A War On Two Fronts

Princess Luna was not having a good day by any metric she could think of, except maybe that since it was now officially winter the day would be a mercifully short one. For over a month she had been fighting her way back up through Maretonia, using mostly any gear she could salvage from the dead and steal from the Griffons. She was seated in the dimly lit dining room of a small farmhouse, maps laid out on the wooden table while her aides moved through the room or chattered away on a bank of radios to different units.

The revolt in Canterlot had devolved into a full on Civil War, and the Griffons were all to pleased to side with the group that opposed Celestia’s government. Luna found herself oddly drawn to that side as well, the rumors circulating about what was happening there were remarkably tame compared to what she knew from her own intelligence assets. As she looked at the map she felt herself more and more conflicted on carrying on the fight, and as a member of the Equestrian government, she could in theory forge an alliance with anyone she wanted.

The mare shook her head firmly, chiding herself for even entertaining the thought of calling a ceasefire with the Griffons. Yet, at the same time, the option still hung in the air. Supplies were running low, reinforcements had stopped coming, and with each passing day she was forced to endure the shame that her sister brought to their family. Celestia was not a war time leader, and Twilight was not much better. Luna didn’t blame them for cracking under the pressure, but their method of dealing with dissent had ultimately made it spread like wildfire.

“Princess?” A gruff voice pulled her out of her turbulent thoughts to look at the man standing on the other side of the table, who was now pointing at the map. “We’ve narrowed down the target area to around five miles, still too large to launch any offensive with our current forces.” Thomas stated flatly, rubbing his chin. His hair was cut short, his beard clean shaven, and his helmet rested on the table. “I could take a small force in? Scout around, look for assets.”

“By assets you mean Gunnery Sergeant Turner.” Luna said flatly, her eyes staying locked on Thomas’. The man looked at the floor, a sense of guilt was apparent on his face. It had been six weeks since the incident on the road, and ever since then Thomas had been a model officer, which troubled Luna greatly. He shaved, he kept his hair short, he gave her no reason to raise her voice with him and he never argued with her plans, even when she knew he hated them.

Luna suspected it was to get her to see he was fine, that he could still command properly, and that sending him after Turner was a good idea. Thomas had been pushing for an aggressive push into the area where Woodham’s headquarters were, they had the area pretty well cut off, but ironically keeping it cut off had stretched their forces to much to attempt any assaults into the area.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Colonel…” Luna said, shaking her head regretfully. She could see anger flash briefly in the man’s eyes, but it was replaced by the mask of calm that was sometimes so good it almost fooled her from time to time. “We can’t afford to risk even a small group to release one man, I believe the Gunnery Sergeant would agree.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Was all Thomas could reply, his eyes glued to the map where he had circled the likely whereabouts of his friend. He could remember the day so clearly, watching as the man had leaped from the Marshal and gave him the chance to get away without being chased. His words echoed in his mind, the promise he’d made to look after Turner’s family weighed on him like an anvil. That weight was only made worse by the intelligence he had been getting from Equestria himself, as usual, more than Luna thought but still not enough for a full picture… Still, what he did read was disturbing.

Gwen, Sam and Paige, the newborn daughter of his two long time friends, had gotten on the evacuation train from Canterlot on the day of the invasion… When it arrived in Applewood four days later, only Gwen had gotten off. There were no scheduled stops between the two locations… What was more disturbing was the fact that thirty other ponies had gotten on in Canterlot and simply disappeared along the way. This wasn’t the only case of this happening, and there were no official explanations. Now that the Civil War was in full forces finding out just what had happened to the woman and her baby was nigh impossible.

“Thomas!” Luna’s somewhat raised voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “When was the last time you slept?” Thomas looked at the clock on the wall, then at the table with a thoughtful expression. Math had never been his strong suit… “If you need to think about it this long it was too long ago. I’m ordering you to stand down and sleep no less than ten hours before returning to duty.”

“You can’t do that!” Thomas snapped harshly, prompting the room to momentarily fall quiet. Luna stared at the man with concern in her eyes, she had known him since he’d first come to Equestria, and seeing that level of stress in the features of a usually laid back and relaxed man was unnerving. “I mean… I… I’m fine, ma’am. Just a little groggy. All I need is a good walk in the cold to warm me up, and I have one planned out-”

“Lieutenant Colonel Clemons… Please, don’t make me call the MPs.” Luna said with a remorseful tone, Thomas stared at her with his tired glassy eyes for several seconds. “I want him back as well, but you are burning yourself out… A time will present itself eventually, and when that time comes you need to be your best self, right? For his sake, and for your own.”

