My Honour and My Fatherland

Chapter 4: The War to End All Wars

A tear trails down Pinkie Pie’s cheek, all that remains after crying for days. Seven if she remembers right. That’s how long it’s been since Jean fell out of the window of the hospital. She still remembers the thud when he hit the ground, and the image of him lying naked and motionless has been etched into her mind.

She carefully places her hoof on his hand, petting it gently. It feels hot, and the few hairs on it tickle her hoof.

She hasn’t moved from his bedside, refusing every time a nurse, doctor or guard tried to move her. She wants to be here with him, to try and comfort him, even if he’s not aware of her.

Her friends are in the room along with her, all her dearest. Even Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash are here, with Fluttershy’s nose still bandaged from when Jean broke it, and Rainbow with bandages around her head. Turns out Twilight was right: Rainbow did get a concussion.

Fluttershy’s sitting on the other side of the bed, mirroring Pinkie’s move by having her hoof on Jean’s shoulder. She’s gently cooing, humming a tune for him like she would a wounded or sick animal in her care.

Her other friends are talking in the background, but she isn’t listening. She’s more focused on Jean’s comatose form, but she does pick up the occasional word: Princess Celestia and Princess Luna being frequently mentioned.

She hears the door to the room open, making her briefly turn her head to see who enters.

“Princess Celestia? Princess Luna?” Sure enough, it’s the two royal sisters of Equestria who’s entered. Princess Celestia smiles kindly in her motherly way to everyone present, while Princess Luna has a far more serious look on her face.

Oh well, her friend’s will tell the princesses about what happened. She turns her attention back on Jean, continuing to gently pet his hand.

Conversation between Twilight and Princess Celestia is heard, but also the sound of hooves approaching behind her.

“He looks so peaceful, doesn’t he?” She hears Princess Luna say behind her. Pinkie merely nods in response, “Yup, like a normal, everyday pony almost.” She says, ending with a saddened sigh.

“Yes… if only his dreams were the same.”

“His dreams?” Pinkie turns to Luna, confusion in her face. Luna appears sad as she looks at Jean, a look of pity in her eyes.

“I’ve been watching his dreams, trying to bring him good ones but… they always turn into horrible, terrible nightmares.”

“Of what?” Pinkie’s curiosity is peaked.

Lune looks down a moment, then at Pinkie, “I will not tell you.”

“What? But why not?”

“Please understand, Pinkie Pie, that if I believed you could handle it, I would. Even then, to try and describe it is… is impossible with words.”

Pinkie turns and walks up to the moon princess, gazing into her eyes, “What do you mean, princess?”

Luna hesitates, her eyes darting everywhere, eventually settling on her older sister. Celestia gives her a reassuring smile, followed by a nod.

Luna gives a little smile in return, nodding as well.

“I mean,” Luna turns her gaze back onto Jean, who winces briefly before returning to his still state, “to describe it to you would be like trying to explain colour to a blind pony: I can do my very best to describe it, but they would never truly grasp or understand it. And in this case, I would not want you to.”

“Please, Princess Luna,” Pinkie places her hoof on Luna’s shoulder, “I wanna understand why he’s in so much pain. I wanna understand so I can help him… please.”

Luna sighs deeply before casting a look around the room, “Do others share this sentiment?”

Twilight’s the first to nod, “I can’t pass up the chance to see an extraterrestrial’s dreams, what we could learn is limitless. Besides, I wanna try and understand him too, and get some insight into his world.”

Much to everypony’s surprise, Fluttershy speaks up next, “I’d like to know too.”

“Are you sure, Fluttershy?” Luna asks, “A gentle pony such as you should not have to see- “

Fluttershy holds up her hoof, halting Luna’s warning, making her, and the others, look very surprised, “I know, Princess Luna, but I want to try and understand so I can help him too. I can’t let him be in pain and not try to help.” She finishes with a smile, making Luna sigh before she turns to the remaining two element wielders.

Rainbow is about to speak up before Applejack interrupts anything she would have said, “Ah don’t think Rainbow should go inside Jean’s head, what with her own bein’ all busted up ‘cause o’ him. Besides, me and Rarity would rather stay outta there.”

A nod from Rarity confirms her stance on the matter.

Luna looks to her sister, whom merely nods and maintains her gentle smile, making her sigh, “Can I not convince you otherwise?”

“Please, princess. I wanna understand. I need to.” Pinkie pleads with a desperate expression.

