Feind vor den Toren

by EliasWarship

Rating: mature
Tags: Sad, Nightmare Moon, Original Character, Science Fiction, Other, Profanity, Gore, Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 5530

The sudden appearance of the Equestrian Kingdom on Earth shocked humanity, but nobody would suspect the horrors this small, bright kingdom could create.

1944

The Equestrian Empire has the last of the world's armies in a death grip. The Armée de l'humanité is thought lost, destroyed, but no one has given up hope.

Especially after unexpected help falls right into their hands.
________________________________________________________________________________

I am an infant in the writing world, so please, bear with me. Constructed criticisms are encouraged, anything to help me improve.

Published 2019-08-02 10:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-12-13 00:57:43 UTC

Terms and Conditions

Author's Note

Hello! This is my first big project I've had the inspiration to keep rolling with. As I said before, criticism is encouraged, and any grammatical errors could be pointed out. I proofread everything myself, cause I can't be bothered to have other people do it for me.
Thanks, and hope you enjoy!

~EliasWarship

Terms and Conditions

Hauptmann Hans Orwitz curled up in the small cot that had become his bed for the past three years. The cold air whistling through the cracks in the small field hut a fair distance behind the main trench made him shiver, despite his thick wool blanket. A bright moon cast many shadows across the crudely constructed walls of the hut, the clouds shifting and bending them into distorted figures. He turned over and sighed, looking up to the large orb in the sky. The war with the small, pastel-colored ponies was a long, brutal, and losing battle. It lasted only four years, and the enemy already surrounded the last tattered threads of humankind in France. A mixture of several different armies from several different countries had been gathered as a final stand against these seemingly harmless foes, to no apparent avail. True, they had held them off for the first year or so, but it seemed that they began to get their wits about them, for the last two had been a slow retreat to their doom.

His small division, the 31st Grenadiers, was no more than a company in numbers, being the most veteran division under German command. Its small size, sadly, was due to the fact that there just wasn't enough manpower to go around, leaving little for replacements. The only recruits available to him were under-trained, under-aged men straight from the barracks, only aging 17 and 18. They were young, but what Hans got was what he had, so there was no room for complaint. He still hated sending the youth to preform such a task. The 31st, though small, was part of the largest defense force in the Armée de l'humanité. He was surprised he was still in command of such a small group, or that it wasn't absorbed into a larger unit, like the neighboring 52nd. Command had assured that more individual command could lead to more maneuverability on the battlefield, due to more individuality and singularities in command. Hans wasn't sure to what extent that was true, but he was in no position to argue with High Command, even if it cost him his division. Or his life. Hans never had a good glimpse of what these ponies looked like, as he was always behind the trenches, but from what he had seen, and what he had heard from others, was that they were a species similar to that of the ancient legends of unicorns and pegasus. Though, unlike the story books read to children by their parents, these magical beings could wipe once was thought to be the most powerful and intellectual species in the universe off of the globe. It was quite strange, really. These small, adorable creatures of fairy tale, were out for blood.

He had been visiting family in Dresden on one of his rare leaves when the first invasions began. It was rather silly at first. For three years prior to that time many peace negotiations, and the subsequent secret alliances guaranteed for an up and coming threat, had come and gone, all unsuccessful. Not only were any sort of negotiations were unable to be discussed, but there were severe, and very obvious, language barriers in every culture. Spanish, French, German, English, Russian. All were attempted, none even came close to the strange tongue of the ponies. This was one of the running theories over why they had declared total domination. Some pomp-and-circumstance politician said something that sounded like something else and that had made them aggressive.

So when the pastel aliens armed only with Spartanist weapons and armor of spears and gladiators rushed the beaches of France and Spain, many were caught off guard. Many supposed the various coastal fortresses would stop them. Machine guns, large artillery, and the many weapons created by man were pushed aside like toys. Bullets of the largest caliber, including Browning's 12.7mm heavy machine guns, were impervious to the huge, multi-hued bubbles encasing the armies. The only artillery pieces seemingly capable of doing any sort of damage, even then was barely noticeable, were the British 16-inch naval guns. Only three instances of penetrating these bubbles had been reported,

A small creak interrupted his thoughts. He reached over, quickly grasped for his Luger, and ignited the oil lamp on the nightstand next to his bed. He looked to the door, the pistol soon followed, and the shock left him after only a second, replaced only by annoyance. In th now open door stood a tall, slender figure. Its coat was black as the sky outside, and its dark blue mane shimmered with the stars, flowing from its body like water. It adorned a suit of armor that looked to be made of some sort of refined, sparkling obsidian. Small crescent moons adorned the armor in several places. On top of its, her, head, was a horn about as long as a rifle bayonet, maybe longer. On her sides were two black, feathry wings, now somewhat flared in intimidation. This, Hans presumed was some sort of hybrid between the two enemy species. Whether that was an acceptable thing in their society was a mystery to him, but that was beside the point.