“I… I understand, ma’am.” Thomas relented, running a hand over his short crop of greasy hair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave.” Luna gave a slow nod and watched as the man snapped a quick salute and walked out of the room, the Princess watched him until he was gone, then sighed and looked back at the table. She knew that in time, eventually, there would come a point where she would have to make a decision on what to do. She couldn’t let Woodham escape alive, but it was likely that Turner was being held at her headquarters. She had the air power to level the entire structure, not including her own magic…

Even now, knowing that there were more humans in the world, it didn’t make the decision any less difficult. Before, the death of a human would’ve been tragic in that it reduced their population by a quarter, but Luna had come to know the Gunnery Sergeant rather well through his letters to his wife and her letters back to him, courtesy of the censor board. Killing Woodham would mean killing Turner, and the only alternative would be to risk an all out ground assault… Her eyes were drawn to the door that Thomas had left through, if she went ahead and bombed Woodham’s headquarters, Luna was certain the Lieutenant Colonel would lose what little respect he had for Equestria that remained.

That wasn’t the problem so much as what it would represent, Thomas was a well respected officer, and his word carried a lot of weight with other officers. If she lost him, she could very well loose half of her officer corps. Luna looked back at the map, focussing on the area where Turner was rumored to be held. The Equestrian lines were only around a mile from there.

“He’s a strong warrior, maybe he’ll take care of this problem for us…” She muttered under her breath. “He might need a little help, though…” Luna looked around the room for a second, until finally her eyes settled on a face that stood out. “Lieutenant Mizu…” The changeling mare looked at the princess and walked closer. “I understand there was some commotion in your regiment recently regarding Gunnery Sergeant Turner?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The changeling replied hesitantly, the commotion had come from a group of ‘Hold Outs’ that had enlisted in the wake of the destruction of the 33rd Regiment. “Apparently several of the hold outs knew the Gunnery Sergeant personally. I’ve taken action to keep them in line, however.”

“I would like to speak with them personally, I believe I may have some use for soldiers as passionate as they are.” Luna said calmly, Mizu looked slightly nervous for a moment, then nodded. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am…” Mizu replied quickly. “Sergeant Mourning Cloak is just a tiny bit abrasive, if you catch my meaning.” Luna chuckled faintly, her eyes rolling slightly as she looked over the map.

“I have a feeling that will prove instrumental in his next task… Dismissed, Lieutenant.” The Princess remarked, Mizu nodded and walked out of the room to assemble the men she had in essence ordered to permanent KP duty… This conversation would not be a fun one.

The howling wind and freezing cold was something that Turner had become used to after his first few days in captivity, his harmonica was practically unplayable for any amount of time as the spit that got caught inside would freeze up from time to time. He had ample blankets, thankfully, but not much else. Aside from that and his uniform there was little more protecting him from the cold, as the POW ‘Camp’ was more akin to a wooden shipping crate surrounded by barbed wire. That wouldn’t have been a problem so much as the machine gun crew that seemed perpetually on stand by.

Turner’s ribs ached, another reason he had taken to keeping his harmonica playing to a minimum. One or two guards found his lack of compliance annoying, and they had dished out their own form of persuasion. Holding someone’s arms behind their back is surprisingly difficult, however, and after the first few punches Turner had managed to break free. Even handcuffed he had headbutted the guard hard enough to send him to the floor. All the while, Field Marshal Woodham seemed aloof to it all. Turner only saw her when she wanted to have a glass of tea and ‘Talk’.

That was something else that Turner was familiar with, a method of interrogation developed by a German Luftwaffe officer named Hanns Scharff during the second world war. It seemed innocent enough, she would ask him about innocuous things in hopes of getting him to let little details slip. Occasionally threaten that if he didn’t tell her she’d have to turn him over to ‘Other Authorities’, it was all very elaborate. As the man sat in the crate that had been converted into a cell he could see through one of the air holes that one of the Field Marshal’s aides was approaching with a guard. His nose looked crooked, prompting Turner to chuckle and look at his fist. It had become considerably more accustomed to punching people.

The gate latch was unlocked and opened, and Turner quietly rolled his eyes as he stood up. He grabbed a wool knit cap from under the pillow of his cot and pulled it on his head. The cap was something that he had ‘borrowed’ from old broken beak out there, despite all the shit he pulled there was little the guards ever did to him. He had a feeling it was either because Woodham wanted him to feel comfortable, or because they had bigger things to worry about. On cue, he heard panicked yells and the familiar howling sound of a Conquistador as it roared past at a low altitude.

Turner simply straightened his helmet, made sure he had his jacket, harmonica, and Sam’s pictures on his person. If that plane dropped a bomb it’d mean utter confusion, and confusion was what Turner needed if he wanted to escape. Alas, for the seemingly hundredth time, there was no explosion or strafing run. Just the familiar sound of paper fluttering down through the icy snowy air and landing harmlessly on the ground. The door to the cell opened, bathing the small room with bright light. The Gunnery Sergeant shielded his eyes for a moment before walking outside.

“Hey there, Major. How’s the nose?” Turner asked sarcastically as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Major Gunther glowered at the Equestrian, wordlessly he gestured to the Griffon soldier standing behind him. “Well, let’s not keep ol’ saggy tits waiting.”