“I cannot guarantee you will understand, Pinkie Pie… but very well. Gather around.” Princess Celestia, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie and Twilight all gather around Luna as her horn begins to light up, sending the ponies into a slumber, before she touches her horn to Jean’s forehead, thus sending the ponies on a journey into his dreams.

Or, rather, his nightmares.

* * *

Jean is standing in front of a white tent, surrounded by hundreds of other, similar coloured tents. The sun isn’t up yet, casting the surrounding area in a darkness only illuminated by the moon, the stars and the fire, around which huddle crouched, shivering figures. Stretching out before the tents is a landscape of mud and brown earth, with a creeping mist seeping among the hundreds of white and grey tents.

The landscape is dotted with holes scattered in a random pattern all around, and many are filled with brown, muddy water. Between the tents walks hundreds of his comrades, many of whose faces he recognizes.

There are hundreds of them, thousands of them, wandering about restlessly, waiting.

To his right are large metallic, square boxes on caterpillar tracks, armoured beasts with a single cannon on its right side. A ship on land moving around, unhindered by the destroyed landscape, yet Jean knows that it’s best not to stand too near them.

High above him, wooden birds are flying, never flying too far away to get out of sight. Their mechanical engines keep their propellers going around in endless circles, keeping them airborne and above the rabble on the ground. On their wings, they sport the colours, signaling their friendly intentions.

“No,” Jean whispers lowly, terror filling his voice as he realizes where he is. He clutches his fists weakly, “please.”

“What’s that private?!” A sharp, intimidating voice bellows besides him, making him stand straight and bring his hand up for a salute, his palm facing forward and his fingertips close to the corner of his eye, “Nothing, capitaine!”

A man wearing a dark kepi hat and with a bright red moustache walks from the mist up to Jean from the side, wielding a saber in one hand and a revolver in the other. He doesn’t seem very impressed with Jean’s answer.

“Exactly: nothing! Move your hindquarters and get yourself a rifle. We attack as soon as the hour strikes.” He grins, almost wickedly, like a demon, and walks off to start corralling other poor souls into a formation fit for fighting.

Jean didn’t refuse, how could he? A soldier refusing a direct order from his superior? Preposterous.

Jean quickly finds a rifle leaning against some others that are also taken with haste by his fellow soldiers. He checks his pouch for bullets and starts loading the rifle.

8 bullets in the tube magazine.

Next comes a loud whistling, from the capitaine’s whistle, calling all together. Jean is quick to join them, standing between men whose faces he can see and remember. Each and every single one with a face and a name.

The capitaine seems satisfied and points his sword upwards. As he does so, the mist begins to lift, revealing the hill that he points his sword towards. Scattered all over the hill are craters, created thanks to days of shelling. Twisting throughout are trenches, filled to the brim with enemies ready and waiting for a fight.

“There she is, boys!” The capitaine shouts, “The hill that’ll lead us to victory! The hour of sacrifice has arrived. Onwards! For honour and fatherland!” Looking around at the faces of his fellow soldiers, not a single one smiles with the patriotic fervor they’d held only a few years ago.

Instead, the capitaine’s words only seem to diminish the already ruined morale, the word ‘sacrifice’ only implying further carnage and meaningless death.

They begin to march in a long line, consisting of three ranks, along a road broken up by the occasional crater hole.

All along the sides of the trail, lying on the broken ground, are the shattered bodies of other blue clothed men. Their limbs are torn off, their faces mutilated, and some lie with their guts spilled out, picked over by crows and rats, great pools of blood and gore mixed with mud all around.

Jean tries to ignore the bodies, looking down at his feet as he marches, gritting his teeth and clutching his rifles in his hands.

It doesn’t help much as the carnage becomes greater and greater the closer to the hill they come, more and more bodies pilling up besides the road. By this point, wounded are being carried past them by stretcher bearers, some without arms and legs or their intestines out, trying desperately to hold them in.

And then there’s the screaming. The constant, incessant screaming from those carried past, mixed with a new sound, a soft whistling in the distance, followed up by a massive, thundering crash ahead of them.

As the mist finally lifts completely, the capitaine, blows his whistle, making everyone, including Jean, fix bayonets atop of the rifle barrels. “This is it, boys.” The capitaine laughs manically and blows his whistle before he points his revolver at the enemy lines, towards the hill, “Charge!!!”

All the men let loose a harrowing, bellowing scream of anger and fear before they start running, running towards the hill. At the same moment, hundreds, thousands of others now revealed by the lifting mist, charge alongside them simultaneously, all bellowing war cries, many of whom he recognizes from other battles. Instantly, lights exploded from the hill as machine gun fire rains down on them, sending many screaming to the ground as their bodies are torn apart.

