SS Transcendent

The briefing room fell silent as Dieter entered, cold eyes veiled by the peak of his cap, scanning the room with a typical lack of feeling. Dieter wore a black cape, lined with red, which swirled about him like a set of wings. The room was tastefully designed, wood panelled, lined with art of dramatic victories and vast body counts, all of which had been won in the last year. The room was filled through and through with the who’s whos of the Germanean Reich. In the front were the field marshals, the remaining officers surviving from the 36th SS Division. Dieter allowed the hint of a smirk to play across his face, recalling his days in Dirlewanger’s brigade. The Oberführer had been an… eccentric comrade, to say the least. Behind them were rows of Germanea’s officer’s cadres, none below the rank of colonel. They stood in orderly rows in front of seats, all meticulously assigned in order of precedent. Closest to Dieter and the field marshals was the commander of the elite Eidringlingesturmbattalion, Schwarze Sonne. The sound of hundreds of hooves and booted feet hitting the ground in unison echoed through the chamber as Dieter received the Reichsgruss. He returned the gesture, and the room was again filled with the rustling of uniforms as the officers took their seats.

“Kameraden,” Dieter began, “we have seen success after success in recent months.”

Murmurs of agreement, some heads bobbing in curt nods.

“Our campaign has thus far penetrated as far,” he sneered, “Phillydelphia to the East and Los Pegasus to the West. We have overrun at least fifty percent of Equestrian territory in a period less than a month. Enemy combat losses have recently exceeded at least one point five million, unarmed combatants excluded. All told, we have a kill ratio of roughly seven to one. The Canterlot front is now pinned on two axes from west and east. Unternehemen Sternenfall has been an unqualified success. You have performed admirably.”

He allowed a pause as the gathered officers visibly straightened with pride in their achievements. Some of the officers began to clap, anticipating the best news. Had Equestria capitulated?

Dieter held up his hand for quiet.

“It is not enough. While I have been approached by cowardly Equestrian diplomats with offers of peace, I desire nothing less than the total capitulation of this continent. The territory and racial integrity of the Germanean folk can only be guaranteed with total victory. Consequently,” he continued, “We require total war.”

Dieter scanned the room again, watching heads dart upwards, eyes flicking between comrades. Surely Equestria had been pushed to the breaking point by now?

“The consistent thorn in the side in the approach for negotiations is twofold. It is clear to myself and the high command that we have two objects to secure the complete and unconditional surrender of the Equestrian degenerates. We have observed in them an absolute faith in first their misguided and foolish wunderwaffe, and in their diety-monarchs,” he paused, “like the yellow monkeys.”

A few of the field marshals laughed.

“Our most pressing concern at this time is the destruction of the so called ‘Elements of Harmony’. They are not an inherent threat to us since they were designed to target powerful users of dark magic. What they are, however, is a beacon of hope. This will be the main focus of phase two of this war, Unternehemen Blitzesonne.”

A map unfolded behind him from the reichsadler beneath which it had been concealed. Eyes turned now to the map, which showed Equestria and its various landmarks. A series of arrows swept around Canterlot and then doubled around northward towards it, halting at Ponyville.

“The objective, Ponyville, is significant for ideological, and thus, strategic reasons,” Dieter paused, lip twisting in disdain, “and it is central, alongside the diarchs themselves, to Equestrian morale. The Elements of Harmony are quartered and operate from this area. Our objective in this operation is to capture or destroy them. I must make it absolutely clear to you that I expect nothing less than a lightning victory in this operation. I expect you to be laying waste to the town and inhabitants in its totality within a week’s time. Resistance will be heavy. This is their most important national symbol outside of Canterlot itself. I have called you here to brief your personally to ensure that you understand that the quick and successful prosecution of the war hinges on this. Do not bungle this.”

Shaking heads. These generals were professionals, already seasoned commanders of at least two lightning campaigns. Another one would be no problem for them at all. The Führer knew that, surely.

“Detailed instructions will be pushed down to you by your kampfgruppe leaders. Sieg Heil.”

The officers shot to their feet, arms and forehooves extended, “Sieg Heil!”