“She’s younger than you!” Gunther snapped, nervously glancing above as a small leaflet floated down between them. Turner hummed and snatched it out of the air, then looked it over for a minute before a big smile spread over his face. The man handed the leaflet to Gunther, who examined it. His face lost all color while Turner began walking with the guard towards the headquarters, whistling a cheery tune in the process, the same one that he always seemed to whistle. ‘Kingdom Comin’.

The leaflet was in black and white and bore an obvious aerial reconnaissance photograph of the compound he now stood in. The words were simple enough. ‘See you soon! Best regards, 45th Bombardment Group!’.Gunther tucked the leaflet into his pocket and quickly walked after the guard and the Gunnery Sergeant, his whistling still echoing through the walled compound. The headquarters was a large two story villa, surrounded by a seven foot stone wall. The snow had been mostly cleared away, making walking relatively easy, but it had also painted a big target on their backs.

The Equestrians never cleared snow from compounds they were using unless it was a hospital or POW camp, something that made spotting them harder considering there were no large piles of snow to give them away. Of course, they were a pain to move through, but concealing their positions while dominating the air was an admittedly good strategy. Gunther shook his head as he caught up with the guard, though he could see the other soldiers in the compound were all examining the leaflets with fearful expressions. They were cut off, and now the Mighty 45th seemed intent on paying them a visit.

Turner walked up the steps to the villa, the two human soldiers standing at the door looking at him with their usual scowls. Turner shot them a big grin as he strolled through the front door, not bothering to wipe his muddy boots before doing so and tracking thick globs of the thick cold sludge in with him. The villa was bigger than any house he’d ever seen, even the one those weird mares owned back home where he’d been called on more than one occasion. The Griffon gave him a slight shove in the back, prompting him to whirl around with his fist raised. As expected, the bird took a step back.

“Two for flinching.” Turner said before socking the griffon twice in the shoulder, then laughed as he walked the familiar path to Woodham’s favorite ‘Tea Room’. He knew he was being an ass, but if he couldn’t hurt the enemy with bullets he’d hurt them any way he could. The man shoved the doors inward hard enough that they slammed against the wall, which in turn prompted a painting hanging nearby to fall from its hook and hit the ground.

The tea room was decorated as the rest of the house… Poorly. Big fancy paintings and crystal displays, marble floors and expensive throw rugs, paintings that were probably more than any amount of money Turner had seen in his life, with the exception of Sam’s impressive estate. Gaudy furniture, annoying chandeliers, and an unnecessarily huge fireplace all coalesced into something that Turner absolutely hated. And sitting at the center of it all, at a table with two chairs set around it and a pot of tea resting peacefully in the center, was Field Marshal Woodham…

She was from Texas as far as Turner could tell, or maybe somewhere east of there, he couldn’t tell for sure as her accent was badly mangled by her often use of Griffish. Her uniform, as always, was clean and pressed nicely, a stark contrast to the stained and dirty fatigues worn by the Gunnery Sergeant. Her auburn hair was tied back in a bun, and her alabaster skin was still as smooth as ever. If she weren’t the enemy, and he weren’t married, he might’ve considered her pretty. He heard the Griffon behind him about to shove him again, then stop, prompting the man to smirk.

Turner walked through the room, only stopping to wipe his boots on the rug, as the guard closed the doors behind him. The door handles had left notable holes in the navy blue painted plaster, just as Turner had intended. As usual he snapped the woman a sarcastic salute before taking a seat at the table, leaning his dirty elbows on the table. Woodham wordlessly offered him a cup of tea, but as usual, he declined.

“So… How are you finding your accommodations?” She asked in her silky voice while pouring herself a glass of tea and taking a slight sip, Turner shrugged noncommittally. He rarely spoke during these little sessions of there, if she managed to get a sentence out of him it was usually laced with profanity. “I’ve had a rather interesting day myself, you know? I received a letter from my family, a runner managed to get it through your blockade.” The woman spooned a small lump of sugar into her tea and stirred it slowly.

“They’re quite interested in you, you know? You’re a bit of a celebrity in the Empire, did you know that?” Woodham continued, Turner let out a slight chuckle and shook his head, then rolled his eyes. “It’s true. Where I come from there is a good number of humans living together, so many we have our own region named after us…” Woodham sipped her tea while Turner moved his attention to the fireplace. “That’s not the case in Equestria, is it? No, there are only two of you still there. Well… Three, if you count your daughter. Would you like to know her name?”

“It’s either Samantha, Maria, or if my wife was feeling funny at the time she probably named her after me.” Turner replied flatly, the fact that his response lacked any sort of insult was slightly surprising to Woodham. “Either way, Woody, I know this game… It’s honestly getting a little stale.” The Field Marshal raised an eyebrow at him. “Come on, you at least know I was a cop before the war, right? You think I’m not familiar with Hanns Scharff?”