Some have their limbs torn off by the unending fire, and one is hit so many times in the waist that his torso falls off, leaving his legs standing a moment before they too collapse.

Thunder is heard in the distance, which quickly translates to whistling, before all around them massive explosions tear the ground up, sending body parts and men flying in the air, screaming, before they hit the ground.

Through the air flies pieces of clothed meat, landing all around them, with bits and scraps of his comrades hitting and staining Jean’s clothes. He cries out in shock and horror as his fellow soldiers fall one by one, when suddenly an explosion behind him sends him flying forward, making him land on top of one of them

He tries to get up, but as he pushes his hand down to support himself, he feels his hand touch something soft, squishy and warm. Lifting his head to look, he sees his hand inside the stomach of a friend, whose shock and pain translates into a scream as he begs Jean for help, to kill him, KILL HIM!

Jean lets loose a cry of horror as tears well up in his eyes, the fear starting to overtake him. He looks upwards towards the hill, only to see the incessant artillery barrages from his own side has transformed the hill, twisted and changed it. The shell holes have been expanded, and the bunkers and trenches seem to form into a cackling mouth while the craters seem to look down on him.

The hill has formed into a skull, an evil symbol of death, laughter erupting from its twisted trench mouth with insane cruelty as its earth gets stained with the blood of thousands.

“No, no! No more!” He cries and turns to run away, but he crashes into the capitaine, who gives him a hard shove, making him fall backwards over his dead comrade.

“Trying to run away, are you? You know what we do to deserters?” He points the revolver right at Jean’s forehead, smirking as he pulls the hammer back, an audible click sounding over the screaming and thundering explosions.

Jean gulps, shaking heavily as he picks his rifle back up and rises, turning back towards the hill where thousands of blue uniformed men lie cluttered together, so many that the ground is barely visible beneath them. What little is, is covered in blood.

“Move!” He feels the point of the capitaine’s revolver pressing against his back, forcing him forward back into the war. He runs and runs, past the screaming, wounded and dying, diving behind some dead comrades just as an enemy machine gun spots him and starts showering the bodies with bullets.

On both sides of him, an endless wave of blue rushes past him, screaming and dying as they all fall around him, pilling up into small hills of dead that provide cover for the living. The gunner switches targets, picking off those without cover, who fall like flies to his destructive weapon.

Finally, the moment comes when the gunner runs out of bullets, and Jean emerges from above the pile of bodies, peaking as he takes aim with his rifle.

He spots him, the gunner, behind his machine gun, along with a spotter, who helps him in reloading the gun. Jean quickly takes aim, first for the spotter, who’s about to put the ammo belt into the gun.

He squeezes the trigger, letting loose a bullet that smashes against the spotter’s face, right into his eye, a mess of brains and skull exploding behind him. He falls to the ground, leaving the gunner to quickly pick up the ammunition and continue reloading, a furious expression on his face.

Jean loads as well, pulling the bolt back, then forward, loading another bullet. He takes aim, firing off another round, hitting the gunner on the helmet, making him fall.

He smiles and begins to rise, when the gunner suddenly emerges again, now shouting with rage as he continues loading the machine gun. In his helmet is a large indent from the bullet that smashed against it.

Shocked, Jean takes aim and fires, yet in his desperate haste the bullet hits the sandbag in front of the gun. The gunner laughs mockingly as he loads, prompting Jean to quickly reach for one his grenades, pulling off the safety cap, knocking the fuse against his helmet before he throws it.

The gunner manages to finish reloading just as the grenade lands behind him. The following explosion sends him, and the gun, flying out of the trench and onto the sloping hill, becoming another of many corpses.

Jean quickly rushes into the trench, but as he runs along it he runs into an enemy, who swings his spade above him with a thundering roar, swinging wildly at him. He manages to deflect his blows, hitting the bud of his rifle against the enemy’s face, making him fall to the ground.

He quickly follows up by burying his bayonet into the breast of the enemy, making the youngster cough up blood and scream in pain as the life drains from his eyes, his last words being for his mother to come save him.

“Good, boy, good! Now move!” The capitaine shouts from the top of the trench, waving the sword above his head as he hollers for everyone, including those who’ve been wounded, to keep moving.

Jean gulps and continues along, the trench filling up with the blood of all those dying around them. When he emerges from the trench, he spots a small hill amongst the bodies, but as the sun begins to dawn on the horizon, he recognizes it for what it truly is.

