of time… but for the warmth that spread comfortably throughout their bodies and the bond that felt impossibly stronger, it might as well have been a small eternity.
Eventually though, Schnee separated and motioned to unseat herself from her chair.
“To lighten the mood, my dears… there was this hybrid flower I wanted to show you three and get your opinions on if ponies might like it! Come with me?” she asked, getting to her hooves and beckoning her friends out the front door.
The Crusaders beamed.
“Absolutely!”
“Heck yeah!”
“Let’s do it!”
All made their way to the front door… save for Scootaloo, who stopped in her tracks when she spied the shimmer of gold on the table.
Schnee’s medal called to her, and by some unknown beckoning, the orange-coated young mare swiped it off the table and held it in the crook of her hoof. She made her way to the door to follow her friends out, but her vision was again drawn to, this time, Schneeblume’s light jacket that was hanging on the coat rack by the entrance.
Scoots glanced all around her to ensure nopony was watching, and she then got to her hind legs and fed the medal through the black fabric and pinned it to the jacket lapel.
It shimmered again in the light at all the appropriate angles, and Scootaloo smiled almost nostalgically. She then delivered a half-hearted salute before skedaddling outside to join everypony else in the comfortable, outside air.
[A Few Days Later…]
With saddle bags on either side of her, Schneeblume stood directly in front of a produce vendor’s stand, eyeing all the tasty vegetables on display.
As dolled up as ever with her long mane perfectly straightened and flowing down the length of her neck, her lavender eyes scanned over what looked the most appealing. Though the sun was shining, the temperature was cooler today than it had been the entire week, so she decided to wear a light jacket. To top it all off, Schnee added a blue-flowered hairpin to keep her mane nice and formed. Though she hadn’t noticed, she had claimed quite a few interested stares from stallions and mares alike.
With her hoof to her chin, her gaze fell upon the selection of asparagus.
With a little twinkle in her eye, she hoofed a bundled stock into the crook of her leg and placed it on the stand-top, locking eyes with the blue-coated pony who would proudly sell her his produce.
“Perfect for a nice dinner with friends tonight,” came Schnee’s thick reply.
She fumbled through her coin purse and placed the posted price of a bundle of asparagus—two bits—on the table-top.
The shop-owner, however, had something to say about that:
“Two bits… but not for you,” came the soft-spoken reply from him, and he instead only swiped one of the bits while pushing the other clean, golden coin back to Schnee.
While generosity was a trait valued in Alemaneia, Schnee cocked her head all the while.
“T-Thank you, sir… ab—but whatever for??”
The middle-aged stallion pointed his hoof to the pin on Schnee’s chest that she had no idea was present… the medal from Seele.
“You come here all the time, and I never knew you were… you know. But I never charge a veteran full price. No matter how young, or what side they were on,” he said with a lopsided, genuine smirk on his face.
Schneeblume blinked, then allowed the vendor’s hoof to guide her vision to her own chest. Indeed, there rested the medal that she had no idea was pinned to her jacket… perhaps Sweetie, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo would know how it got there?
“I… I see,” she stumbled, but brought her gaze back to her conversational partner. She ignored the whispers behind her between other ponies.
“It’s not necessary, but thank you for your kindness, sir…”
He shook his head.
“No, ma’am. Thank you for doing your duty to your country.”
Schnee’s lips pursed at how genuine those words were… perhaps she was wrong about the misconceptions of ‘her kind’ in Equestria?
Or maybe it was just Ponyville.
In any case, Schnee placed the asparagus in her shopping totes, nodded to her generous produce vendor, and wordlessly made her exit.
And in another odd turn of events for the porcelain mare, a distinctly Anglomane voice interjected from just behind her as she stepped away from the produce stand.
“Excuse me, miss…” the stallion called out, and Schneeblume’s attention was garnered sufficiently.
Her ears perked and swivelled as she turned around. A few steps away she found a beige-coated, short black-maned unicorn stallion a bit older (it seemed) than her. He was garbed in a thicker black jacket that covered him up to his haunches.
Though most interestingly, those brown eyes of his held an odd sense of familiarity for Schneeblume… the held the same ‘spark,’ or lack thereof, that she would often feel about herself.
“Ja? Can I help you?” Schnee asked cautiously.
“I do please ask that you pardon my intrusion and rudeness, but I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation with the shopkeep… are you indeed a veteran of the Equidae War?”
Had this been several years ago, Schnee would have flat-out denied any involvement in that god-forsaken conflict, and shied away from contact that involved its mention. She was not ready to face her past, nor be out in the open in regards to her service to the Alemaneian Empire.
However, she had matured.
“I… I am…” she trailed off with her tone with equal amount of welcoming and suspicion.
The foreign stallion closed his eyes and nodded.
“Judging by your accent and the pin on your coat, you’re Alemaneian, yes?”