“My my…” Woodham said, sipping her tea for a moment. “That’s certainly not something I expected, no…” Turner leaned forward in his seat, he remembered just how important body language was as a key part of interrogation. Leaning closer made him appear comfortable, as opposed to leaning back which would possibly make her think he was trying to distance himself from her. Hanns Scharff was someone that he had learned about from Thomas, he had interrogated his fair share of POWs himself. “You’ve gone along totally silent for this long, I’m curious why you feel like talking now?”

“Well, let’s say I got a note from some friends of mine.” Turner said simply, grinning at her wryly. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise though, I’ll let your boy toy Gunther tell you.” Woodham’s expression remained neutral, even as internally she felt a small flame of anger at the Gunnery Sergeant’s words. She sipped her tea once again, softly sighing her annoyance into the cup. “Alright, I’ll humor you, what was this ‘letter from your family’ about?”

“Mostly questions they wanted me to ask you, strictly civilian in nature…” Woodham explained, she saw the Gunnery Sergeant roll his eyes once again. “Do you have a favorite pastime?” Turner shrugged his shoulders, his expression somewhat dark as he looked at the woman with a flat expression.

“Killin’ Griffs.” He said bluntly while interlocking his fingers, Woodham scowled slightly, one of the few times he’d seen her with an expression less than calm, neutral, or pleased. “Hunting, fishing, bullshitting.” He shrugged, before Woodham could ask anything else the door to the room was pushed open and a young man ran in carrying a scrap of paper. He snapped a quick salute.

“Ma’am, a communique from Lieutenant Kurogawa.” The man said simply, offering the paper to Woodham. She looked it over, keeping it close to her chest so that Turner couldn’t read it, even if it was in Griffish. She read it over one time, then a second, and finally a third.

“Mobilize the second regiment as soon as possible.” She said firmly, handing the paper back to the young runner. “Notify Lieutenant Kurogawa that he is not to falter in his current objective.” The runner snapped another salute before rushing out of the room and closing the doors behind him, Woodham looked back at Turner with a neutral expression. “So, it seems your forces are withdrawing…”

“How far?” Turner asked with a raised eyebrow, Woodham grinned with a predatory look in her eyes.

“Half a kilometer or so… It seems that they’ve routed from the-” She began, Turner held up a hand and began to chuckle faintly, which caught Woodham off guard. The look of joy on his face had her confused and concerned. “What?”

“I don’t wanna ruin the surprise… Didn’t your pal Kirowagga or whatever tell you about the little message you got?” Turner asked, Woodham shook her head quietly. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

As if on cue, there came several loud and panicked shouts from outside. Turner sat serenely, finally picking up the teacup in front of him and pouring himself a glass. Woodham looked above as a high pitched wail began to become audible from outside. No… It was more than one wail, at least half a dozen, possibly more. She had heard it once or twice in passing, normally when an Equestrian aircraft was providing their forces with fire support… She’d never heard so many at one time before, or so loud… As if they were all coming down straight at her. Turner sipped the tea, then held it out to the side and dropped the cup to the floor.

The first explosion was preceded by a whistling scream and the staccato chatter of machine guns. The room shook and shimmied, and Woodham jumped instinctively to the floor. Turner had been bombed plenty of times before, occasionally by Conquistadors when they got their coordinates mixed up… Hardened by his experiences he simply stood up and flipped the table to the side, towering over the sprawled form of the Field Marshal as several paintings fell from the walls. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles as he looked down at the woman, who fumbled quickly for her belt.

Turner brought one of his mud covered boots down firmly on her wrist before she could draw her sidearm, prompting Woodham to scream in pain as he pulled the weapon from her faltering grip. He racked a round in the chamber and leveled it at the woman’s head, his eyes narrowing as she stared up at him, hair disheveled and eyes frightened. He had been ready to kill her before, but that had been at a distance… Now, as he stood with her at his mercy, he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger… He had never killed another human before, Griffs and Minotaurs a plenty, but never another human.

“Fuck!” Turner growled before he reached down and grabbed the woman by the shirt, hoisting her to her feet. Before she could say anything he flipped the pistol around in his hand and whipped her in the forehead with it. She collapsed into his arms, and he quickly took the time to grab a nearby curtain rope. It had been years since he’d ever seen a Rodeo, so his rope work was a little rusty, but in the span of around two minutes he had pretty well hogtied the Field Marshal and hoisted her over his shoulders.

Pistol in hand he trudged towards the doors, the panicked shouting from outside grew louder and the doors were thrown open. A griffon entered, shouting something in panicked Griffish, the words died in his throat as Turner leveled the sidearm at the soldier’s head and pulled the trigger. He stepped over the twitching corpse, a grim look of cold rage on his face. He’d had enough of sitting around in that damn shipping crate, he had been ready to die before, if he died now so be it.

Needless to say, many of the soldiers were more focused on taking cover from the aerial onslaught. Bombs exploded all around the compound, the smell of smoke hung in the air, punctuated by the screaming if panicked soldiers. On and on, through the fire and flames, Turner marched forward like a juggernaut. Carrying the unconscious woman like a sack of flour with an audacious look in his eyes. He’d escape carrying the general or die trying.