It’s a large hill of bodies, which his comrades are trying to climb in order to get at the enemy. Jean’s breath becomes hurried and ragged, yet he continues on like a good soldier should, beginning the climb up the hill of bodies.

As he climbs, however, he slips thanks to all the blood, sliding down and losing his rifle in the process. He can’t climb down to get it, though, that would mean turning back, and turning back means desertion.

And desertion means death.

With tears in his eyes, he continues climbing, blood and mud staining his clothes, and as he reaches the top his eyes go wide. In front of him the hill evens out a bit into a small field, and upon this field lie hundreds upon hundreds, with ever more running into the fray, only to be gunned down from the enemy line just ahead, their machine guns tearing into them.

On either side of him, his comrades are climbing up, prompting him to follow along, when a shell crashes down and sends all of them flying once more. He lands in such a manner that he can gaze up at the overcast sky.

Far in the sky he can see more wooden birds fly around, circling with their wings spread out permanently while their propellers keep moving round and round

For a moment, a glimmer of hope swells in his heart: one would almost think those birds were his own, flying around to help keep the enemy off of them, yet one reveals on its tail a cross, crushing all hopes of such. They must be spotters, directing enemy fire onto him and his fellow comrades.

He gently sits up, leaning a little against a comrade’s body. Strangely enough, the enemy gunners are ignoring him. Maybe he’s not a very enticing target with the way he’s just lying there, staring dumbfounded at all the carnage.

Not too far off to his side come one of the new metal machines, rolling along the ground on its caterpillar tracks. It’s cannon it fires at the enemy trench, landing a direct hit and sending clumps dirt and men flying.

Once the beast drives past a line of trenches, however, enemies emerge once the men hiding behind the steel monster come into view, lobbing grenades and picking them off one by one. One grenade strikes home, penetrating the weak frontal armour of the tank where, unfortunately, the engine is placed.

The engine explodes, showering both the inside and outside of the tank in burning gasoline. The screams of the men being roasted alive inside the tank is inhuman, like a screeching banshee giving a last, desperate cry before it dies.

His body, previously so tense, almost relaxes as he sits ignored by the world. That is until he spots the capitain standing above some young comrades, pointing his revolver at them. They cry out, begging for him not to send them out, send them to their deaths.

The capitaine spits in disgust, aims his revolver at the forehead of one and fires.

In that moment, a feeling starts building up in Jean, not one of fear, but of anger, unprecedented anger. Such a feeling should be reserved for his enemy, but right now it’s directed at one man. Jean begins to crawl, keeping his head low as he crawls forwards towards the capitaine.

The capitaine aims at the others, who scream and look horrified at their now dead friend, blood oozing out of the hole in his forehead in bursts.

Jean continues crawling, the anger building, turning into rage. How many more must die for this hill? How many more must die for this war? This never-ending, meaningless war.

“Anyone else not wanting to die for your country?!” The capitaine exclaims angrily, waving his revolver at the young men, when Jean rises behind him and takes his sharpened spade in hand, raising it above his head.

Just then, the capitaine turns his head, looking Jean right in the eyes, “What are you-“ Before he can finish, Jean brings the shovel right down on his head, cutting through his hat and imbedding the spade deep into his skull.

He groans a moment before his body goes completely limp, collapsing on the ground as Jean forces his spade out of the capitaine’s skull. The others look at him, terrified, yet thankful, very thankful. Jean breathes heavily, yet they’re not out of the fire yet. Death is all around, and he needs a way to defend himself.

He picks up the capitaine’s revolver, opening the chamber. Five bullets left.

A burst of fire from the enemy hits home in the head and shoulders of one of the youngsters, reminding Jean where he is and sending him diving for cover behind the capitaine’s body. He takes aim at the gunners, firing the revolver twice, hitting a gunner and his spotter.

Three bullets left.

As he prepares to fire again, one of the youngsters points to the sky, shouting.

Jean looks skywards along with the others, and they all see the birds circling far above them, while one of the men flying the birds points down at them. They’ve been spotted, and not a moment later a thousand shells head right for them. All of them scream, but Jean screams the loudest, fear overtaking his moment of bravery as he tries to use both of his arms in a futile attempt to block the incoming death.

They crash all around him, tearing the living and the dead apart, before one flies directly at him. Just as it hits him, he finds himself back in the mist, surrounded by hundreds of tents of similar colours.

“No,” Jean whispers lowly, terror filling his voice as he realizes he’s back once more, “please.”

End of Chapter 4: The War to End All Wars