Besides her horn and wings, and any other detail than made her more otherworldly than she already was, were the glowing, deep-turquoise eyes that looked at Hans with some blank enigma he wasn't able make out. Her pupils were nothing but black slits, like a cat, or a snake.

"Hast thou accepted my offer, Sir Hans?" She asked, the very old dialect gave Hans pause as he deciphered her words.

"Shouldn't someone as, hmff, regal as you make yourself out to be have some sort of courtesy?" Hans replied bitterly, replacing his trousers with some difficulty under the sheets. "A knock would have been more than enough, I assure you." He got up, put on his boots, replaced his under-shirt, then his jacket, and finally, sat the round cap atop his head. He looked to the moon, the figure of the unicorn he had come to know over these past weeks (maybe months, who knew?) pulsating faintly on its surface. He then look back to the hybrid that called herself Nightmare Moon. 'What a strange name...' He thought briefly, before she asked him again.

"Hast thou considered my offer?" She asked again, annoyance clearly dripping from the question as her eyes narrowed.

"I have, Princess." She scowled at Hans' remark, but said nothing more. "But it is impossible to provide you with what you desire. A living human being as a vessel cannot be spared for the defense of humanity, furthermore-"

"Thou refuse to spare one of your warriors for other reasons I presume. Besides, even if thou were to spare even one of those... creatures," She waved a hoof in a manner replicating disgust. "It would never do. Your kind does not hold the magic that I seek. And I believe I have informed you of this on several recent occasions." She interrupted. She began to transition from her old dialect, turning into something Hans could understand a little better. Frustration bubbled up in his throat. He only barely contained it as he spoke.

"Do not refer to the brave men out there in such a way. You have no right, and have seen none of what they have." His face had turned red, and he was on the verge of shouting, but calmed himself, and straightened his jacket. "As I was saying, furthermore, I have yet to find a living example of your pony species for you to inhabit. They make it quite difficult, you know. Though I still don't see why you need a vessel, such like a demon. You have form, and you clearly have the ability to interact with your surroundings." Hans said.

"It is true," She said raising a hoof to her chest. "I have both form and figure, and can manipulate the world around me, but the power I promised you cannot be harnessed to its full extent, especially on this world, where there is, again, little to no magic to speak of. I am only but a mere shadow of what I could really be." She grit her teeth. "Again, I believe I have informed you of this already."

As she spoke, Hans secured his belt to his waist, and began fingering his pistol, looking at its gleaming polish. It had never been fired, and never had he intended to do so. To him, it was but a symbol of rank, nothing more than the badges and stars on his uniform. He looked back at the, comparatively, small mare standing next to his cot, and holstered the weapon.

Hans considered the deal he was striking with this creature, this devil, and thought of the great advantage it would bring to his army, and all it would take was one of the ponies to have such power. The strategist in his head began spewing the benefits of such an ally. An actual advantage over the magical beats beyond. They could finally compete, and maybe save themselves in the long run.

The voice was hushed quickly by the member of reason. What if she immediately turned her back? What if an army of shadow demons sprouted from the ground at their agreement? What if she was just a spy?

Another voice piped up. If she were a spy, she made quite the image for herself to be identified as. If the enemy was as powerful as it was, why hadn't she done away with him and his division yet?

Still not facing the Equine, he began his probe.

"If I am to strike such a powerful deal, how am I to know you are not with the enemy? You say you are a defector, but for what reasons and what gains? What made you leave your own species, and strike up with the weaker enemy?" He said, clasping his hands behind his back, holding his leather gloves while rocking back and forth on his feet.

He was met with silence for a time. For several minutes, the only sounds were distant explosions, crickets, and the whistling wind. Sounds he had grown accustomed to after these four years. The minutes began to drag on, leaving Hans somewhat nervous. For what reasons he knew not. He jumped a little bit as he noticed the mare's strained breathing, and a small plip of water hitting the floor. Upon turning around, he was met by a sight he never thought he would see.