As luck would have it he didn’t have far to travel, as the front doors were close ahead and wide open. Turner stuffed the pistol into his pocket and gripped the Field Marshal’s legs with a better grip, she was surprisingly light, barely over a hundred pounds if he had to guess. A human soldier ran through the door carrying an SMG, Turner wasted now time in swinging the unconscious form over his shoulder at him. Fueled by hatred and adrenaline his attack carried enough strength to knock the soldier into a wall, Turner drew the pistol from his pocket with his free hand and took aim at the soldier.

A pained scream filled the air as Turner pulled the trigger, kneecapping the young man with two shots, one to either knee. Turner continued walking, stepping through the front door as the planes continued to harass the compound. Parked in front of the villa was a grey motorcycle with a sidecar, laying next to it was the runner who had been struck by a strafing run. The vehicle was still running, and for the first time in the long time Turner didn’t care about functionality… If he was going out, it’d be in style.

He tossed the unconscious Field Marshal into the sidecar, every Griffon soldier was rushing to one of the walls and firing over it at what was apparently an Equestrian attack. Turner patted himself down, when he was sure he had his wife’s picture and his harmonica in his pockets he grinned and hopped on the bike. He had ridden a few ATVs and a dirtbike or two in his time, and to his relief the method of shifting gears on the bike was similar. It’s large knobby tires gripped the muddy earth as he twisted the throttle back, the engine roaring loudly as he stormed towards the Compound gate.

The Griff soldiers caught on at that point, but many of them were too astonished to do more than watch. Those that realized what he was doing and who he was taking with him began to fire, but by that point it was too late. Turner ducked low against the bike which thundered like a stampede of horses, it reminded him a bit of a Ural or an old BMW. He looked briefly over his shoulder to see that there was no one chasing him, at least… Not on the ground. His mind became acutely aware of a wailing noise getting unsettlingly close.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” Turner shouted as a stream of bullets tore up the road to his left, the snowy landscape and trees flew past at a mile a minute, and he only slowed down enough to turn onto a road that would take him south. He nearly lost control, as the road was slick with slush and he was not an experienced rider. Still, the high intensity of the incident contributed to his apparent beginners luck, as he was overcome with a sinking feeling that this only would end two ways… Now that he was free of the enemy compound, dying seemed like a much less enjoyable alternative than he originally had thought.

The wail began to come up again, and Turner had a feeling that this time the chances he’d be hit were pretty certain. He looked straight ahead of him, the wind flapping his uniform as the biting cold air stung his cheeks and made his eyes tear up. He put the bike into sixth gear and turned the throttle as best he could, kicking up slush and mud in his wake as he sped towards the Equestrian lines. Field Marshal Woodham was starting to stir as her head was being knocked uncomfortably into the side of the sidecar. Her eyes went wide and she tried to move around, but she could do little but sit and watch as the surroundings flew past.

The Conquistador lined up along the road, likely preparing to walk his strafing bullets up the road into Turner and the bike. Turner heard the rapid crack of gun fire and the whizzing of bullets as they tore through the air towards him. The man clenched his eyes and prepared for the end, but the end never came. Tentatively he opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, a smoking wreck of a Griffon Staff car lay in the middle of the road. Flames licking up the burning vehicle as thick black smoke puffed up into the air.

Turner looked to his side and saw the Conquistador was flying paralel, barely fast enough to stay above its stall speed so it could get a good look at the motorcycle and its rider. Not wanting to give the pilot a chance to reconsider, he held up a fist and gave the flyer a thumbs up. The pilot wagged his wings in response and peeled off. The ride to the Equestrian lines by road was far quicker, and within around half an hour Turner could see an E-34 tank rolling up the road with a column of Changeling infantry. Turner slowed down and eventually stopped as the tank came to a halt as well.

“God damn…” Turner said quietly, looking over at Woodham who had remained quiet during the entire ride, staring at the Gunnery Sergeant with abject surprise. “Man… Y’know, of all the shit I’ve done in this war, that was probably the first time I didn’t have something cock it up.” The man dismounted the bike as the Changelings rushed forward, Turner straightened up the Field Marshal and undid the knots. The rope had left a few nasty bruises where it had been tied, and she likely had a concussion from the pistol whipping and possibly from being used as an improvised weapon, but otherwise she was in good health.

“Well, if that ain’t the sorriest excuse for a soldier I ever saw!” A voice called out from the group, Turner glared at the Changelings for a second as one of them pushed his way through. “Y’all got a lotta nerve comin’ back here, Gunny!” Turner sniffed the air for a second and put his hands on his hips.

“Well, Jeez, I wouldn’t’ve if I knew they stacked shit as tall as you.” He said equally as gruffly, after a few seconds both the Changeling and the man broke out laughing. “Mourning, you son of a bitch!” Woodham watched as the man clenched his hand into a fist and thrust it towards the Changeling, the changeling in turn thrust his hoof out towards Turner. The two met up with a light smacking noise. “Fuck, what’re you doing here? I thought Changelings hated the cold.”