***

Scharfuhrer Nachtenkrieg stared out over the roof of his armoured halftrack, binoculars hovering in front of his eyes in his golden magical grip. His left ear was folded downwards as next to him, the vehicle gunner, laughing, belted out withering, brutal fire. It was like a buzz saw was carving a piece of wood next to his face. The half track lurched up and down as it traveled over an assortment of wreckage and bodies. Sonne risked a glance backwards as the halftrack gave a particularly hard lurch, watching a stream of crimson blood and entrails spewing outwards from beneath the treads. He resisted the urge to flinch as he felt, rather than heard the distinctive *snap-snap* of rounds whizzing over his head.

Equestrian resistance had proven to be determined, if ineffective. Ponyville was surrounded by a ring of trenches and fortifications that the Germanean army was forced to breach to achieve the fuhrer’s objectives. The weaklings knew why they were here, and knew that bypassing was not an option. They were roughly twenty kilometers from the town, and already the superheavy guns were firing non-stop, the vast reports of their titanic shells making it seem as though the sky was collapsing. The Germaneans had attacked out of the Everfree, receiving harassing fire from further in the treeline. The forest had been gassed and burned. Nachten’s gas mask had done nothing to filter out the smell of burning flesh. The Germanean troops were only just coming out of the treeline, leaving behind the former keep of the Twin Sisters, smashed with artillery, battered by dive bombers, and covered from foundation to roof with the destroyed, charred and vaporized corpses of enemy resistance. The Germanean’s had been forced to fight door to door through the building after smashing their way in with Stugs. Nachten had lost his Eidringlinge dagger in the ribcage of some poor, mewling guardspony. He already missed it. The corpse smoke drifted upwards, forming a mushroom cloud that enveloped the surrounding countryside, giving a haunting, muggy, near twilight feel. The sun was almost as red as the blood on his hooves.

A bunker and trench system loomed ahead of the half track, spewing fire out at the Germanean forces. Nachten felt a ricochet whizz past him and clip his right foreleg. He snarled, more in annoyance than in pain.

“Dismount!” he ordered.

The ramp hammered downwards, and in a rush of stamping feet, the section was now advancing behind the halftrack at a steady pace. The flamethrower was at the front.

“Fan out! Advance by group!”

“GROUP!”

The section divided, one half going around the left of the half track, the other the right. One advanced, the other pinned the enemy under a fusillade of vicious fire. They leapfrogged like this until they were on the deadground just beneath the trench parapet. The bunker entrance was built directly into the trench, part of its support network. Nachten pulled a grenade, and using his magical grip, twisted off the fuse. He counted to five and dropped it in.

The result was instant. There was a numbing crump of the grenade report, and then Nachten was over the lip of the trench. One of the defenders had been disemboweled with shrapnel, entrails looping around his feet as he kicked in the air. Nachten ignored the screaming wretch, instead turning his submachine gun on the guard next to him, who was blearily stabbing upwards with his bayonet. It never connected. Nachten put two bursts into him, the rounds punching cleanly through his chest and vacating the back in sprays of shattered spine and blood. The guard fell without a sound. Nachten jumped in, and was immediately rushed by a guard, berserk with pain. The guard’s eyes were reddened, manic, possibly burst by the grenade’s concussive force. Nachten smashed him in the snout with the butt of his weapon, and kicked his neck into the lip of the trench with enough force to snap it backwards almost a hundred and eighty degrees. He looked back, seeing his second in command grinning back at him, bayonet buried to the hilt in a conscript’s throat.

Nachten grinned back. Only he wasn’t. None of them were. He shook his head to clear it. The skull masks had a tendency to throw him off when he was killing and jacked up on amphetamines.

“Flamethrower up!” Nachten shouted.

The squad flamer sprinted over, nozzle already levelled towards the bunker entrance. Its steel door was closed and locked. A rocket blew the door of its hinges in a roaring, booming ball of f ire. The Equestrian guards inside turned in surprise, mouths agape, caught off guard by an enemy they hadn’t known was outside. They didn’t have time to lift their sidearms. The flamethrower spat a roaring wall of flame into the bunker. Nachten saw the figures writhing in the cleansing fire, screaming, crawling, pleading for release. He turned away, watching members of his section repeatedly stabbing a shrieking and helpless Equestrian female, deliberately coming short of killing her. They continued as the screaming died away.

“Fucking war criminal!” they were screaming, “teach you to use a shotgun!”

Nachten grinned for real and shrugged.