Nightmare Moon, Rightful Ruler of Equestria of Nighttime Eternal, sat, slumped down on the floor. Her head hung low, and the mane that obscured her face had lost some of its fervency. Hans looked down at the small puddle on the floor, shimmering in both the lantern and moonlight. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, and every now and then a shudder would wrack her body.

Hans was shocked, to say the least. Much to her credit, Hans had been presented with the image of a benevolent war goddess. The armor, stern voice, stoic posture. The air around her seemed to radiate with the energy of a determined warrior. That veil had quickly been ripped away. The armor of her confidence shed. She was vulnerable, but she didn't seem to care in the slightest.

"A-are you alright? " Hans asked, kneeling down. He didn't have much else to say on the matter. What other human had dealt with a weeping alien from another world entirely?

"You want to know my true intentions. Why I fight the Royal Sisters. Why I despise them with every ounce of this pathetic body. So be it." Her voice was a low grumble as she lifted her head to look at Hans. Fear rushed through his veins as she stood her full height, and flared her large wings. The action took up the entirety of the small room, and quickly towered over Hans' kneeled form. Her eyes suddenly glowed a blinding white, and Hans shielded his eyes.

"W-what are you-" He didn't finish,as the blinding light soon enveloped him, followed by a crashing wave of darkness and sorrow.

Voice, France

Author's Note

Chapter two, Hell yea! Hope you enjoy, and lemme know if there's anything I need to work on.
Cheers!

~Reichmeister

Voice, France

The French town of Voice was silent. Dusty winds billowed through the streets and rustled the trees. Shutters clattered against long-shattered windows and doors squeaked on rusty hinges. Distant artillery thundered, shaking the very air and the Earth beneath it, making an oddly comforting atmosphere. Rubble and shattered wood littered the cobbled roads, and dark stains had seeped between the cracks in the stones. Piles of rubble scaled down away from the houses, and all was still save for the black rod of iron swinging to and fro ever so slightly.

"You sure the mag's full Al? Feels a little light." Came a concerned voice, echoing off of the surrounding buildings. The metallic sounds of a gun being loaded almost drowned out the voice.

"Sure of it Wimp. You can thank the Brits for the weight. What with them usin' .303 instead of .30-06." Responded another voice with a chuckle.

"Whatever you say Al."

"Would the two 'u ya shuddup? What point a' 'keep quiet' do the two 'u yus not understand?"

"Oh what difference does it make Bag? We're all probably dead anyhow." The voice belonging to Al responded, a hint of irony laden in his tone.

"I don't know about you Al, but I'd at least like to live as long as I can, so could you please shut the fuck up." Someone growled from within a crater in the road.

The metallic shhk of the bolt racking on Wimp's Bren silenced everyone around. "Loaded." He whispered loudly.

Scoffs, sighs and chuckles filled the air at this. Winfred Pierce, or as his friends called him, Wimp, was still quite green in terms of combat experience. He was only eighteen, and since his recent birthday was only a runner, nurse, and just an odd hand around the division. In simple terms he was the 22nd Marines adopted son. His dark brown eyes had always burnt with an excited fire, and his short, shaggy brown hair had almost blended him in with the rest of the squadron. Winfred's appearance was sudden, and he was only fourteen when the 22nd had found him. He had no family to speak of, and no one ever considered bringing it up. He had proven himself since then, and this was to be his first engagement.

Alton Dial, Al for short, was the closest to a father figure Winfred had. More of an older brother if anything. He had, relatively, short, brown hair, and green eyes. A pacifist at heart, he wanted to become a priest before the war. He had never gotten the chance, and instead became a corpsman for the 22nd. The red cross on his helmet had long since faded away, and the only recognizable emblem denoting his hospitality was the white bandana around his arm adorning the cross and a similar banner hanging from his pack.

Bag was a mysterious character. He hailed from the Highlands. So he said, but nobody quite knew for sure. He was quite good on the bag pipes, respected by those who didn't even like the shrill instrument, hence his name. Matted, fiery red hair and green eyes betrayed his origins from miles away, and his accent did him much less of a favor. Freckles dotted his face, and he burned easily in the sun.

"You remember how to fire that, right?" Al asked, looking back to Wimp with a knowing smile. Wimp hesitated before answering.

"You... uh... you hold the trigger and pray?" He said, uneasily. He put on a lopsided smile before looking at Al, an eybrow raised above the lip of his helmet. Wimp look back away from him, chuckling nervously.