“Comin’ to save your sorry ass! We had a whole disguise planned out and everything!” Mourning replied jubilantly, his eyes turned to the Field Marshal who stood their awkwardly. Turner drew her captured side arm from his pocket and pointed it towards her, then gestured for her to move towards the changelings.

“Well, the 45th gave me a heads up of what they were planning to do. When the bombs started dropping I kinda winged it.” Turner said with a shrug, grinning from ear to ear as he gestured to the captured Field Marshal. “Sergeant Mourning Cloak, may I present to you, the highly esteemed and honored Field Marshal Linda Woodham, of the Griffish High Command.”

“Faust above, Gunny! I’m surprised you ain’t a damn general by now.” Mourning Cloak said with a grin, it had been nearly a year since the two had seen one another back in Silver Lake. Turner shook his head, sighing as two of the Changelings roughly grabbed the Field Marshal with looks of awe and glee.

“Bite your tongue, Mourning. I ain’t fixin’ to be an officer, no way, no how.” Turner looked back at the motorcycle and listened to the sound of bombardment in the distance. Quietly he reached to his pocket and withdrew one of the pictures of Sam, examining the faded and crumpled paper with a tenderness rarely seen from the man. “My wife would kill me if she saw what I just done… Let’s not stick around here too long, now. Never know what those Griff commanders are gonna do when they realize they’re down a Field Marshal.”

Mourning nodded and gestured for his troops to start heading back, Turner meanwhile hopped back on the motorcycle and began to ride alongside as many of the soldiers jumped up on the E-34 for a ride. With the photo once again tucked in his pocket Turner let out a sigh, thinking about where his wife and daughter had to be. Safe, he hoped… He could still remember her soft skin against his own, the feel of her favorite sweater, the smell of her hair or the way she laughed.

Turner let the others get ahead of him slowly as his thoughts turned to home, he recalled the first days when he had been a greenhorn Deputy and the toughest thing he ever had to do was track down a lost kid… With a few major exceptions, he noted. Solving a murder, busting up a drug ring… The very thing that had made him hesitant to fight in the first place. It had been months since he had really thought about that day, the day when he had shot an armed suspect and nearly got shot himself…

He had been torn up for months after that, but not anymore. Today he had shot a Griffon practically point blank in the face, and kneecapped a man on the ground. He’d been overcome with anger and rage in that moment, and unquenchable urge to escape or die. He barely recognized himself anymore, and he wondered if he ever made it home, would Sam recognize him either? He stayed far back, behind the column, watching as Field Marshal Woodham was taunted by the soldiers that had been sent to liberate him. He cursed himself quietly, because part of him wanted to partake as well...

The war was in his blood now, it tainted every cell in his body, every fiber of his being honed for combat. Turner briefly considered taking the captured Griffon pistol to himself, a thought he had never quite had before. Deeper and deeper, as he recalled all that he had done during the war, he felt the weight on his shoulders grow exponentially. He hated the Griffons for starting the war, for turning him into what he was, but most of all… He hated himself, for allowing it to happen in the first place.

Wherever Sam was, Turner prayed that she was better off… She had to be, right? She was safe and sound behind friendly lines, Princess Luna had said as much, and although he had some serious reservations about the Lunar regent he could say one thing for her… She was honest.

The howling wind and freezing snow was something that seemed the same no matter where one went, whether it was the steppes of the Griffon Empire or the rural plain areas of Equestria’s western region. James Ramirez of the 310th Fortgeschrittene Infanterie had hated the snow even before coming to the ‘New World’ as it was called, the California native had been hesitant to volunteer for the army, but at the prospect of serving in a unit that would be deployed mostly in Equestria he had relented… After all, Winter in Equestria was supposed to be controlled and manageable.

The column was quietly making its way along the railway leading West, several tanks and at least a company of his fellow infantrymen, all moving and securing whatever assets they could, be they railway bridges that had yet to be destroyed by the enemy or abandoned food stores that possibly had been spared the torch in the Equestrian retreat. It had nearly two months since the occupation of Canterlot had started, in that time Ramirez hadn’t fired a single shot in anger.

That, however, didn’t exempt him or his comrades from the horrors of the war. The long march west along this blasted railroad track had forced him to see things that he had never dreamed of in his worst nightmares. The rumors were abound, stories about Equestrian ‘Death Trains’ that abandoned those that were of no use or could possibly stir the dissent that fueled the raging Equestrian Civil War, casting the poor souls out into the snowy wilderness to freeze to death.

Some had been tossed from trains while they were still moving, gruesome frozen forms of broken bones and flesh were almost as common as those that had simply frozen to death in the snow. Ramirez had been shaken to his core the first time he’d encountered the of the masses of tangled bodies huddled together in an ultimately futile effort to stay warm. They were perhaps only surpassed by the civilians they found still alive, living in their abandoned towns, many close to starvation, even more dying of disease or worse… Just dying from a lack of hope.