***

Ponyville was burning. Germanean warplanes buzzed overhead, every now and then diving to strafe stragglers running through the streets, or to drop loads of incendiary ordinance. Cherry Blossom watched from her window, her outskirt house thus far untouched. Germanean artillery had pounded further into the town, focusing on specific, tall landmarks. Artillery rained around the princess’ treehouse, bursting harmlessly around the lavender bubble shield that had been erected around it.

She looked over to her husband. He nuzzled her comfortingly. The Germanean infantry had reached their home. The door exploded inwards in a rain of splinters and shrapnel. Cherry Blossom was thrown onto her side, face bleeding from numerous cuts. A set of iron shod hooves tramped up to her, and Cherry found herself staring down the barrel of a rifle, a leering skull mask and goggled set of eyes regarding her dispassionately. The Germanean inclined his head towards her husband, pinned to the ground, a bayonet at his throat.

“Fucking degenerate,” the Germanean snarled, yanking her to her hooves and dragging her out of her house. Her husband was shouting incoherently in his native language as they dragged her out of her house.

She emerged to a line of Equestrian guards, kneeling, guns to the backs of their heads.

The Germanean officer standing behind them magically tossed a noose over to her captor, and Cherry was led to a tree. The noose was thrown over it, and tightened around Cherry’s neck. Cherry was sobbing, her husband screaming her name.

“You!” The Germanean officer shouted at the whimpering Equestrian soldiers, “This is what you have been defending?”

He looked over to her, “For your crimes you have been sentenced to-”

“Wait!” One of the guards shouted. Cherry recognized him as Sergeant Ironside, the squad leader, “doesn’t she get a trial or some-”

“Shut up,” the Germanean snapped.

“What has she done to deser-”

The Germanean pistolwhipped him. Ironside recoiled, spitting teeth and blood.

“Fine, we’ll do it your way.”

The Germanean soldiers dragged her husband to her, rifles levelled to the back of his head. He was panting in pain. They had kicked his teeth in, and he was coughing up blood from broken ribs.

“You fucking stripe muncher, is this zigger your husband?”

“Yes, but…”

“Fucking guilty,” the officer snapped, “You got striped, and now you must pay the price.”

He strode over to her husband, kicked him to the ground.

The zebra stared up at him defiantly, “Sheeeeeeeeeeit.”

The officer shot him.

***

“So, degenerates! Ready for the ovens?” Nachten shouted through the loudspeaker.

The Equestrian soldiers stared up at him in disbelief, jaws slack, eyes wide with fear. They were a sorry bunch, blood flecked and trembling. They were on their bellies. Their confiscated weapon lay in a pile behind Nachten. One of the girls was crying. A rifle butt in the face didn’t stop it, but it did make it a lot more muffled. Their officer stared up at him indignantly.

“We’re prisoners of war! You can’t treat us like this, we have rights!”

“Actually,” Nachten retorted, “Germanea announced yesterday that it no longer recognizes Equestria as a country. I’m sorry, Leutnant, you’re a partisan.”

“You can’t just unilaterally declare a country to be non-existant!”

“We just did. What are you going to do about it?”

The officer sputtered, face turning red with rage. Nachten was almost impressed by the veins bulging on him. Nachten waited for him to regain his composure. The officer got to his feet, and was immediately smashed down with a rifle to a spine. He let out a bark of pain, glowering up at Nachten with bloodshot eyes. A hoof on the back of his neck, he was having difficulty raising his voice.

“The Gelneva Convention-”

“The Gelneva Convention?” Nachten barked out a laugh, “What country do you think you’re in?”

“Equestria.”

“Equestria doesn’t exist. Germanea never signed the convention. We proposed and ratified it. Try to think through your perennial dysgenics, if you please.”

The officer groaned.

“So, which labour camp do you want to go to?” Nachten asked pleasantly.

The officer said nothing.

“Tell you what, we’ll play rock paper scissors to decide. If you win, I’ll just let you go. If you lose, I’ll decide for you? Alright?”

The officer shook his head, burying his face in the dirt.

“No? Okay. Any of you that want to play, put your hooves up!”

A hoof rose hesitantly. This one belonged to a tan pegasi, eyes flicking nervously side to side as his comrades glared at him.

“W-what?” He stammered, “he said we could go free if we won, what could be worse than what’s already happened?”

Nachten gestured him over.