"No son, sprayin' will just waste ammo. You gotta fire in bursts." He imitated shouldering the machine gun, and kicked his shoulder back periodically. "Get what I'm saying?"

"So like this?" Wimp asked, squeezing the locked trigger. After a short time, he released it, and squeezed down on it again. He did this for a few seconds more before Al laughed softly.

"There ya go, son. That's more like it." he patted his shoulder and looked over the top of the mound they sat behind. "Keep that in mind, cause I think we've got company." He shook the shoulder his hand was resting on and pointed to a hill beyond the streets of the town. Wimp followed his gaze and looked down the road.

Down the grassy hill came a figure. It was sprinting towards their position and holding down the helmet atop its head to keep it steady. Soon, the clatter of the soldier's equipment could be heard over the wind, and his boots scraped on the stone beneath. Heads peeked up from their hidden positions, much like moles coming up from hiding. Green helmets soon dotted along down the road, and faces of all kinds waited expectantly for the news to come. The approaching figure began to make gestures with his hands and arms as he ran, his slung rifle bouncing wildly on his shoulder.

"Yep, like I thought. Keep that gun down the street, and don't shoot until allowed to, yeah?" Al said.

"Yes sir." Wimp replied, nodded quickly. Al patted his shoulder once more and ran to the Marine. They exchanged words swiftly and Al returned to his position beside Wimp. The Marine ran by them quickly and began shouting jut loud enough to be heard over the wind, but not too loud.

"What now?" Wimp asked, lifting the lip of his helmet to be able to see Al squatting next to him.

"We wait for 'em. Remember, don't shoot until you're told. Don't matter how close they get, hold your fire." The young gunner nodded again, flicking the safety of the Bren and shouldering the heavy gun.

The jingling of cartridges of racking of bolts filled the air for a time as the Marines prepared themselves for the coming attack. Soon enough, however, the only sound was that of the ever present wind skating between the buildings and whispering into each man's ear. It was rhythmic and comforting, if cold.

It came slowly, almost blending in completely with the wind. But it was there. It was an indescribable sound, but its source was obvious. It was a sort of clattering march. Metal jingled and hooves stomped upon the ground. It soon came over the wind, turning into a deafening rumble. The ground seemed to tremble with the force of the approaching force. Pebbles and rocks fell from their mounds and clicked along the roads. All who were present were wide-eyed and anxious. Wimp especially, who began to grip the handle of the Bren just a little harder. It was coming quickly and soon the army would charge over the hill and swarm their position.

And just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Again, only the wind filled their ears. Only this time there was no comfort behind the whistling song. Only anticipation and anxiety. The silence only served to let the minds of the Marines wander. How would this force decimate them this time? How far would they retreat? Could they even retreat? Where was the nearest friendly encampment? The thoughts were flushed away quickly as a bell was sounded somewhere beyond the crest of the hill. This caused all rifles to be turned towards the general direction.

A single spear tip rose above the hill. The point was a reflective black that seemed jagged. Just under this point was a large, fluttering flag. It was a dark blue, almost black square of free-flowing silk. Adorned on it was a white crescent moon, bisected by a gold war axe. The sight of the flag made Al's blood run cold.

"God damn..." He hissed.

"What is it Al?" Wimp whispered, concern deep in his voice and embedded in his features.

"It's the God damn Night Guard." He said angrily. Before Wimp could ask of the significance of the 'Night Guard,' Al was already running into a nearby house, daring not show himself to the approaching enemy. Turning away from where Al had run, Wimp returned to watching the procession ahead of him. The wielder of the spear had already crested the hill, and was perched atop it, surveying the town. After a time, it turned to look behind it, and made a motion with one of its hooves. Another twenty of the Equines rose the hill, armed with spears, and stood to the left and right of the color-bearer.

W-what's going on? What are they doing? Wimp thought, nervously shifting the Bren.

The troops began their approach.

_*_*_

Dark Spear surveyed the small town ahead of her. The top of the hill was quite the vantage point, and was surprised she hadn't been attacked from there. The village had long-since been reduced to ruin, and was vacant for a time already. Subsequently, she expected no resistance here, but orders were orders. And besides, who was she to pass it up if there was a good fight to be had?

Dark Spear was a fighter at heart, and considered herself an excellent leader. She took orders from superiors without question, and her bravery knew no bounds. She had conquered most of the Medeeteranan continent with her 3rd Legion., and was promised a large estate in the Eastern settlements after humanity had been squashed. Her command was brought mostly from her role in the Court of the Royal Sisters. Her family had a long history of nobles, and she was to be the first to lead a Legion.