“Yes…”
He then stepped forward with an odd gentleness and hobble in his step, then presented his left hoof to her. His next words were soft-spoken and heavy.
“Tea Leaf. Fifteenth Anglomane Fusiliers of the First Army, Empire of Anglomaneia. It’s… genuinely, an honor to meet you.”
Schneeblume was stunned for a split second… not even a few years ago, this was an enemy combatant. Now, he was blatantly introducing himself to her as if it were nothing. Times certainly have changed. She had to remember that… because in her opinion, it was for the better.
She raised her left hoof to meet Tea’s.
“Schneeblume. I must admit that I did not expect to meet somepony from the ‘other side’ so soon…”
Tea chuckled with mutual sympathy.
“Nor did I, miss Schneeblume. If I may be so bold to ask, where did you serve? Perhaps we’ve… met?”
Schnee loosed a few awkward laughs.
“The ehm… the Sixth Stormtrooper Division served in many, many battlefields, sir.”
She had no intention of revealing her old division name, but it happened to slip out by habit. Subsequently, Schneeblume wanted to bury her head in the sand, as Stormtroopers were not particularly the most respected soldiers of that war…
...or so she thought.
Because instead of outright downturns of Tea’s features and backpedals of disgust, his eyes only widened, and a sparkle of enamorment glinted off his pupils.
“Oi, a Stormtrooper?!” he voiced.
Schnee braced for her rollicking of a lifetime to come.
“It’s… it’s an even greater honor to meet you, miss Schnee,” Tea added, his voice dropping to much more reserved, humbled levels.
Schnee physically recoiled her head in unadulterated inquiry. Of all the possible ways this conversation was expected to progress, this was most certainly far down her list of probabilities.
“H-Huh? I’m… sorry?” she questioned.
Tea was quick to stifle that, however, shaking his head vehemently.
“No! Don’t apologize! You lot… were the best damn soldiers on the field. You fought like lions. Right warriors, you were!” he said with a purposeful hoof animation.
Schnee was in an odd position, and she idly pawed the ground as Tea lavished her and her kin with praise that she had never once expected to hear for the rest of her life… especially from a formerly enemy combatant.
But, as out of place as it seemed, the warmth in her stomach and face told a different story.
She blushed.
And she giggled.
“Oh… well um, we were just soldiers is all. We all were,” she conceded, regaining some semblance of composure.
“Indeed,” Tea agreed with a soft smile, his angular cheeks accenting his young, rugged, look.
As broken as she may have considered herself, and perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but Schnee found him oddly endearing. Cute, even.
Though admittedly, the conversational topic could have been loads better.
“I don’t mean to continue to be intrusive but… your pin,” Tea pointed to Schnee’s chest, which drew her eyes downward toward herself. “You served at Seele.”
Schnee flicked her eyes back up at Tea and, with an expression of profound, abyssal reluctance, she nodded.
From one soldier to another, Tea understood perfectly.
“Aye… I did too.
“And…” he continued, running his left hoof over the back of his neck as he glanced away. “The reason I approached you after finding out about your service was that… I just have to ask…
“How do you do it?”
Schnee cocked her head to the right and let her lips part a few centimeters.
“Pardon me?”
“You have this aura of peace around you. You’ve clearly seen so much, done so much. After the war… after Seele. Your mere amble is of somepony light on the clouds,” he explained.
Schnee nodded, beckoning him to continue. However she felt about the conversation, she could not deny how invested she was now. Speaking with another soldier from the other side… this was not something she knew she needed in her life.
Tea, ultimately, had one question.
“And I don’t mean this in a condescending manner at all but…
“How do you live with yourself after everything?”
Those words struck deep into her blackened, but healing heart. Schnee would be a very rich mare if she had a bit for every time she asked herself that in the mirror… scrutinized her very existence at her lowest points for the ideals she fought for.
For the ponies she killed.
For the countless more she maimed for life.
Was it all worth it? Did she get anything of worth out of it?
Could one quantify some sort of bastardized meaning of ‘worth’ out of loss of life?
Could she live with herself?
But in the end, due to the help of some amazing friends of hers… she had her answer to that: Yes.
Schnee closed the distance between the two, and as she looked upon Tea’s older but still youthful face, she could see it… she could see the darkness that his features harbored and struggled to keep hidden. The bright eyes that reflected happiness but refused to let a fraction of it in. The horrors of that hell-on-earth conflict forever etched into his mind, and would live on until the day he died.
She could sense it… see it as clear as she vividly saw the aftermath of that horrible battle. Taste it as she tasted the thick iron of the blood-soaked earth of once enemy trenches.
And like that imagery, Schnee would never forget that look.
“Seele took a lot from us… from all of us,” Schnee replied, placing her hoof on Tea’s shoulder. She dared not break eye-contact.