The town that loomed on the horizon was looking to be another one of those horror shows, as a bell began to toll weakly within. They had been sighted, but a recon force had already observed the town, there were only two soldiers there from what they had seen, and they appeared to have been abandoned just like all the others. The tanks came to a halt, their engines rumbling and emitting clouds of white vapor into the cold breeze.

“Ramirez!” Shouted the man’s commander, Lieutenant Fowler, who always seemed to have it in for James. The sergeant turned to look at the tall imposing black man standing atop the third tank in the line, his hands on his hips. “Take your men ahead and enter the town, we’ll cover your advance!”

“Yes, sir.” Ramirez replied quickly as he and about twelve men began to move ahead of the tank column. The walk through the snow was slow and arduous, it seemed that Fowler had it in for Ramirez, and it felt like he always had to do everything. He wouldn’t have minded so much, if it weren’t for the fact that going into that town was the last thing anyone wanted to do… They knew what awaited them, for the most part at least… The squad was made up of six humans and six griffons, which alternated one after the other in their wedge formation.

“Alright, guys. You need to keep your wits about you, remember that… There isn’t much we can do for these people yet, not until the town is secure.” Ramirez said in a regretful tone, it was a talk he had to give every time, or else it was likely his men would be more preoccupied with trying to care for the civilians than checking their corners. It had gotten some people killed in the past in other units, and Ramirez wasn’t about to have that on his conscience. He removed his helmet briefly and ran one of his tanned hands through his thick black hair, then put his headgear back on and continued towards the edge of the town.

The first thing they noticed, as was usually the case, was the smell… The town reeked of death, decay, and waste. Ramirez looked down the line of his men, noting that several of them had pulled on gas masks to try and eliminate the stench. He envied them for that, as he had foolishly left his own mask back in his footlocker. It was likely that those here had been the old, the weak, and the young… What young were left at least.

The dead ones would likely be the old and the weak, and likely a lot of the young as well, entire towns had been found with just a handful of survivors. As Ramirez and his men drew closer they spotted the first signs of life, the two Equestrian soldiers that had been reported in the recon briefing. The came out of the town armed, and Ramirez nearly gave the order to fire… Until both stallions tossed their weapons into the snow. His heart caught in his throat when he got closer, the sunken eyes and hanging uniforms… Made loose as they had lost fat stores. They were frail, skinny, barely able to stand.

“Step back from the guns!” Ramirez shouted, and both stallions complied, albeit shakily. One of the griffons picked up the guns and held them up to be seen, both were civilian in nature. A scatter gun and a hunting rifle. “Are there more people here?”

“There were…” One of them, a pegasus, said in a weak trottingham accented voice as he looked towards the town. “Not many left now…” The stallion looked at the ground, his legs buckling while his unicorn compatriot quickly tried to catch him. “We tried to save them… We tried…” Ramirez had to suppress his emotions as the soldier repeated the same words over and over again. Like the dead civilians, those soldiers that had resisted the orders were just as common, and often times they would beg to be taken to a POW camp just at the prospect of food and a warm bed.

“Stay here with them, signal the tanks to move up. The rest of you, with me.” Ramirez ordered, gesturing to a griffon and a man before signalling the rest of his squad to move up. As they went further into town they began to see the telltale mounds of the dead buried beneath the snow, even in the freezing cold somehow the sweet stench of frozen rotting flesh could permeate the air.

“Sergeant… Look.” One of the men walking to his right said, pointing a finger towards a boarded up storefront. “I think I saw someone in there.” Wordlessly Ramirez gestured for the man to accompany him while the rest of his squad spread out to check the other buildings in the snow covered town. The tanks were rolling up the street now, drawing a few doors to open as more starving ponies poked their heads out to see what was going on. The sound that came from within the storefront chilled Ramirez to the bone, the shrill screaming of a child… Foals, as the ponies called them. “Sarge…” When he looked again he froze in place.

“I see her, Schmidt.” Ramirez said quietly, watching as a woman, a human woman, emerged from the storefront carrying a small bundle of cloth as tightly as she could. The woman had long black hair and wore a tattered wool coat that couldn’t have provided much warmth. Strips of the red fabric where instead wrapped around the infant, who screamed and hollered her lungs out as the woman approached the two soldiers.

“P-Please… Please help her…” The woman said in a rasping voice, her features stark frail. Like the soldiers, her eyes were also sunken and it Ramirez could see her ribs through the stained and filthy shirt beneath her jacket. “Please… Please save my baby…”

“Schmidt… Get a medic up here. Now.” Ramirez ordered in barely a whisper, without hesitating the man ran off towards the approaching tanks. The woman lost her footing and nearly fell into the snow, but Ramirez caught her before that could happen. She just pushed her child into his arms, sobbing as she collapsed to her knees in the snow. Without thinking he undid the buttons on his uniform jacket and slipped it off, the freezing air hitting his fatigues beneath with no mercy… Yet, here this woman was, in even less. He wrapped the jacket around the woman as he cradled the screaming child in his arms.