Her appearance was common among the bat-pony race. Grey fur, and a mane and tail a vibrant shade of purple. Her frame was sleek and nimble, and her leathery wings showed nothing but speed and intimidation. Her teal eyes, also common with the Night Guard, were divided by a serpentine slit.

"Shaded, Razor, collect your troops and prepare for picket duty." She said, looking at the amassed infantry behind her. The two in question saluted and began shouting orders.

She looked up to the 3rd Night Legion, and felt her heart race, as it always had in the Night Guard. Thousands of gleaming, obsidian-clad bat-ponies lined in their respective squares, ready to take orders as they came. Most were veteran, having stormed the pitiful human world, but many were still green, and fresh from the homeland.

From the Amereecan continent to Aseea, the Ponies were slowly expanding their borders across the vulnerable and easily exploitable humans. It was much easier than thy had expected, and was much of a surprise when they learned of their inability to preform magic. All they had were swords, spears, and strange explosive devices that seemed to throw small pieces of metal at range. These machines were devastating to the flourishing race. At first.

As soon as word had spread of the weapon, Equestria's best mages were on the hunt for a new barrier spell that could counter such powerful opposition. It was a quick and easy fix, and at the year's end they were no match and every Legion was to have at least thirty unicorns that could preform the spell. It was cheating in Spear's opinion, but orders were orders.

Shaded Dusk and Razor Edge trotted up to the left and right of Dark Spear respectively and scanned the town. Soon after was the jingling of the picket force rising next to their comrades. The two stocky stallions flanking her were, unlike her, not of nobility. It was a shame, for she would have easily fallen for either of them were it legal. However, they were extremely experienced in battle and were willing to give Dark Spear their opinions on military affairs. Something many were unwilling to do.

"Ready to advance at your word, Legate Spear." Came Shaded Dusk's baritone voice.

"Thank you, Tribune Dusk. Let us advance quickly. I do not wish to spend more time here than necessary.

_*_*_

"You gotta send that to HQ sarge'." Came Al's distraught voice. He was standing in the makeshift tent that was the command center in the rear of the town. His played with his helmet in his hands.

"What's so special 'bout this 'Night Guard' anyway?" Sergeant Duke Willis asked quizzically. "Makin' 'em out to be some sort of Stormtoopers." He passed a piece of paper to the radioman behind him.

"That's exactly what these guys are sarge'. They're savage. Thy don't have any o' the unicorns and just use hand-to-hand. And man is it brutal." Al said, fiddling with the straps in his lining.

"How do you know all this exactly? An' how come I ain't heard of it?"

"I don't know sir. They're the ones that took our country away from us. I just remember them decimating my home town. They took no prisoners, sir."

Duke was about to respond when machine gun fire tore through the air. The slow staccato the British machine gun echoed all around.

"Damn fucking kid!" Al shouted, sprinting away from the tent.

_*_*_

Wimp watched the Equines approach. The color-bearer was clearly some sort of authority, having been the most talkative walking down the street. None of the troops broke rank, they all walked the road in two columns, six deep with the leader taking up the center-front. The closer they got, the more his stomach tingled, and a growing urge to chop them down built within him. The closer they got, the slower time seemed to pass.

He began to study them, having never gotten a close look at them before. Their armor seemed to replicate older Roman armor, but he was no expert. It was made of a black, very reflective material. No stains adorned any of the Equines. No blood, mud, nothing. It was as if they had never seen a proper fight before, but from the way Al had reacted to seeing them, he wasn't so sure.

The line stopped, and the leader looked around quickly. The flag that waved upon the spear disappeared with an audible pop. The spear was lowered and the troops behind it suddenly spread out to envelope the whole of the street, spears trained ahead. Wimp watched this all the while, machine gun still and trained to the center of the group. Looking back to the leader of the group, he was met with a deep, serpentine gaze. He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger, letting loose a hail of bullets.

The magazine was quickly emptied down the street and pink mist flew into the air. The report of the gun echoed through Wimp's ears, it almost masked a dull ringing in the back of his head. When it passed, he opened his eyes and looked at the carnage ahead of him. None of the Equines were left standing. All had dropped to the ground, and were in some state of injury. He was suddenly jerked from his prone position behind the rifle by his collar.

"What the fuck did you do?" A dull, faded voice asked.