“But peace with the world around us starts from within ourselves… and that’s our responsibility to find out how. I just got lucky with some very caring friends who gave me their ears when I needed it most,” she said.
Tea stared off and nodded, funnelling her words into his mind as he lent them heavy consideration.
“Hm. I’ve… never talked to anypony about the war, or what happened at Seele. Perhaps it’s time I change that and see somepony about it. Lord knows me mates’ve been asking me all concerned. Guess I’m not as subtle as I’d like to think I am, aye?” he chuckled sardonically.
Schnee afforded him a gentle smile.
“I can’t speak for you personally… but Tea, I know you can overcome this. If I can come back from the brink, I know anypony can.”
Tea gave her an emotion-laden smile. His eyes seemed to glisten a little more.
“If a warrior like you can do it… then hell, I know I’ve got to at least try. I just hope I can find my peace like you found yours, Miss Schnee,” he replied, and Schnee was not deaf to the sudden shakiness of his words.
She returned a determined smile and patted his shoulder.
“And I know you can. From one soldier to another, feel free to find me anytime if you need help. I definitely know some young mares that are always willing to listen those who need it most,” she alluded.
“I just may take you up on that… and next time, I’ll owe you a pint if you’re ever so inclined.”
Tea then took a step back and offered his right hoof to shake. Schnee, however, blinked as his coat sleeve rode up, exposing how his entire leg was a beautifully polished wood.
The mare’s determined smile bounced back and she offered her right hoof, letting her coat sleeve purposefully ride up her leg to expose the pristine ceramic, much to Tea’s odd comfort and surprise.
They interlocked their hooves as best as they could given the circumstances.
“Thank you… so much for indulging me,” Tea whispered.
Schnee nodded curtly.
“Macht nichts, mein Freund.”
And as they separated and Schnee watched Tea go his separate way, she beared full witness to him holding his head high. But she, again, was not deaf to the heart-wrenching sniffling… and whimpering from his turned form.
Schnee also spared a couple of tears as she watched him depart, further reminded of how deeply a useless stretch of land scarred those who were there. It was also a simple reminder that, no matter how dark they descended, there was always someone there to listen. From the deepest orifices of one’s personal hell, they could claw their way back into the light with the helping, outstretched hooves of others.
Always someone there to lend their ears to those most in need… even in the most unlikely of places, or from the unlikeliest of ponies.
Always a way out, no matter how dark.
And as Schneeblume Herbstlicht, former soldier of Alemaneia drew the side of her leg over her face to wipe the dampness under her eyes, she did little to stifle to the urge to hold her head high.
To carry herself broad and proud.
To smile.
And as she partially felt on those swaying, rolling Seele Plains that had regrown with grass and beauty… she felt a certain lightness and comforting wreath around her heart. Like the flowers that she felt so fondly for and that held special places in her heart, she could feel herself growing and blooming once more.
She felt free again.
Unbroken.
Further, she did have to remark internally about one thing: the sun suddenly seemed so much brighter today.
Though perhaps, it was just Ponyville.
[The End]
The land was scarred. The grass will grow.
The air was poisoned. The breeze will blow.
The flowers were snuffed. But they will bloom.
Life was born here. And taken much too soon.
But beauty will always return to the Seele Plains.
Ponies we marched. Not for fun.
But for Queen and glory, we trot along.
Thrust against the enemy. With nary a spat.
To die for the nation; the peace we had.
And to claim our tombs on the Seele Plains.
We were shot. And we were burned.
We also were hacked. Our guts were churned.
Screams of righteous fury. Cries of mortal wounds.
Now naught but quiet dawns. Yet death will always loom.
As our blood soaked the soil of the Seele Plains
T’was all over. No less were we appalled.
A slaughter of innocence. And now the curtain call.
From this field I limp away. So many did not.
We embraced as one. We knew what we had wrought.
For all who fought, perished on the Seele Plains.
The war was over. Not for me.
Fated to suffer nightmares, in quiet agony.
My equinity was lost. It fell in the fray.
My soul forever blackened, painfully stripped away.
As I, too, was killed on the Seele Plains.
A broken mare. A shattered mind.
Reborn a husk, with my body in kind.
Survivors guilt. Death passed me by.
I shall embrace him, when it’s my time to die.
For my body belongs to the Seele Plains.
From whence I was birthed, I shall return.
And join my fallen kin. A punishment earned.
Bring forth my end. Hasten my fall.
Cleanse my soul, when heaven’s light calls.
And I shall be laid to rest on the Seele Plains.
A life fulfilled, but with a heavy shroud.
Deserving to be forgotten, wipe away this cloud.
Those comrades of mine, let not their memory wane.
Take our fate to heart, and keep the world sane.
So I may find my peace on the Seele Plains.