He used one hand to hold the baby while using his other to hoist the woman to her feet, she weighed less than one hundred pounds if he had to guess, so it wasn’t that hard. His own advice was lost on him now, the suffering had hit just too close to home. It felt like a knife in his heart, and it only twisted as the woman began to speak weakly in Spanish. He was a little rusty, he’d never given it much time on earth, but he could make out some key phrases… The one that struck hardest was ‘Gracias’, ‘Thank you’, over and over again through sobbing tears.

As Ramirez got closer to the tanks there was a notable crowd starting to form, mostly humans, though there was a fair amount of Griffons as well, all staring in abject shock as the Sergeant carried the child and mother towards the tank. One of those present, a reporter for the Griffish News Agency, snapped several photographs… At least, until a Corporal nearly knocked out one of his teeth. The woman was looking around at the ponies, all of whom seemed to be either glaring at her menacingly or looking at the ground in shame… All except the two soldiers standing to one side.

“Ramirez, you know what I told you about dealing with the lo-” Fowler began to yell as he pushed his way through the crowd. “-cals…” His tirade trailed off. Several men wearing white helmets also came forward, and the woman seemed to look at them hopefully, as she recognized what that meant.

“Jesus…” One of them said quietly, he was young and had just finished recruit training. He wasn’t green by any means, he had seen plenty of towns like this… Now, however, the suffering had a very human face. The medic approached and took the woman off of Ramirez’ hands. The other grabbed the baby and began to look her over, both with grim expressions on their faces. The woman hissed in pain as the man put a hand on her other shoulder, and upon closer inspection it was revealed the cause was several large bruises… They seemed to dot much of her arms and even her torso. “What happened to you?”

“T-They knew there were humans with the Griffons…” The woman said in a nervous tone, looking around at the ponies. “Thought I was a spy… Blamed me… H-Had to endure, I had to save her…” She looked at the child, as if she was the only thing that remained in the entire world. “S-She’ll be okay, right? She’s going to be fine?”

“Y-Yeah, ma’am…” The other Medic said, rocking the child in his arms. “W-What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Samantha…” Sam said weakly, clutching her stomach as she leaned against the medic with all her weight. “Samantha Turner…” The last few months had been hell, absolute hell, and the only reason Sam had survived was because of Autumn and Pip… She had guns a plenty, and the truck which was parked and hidden under the snow, but she couldn’t have stayed awake forever.

“Turner?” One of the men asked, she nodded weakly. “Like, the Gunnery Sergeant?” Another nod. “Jesus, Lieutenant…” He looked at the tall black man, who was still staring at her with an uncertain expression. “Gunnery Sergeant Turner is supposed to be one of their best troops, at least, that’s what the news says… They did this to his wife?”

“I didn’t want to make weapons for them anymore…” Sam said bitterly as she was carried over to the tank and put on a stretcher. “I wanted the war to end, but they already had my factories… I was a liability... And for that…” She gestured around the town. “They left me here, with thirty others…”

Ramirez looked around at the assembled troops, except a good portion of the men were now seeming to storm towards the ponies. He didn’t care what this woman had done, he would’ve done the same thing for the Empire, and that sentiment was shared among the ranks of his squad. The medic handed the woman her child, who was surprisingly well cared for, except for a slight case of diaper rash. It seemed the woman had put every resource she had into protecting the little girl at great cost to her own health.

“I have family heirlooms…” Sam said quietly, looking at the soldiers as the medics lifted the stretcher. “Guns… My husbands truck… Please, I beg you, don’t take them… Some of them have been in our family for over a hundred years. They’re all I have left...”

“You have my word, ma’am… No one is gonna lay a hand on them that isn’t supposed to.” Fowler said quietly, the woman smiled weakly as she and her child were carried towards a supply truck marked with a medical symbol. “God almighty…” The man put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground with a scowl. “Ramirez.” The Sergeant almost audibly sighed, fearing what would happen next.

“Take a detail, check every house for any other survivors… Get the woman’s things together, I don’t know if Command will let her keep them or not, but assume yes.” Fowler looked around the town, his normally angry exterior softening to one of sadness and anger. “After that… Burn this place to the ground.” Ramirez clenched his jaw tightly and gave a firm nod, he had no shortage of volunteers for that job.

The man that had snapped the photographs was quick to gather up his camera and make his way to the radio car in the back of the tank, even as his jaw was in some serious pain. His mission wasn’t just to tell the news, but to find things that could be used to bolster morale back home, or diminish the morale of the enemy…

He had found both in those few snapshots. The image of a Griffon Army soldier carrying a beaten and starved woman and her child through the snow was sure to enrage the populace, get them to buy more war bonds and continue the fight. Additionally, leaflets could be dropped on enemy positions with the image saying ‘This is what you’re fighting for?’. He could see it all unfolding in that instant, for once it was the Griffons that would have the upper hand when it came to propaganda… Yet another nail in Equestria’s coffin.