It took a moment for the question to register, but when it did, anxiety wracked his body.

"What the fuck did you do son?" Al asked again, dropping him. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. He looked down the road, then up to the hill. A thought crossed through his head. He turned to the nearby crater to where Bag and several other men lay, wide-eyed.

"All of you, come help me nab some of these horses!" He said. He was met with silence. he glanced towards the hill again. "Come on!"

"What the fuck for?" Bag asked, stroking his rifle stock nervously.

"Cause I'm a corpsman and that's what I fucking do!" Al responded loudly.

"I'll help." Wimp mumbled loudly, running forward. Al looked back to the men in the crater before running over to the injured Equines.

Most of them lay still, no breathing, no pulse. Nothing. The color bearer and a rather muscular soldier breathed with raspy lungfuls of air.

"These two." Al gestured to them, and began to procure bandages from his pack. The color-bearer had minor injuries, though several bullets had torn through its legs. The bulkier one, however, had taken several hits to the chest and legs. Blood seeped from his mouth. Al turned to scold Wimp, but thought better of it. That could be done later.

"God damnit Al! Get outta there!" Al looked back to the crater the shout had come from when a spear landed not three feet from his left. "Shit! Wimp grab the smaller one! Lets get the Hell outta here!" His sentence was punctuated by suppressive fire screaming right into the face of the army now marching down the hill. "Grab its back legs!"

Wimp could only nod and do as told as more spears began to whizz from the hill. The Equine was heavy with its equipped armor, and the two men struggled with their burden.

Bag saw this and turned to George Murdock to his left. "Let's go." George nodded and the two leapt from their cover and raced to help the two men. Before they got half way, however, the sound of a Jeep's horn blasted away behind them. "What the fuck?" Bag said, turning to look at the Jeep bouncing on the ruined street towards them. A man stood atop the back seat, waving those in its way to move.

The Jeep skid to a stop in front of Wimp and Al anf the man standing quickly jumped down from where he stood. Someone stood in his place and opened up with the .50 mounted on top.

"Quickly now, quickly." He was a German officer, and he seemed anxious. Excited even. He rushed over to help the two men and hefted the Equine to the floor of the Jeep, .50 brass clattering off of its armor. They all ducked behind the vehicle after the chore was done. "Were there any others?" He asked. Al only looked into his crazed eyes.

"Just a really bulky one. I say its about three hundred pounds with all the armor. He probably won't last much longer" Wimp said.

The officer seemed to droop a little at this, but immediately perked up agian, looking over to the unconscious Equine.

"No matter, this one will do. We have provided trucks for your squadron here and you are to evacuate post haste."

"Won't have to ask me twice." So replied, running back and rallying the men out of their homes. He quickly formed a crowd behind him.

Wimp stayed for a time, listening to the spears strike stone and warble away.

"What'll ya do with that?" Wimp asked the German now clambering into the Jeep.

"She'll save the world my friend." The officer replied as Wimp followed him into the Jeep.

"I'll just hitch a ride to the trucks." Wimp said cautiously. He felt strange about the sudden appearance of the mad-doctor-like man before him.

The Equine stirred, and the officer reached down and touched it. The movemeny stopped, and Wimp swore he saw something mive from the officer's hand.

"W-what's your name?" Wimp asked. He shifted as far to the edge od the seat as the small car would allow.

"Hans Orwitz. Hauptmann Orwitz. Private Winfred Pierce, yes?" He replied, a enthusiastic grin on his face.

"Y-yeah. How'd you know?" He hadn't even registered that he was speaking to a superior.

"Just a knack. Now, here is where we part ways, Private." The Jeep stopped, and Winfred made no hesitation. As soon as he stepped off, the Jeep sped away,and he sprinted for the now loaded trucks.

"Let's go Wimp! Time's wasting!" Al shouted, pulling him into the truck. "You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine."

"What was up with the Kraut? Just kinda came from nowhere huh?" Came a voice.

"Yeah, seemed real interested in that horse too." Said another.

Soon, the truck was abuzz with chatter as they pulled away from the town. Glimpses of the Equine's shiny armor could be seen as they sped away. They would never catch up, and if they did they'd be easy targets.

"'ja talk to the Kraut?" Am leaned over and said, knocking Wimp from his stupor.

"Yeah. Not sure about the mental state of that guy. Said that the horse was gonna 'save the world.'"

"Huh." Was all Am responded with, letting it sink in as the truck rumbled on.