“Obviously, we can’t let you use your wings. To make it fair, we’ll just use hooves, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“Hey, Willigertod, referee this.”

One of the Germaneans marched over, rifle held in his magical grip, skull mask leering. He leaned over the soldier and the partisan, eyes flicking back and forth between their hooves. The Equestrian was already beginning to sweat, eyebrows knitted in focus. Nachten’s face was also scrunched up in an expression of intense concentration. It was exciting stuff, Willigertod smirked. He licked his lips.

“3…2…1…go!”

Nachten threw his hoof out. So did the Equestrian.

“Tie!” Willigertod announced.

Nachten looked around in mock disbelief. The Equestrian was holding his breath, an expression of terror on his face.

“S-so,” he stammered, “what do-“

“We go again.”

Williger counted again. The hooves shot out.

“Tie!”

The Equestrian was muttering in fear at this point.

“Tie!”

“No,” Nachten said, evenly.

“What?” The Equestrian exclaimed, voice cracking.

A rock struck him in the side of the head. He fell, stunned, bleating in fear. Nachten descended in on him, rock held in his curled hoof joint. He brought it down again. The Equestrian wailed, his muzzle crushed into his face. Up, down, up, down, up, down. The rock was coated in a thick coat of blood. The Equestrian had stopped moving, his face a ruined mess of flesh and broken bone. Nachten tossed the rock aside, mask covered in crimson spray, looking more like a Rorschach test in blood than a skull. The Equestrian folded like a crumpled napkin.

“Rock beats paper.”

“Scharfuhrer that’s not-”

“Shut up.”

***

The Germaneans weren’t even taking harassing fire anymore. They marched up the dirt path to the Ponyville, the lavender dome looming in the distance. The trees on both sides of them were filled with hanging bodies. They swayed in the breeze, necks snapped, eyes rolled back, tongues lolling. Some of them had been stabbed repeatedly, bludgeoned or shot. Nachten saw a mare, her head split open with what looked like a cudgel wound. He stared into her glassy eyes, as her smashed brains leaked down her face. Various signs hung from the bodies, listing their crimes.

“SPECIES TREACHERY.”

“GENDER TREACHERY.”

“PARTISAN.”

“UNDESIRABLE.”

“MULE LIKE FEATURES.”

He turned his gaze forward to the halftrack he was advancing behind. It was a mess, smeared with blood and burn marks. It had been made to advance through freshly dropped incendiaries, running over Equestrian stragglers as it went, the napalm stuck to it setting them ablaze as it passed through. The treads were mired in mud and offal. The smell was terrible. Smelled of ziggers, Nachten concluded. That had to be it. He sang alongside the rest of the Germanean troops, enthusiastically shouting it out.

“When the soldiers march through the city,

All of the women come out to see!”

A mare screamed as a squad of Germanean soldiers kicked down her door and lobbed a white phosphorous grenade.

“And why? But why? And why? But why?

Because of the blowing of the horns and pounding of the drum.

And why? But why? And why? But why?

Because of the blowing of the horns and pounding of the drum.”

A staccato burst of fire punctuated the song as a pony and donkey were mowed into a hastily dug mass grave with their mulekind children. They hadn’t had the chance to finish twitching before the Einsatz officer overseeing the execution beckoned the next group forward.

“And when in the field flash bombs and grenades-”

A stuka rushed overhead, horns screaming like an eagle. It dropped its napalm load on a train of Equestrian refugees.

“The girls weep for their soldiers...”

A mare, weeping and cradling her bayoneted colt friend. His blood had seeped into the ground beneath him and stained her coat red, his khaki Equestrian militia uniform looking more like a menstrual cloth than a uniform.

“And why? But why! And why? But why!

Because of the blowing of the horns and pounding of the drum!”

It was a good day.

Flash Sentry was having a decidedly bad day. It had all began when a Germanean sturmtrooper squad had smashed through his bunker with a stug, and dragged him kicking and screaming from it. They had loaded him onto a truck, and driven him, to the backdrop of artillery fire and the raging torrent of machinegun fire in the direction of Ponyville. There were roughly sixty others with him. They were piled one on top of the other in a space so crammed, that even moving was uncomfortable. This could, he realized, only end in tears.

The truck came to a halt, and Flash realized with a start that they were just outside of the bubble shield that Twilight had erected. The lavender light shone through the open rear of the truck. It was soft, reassuring, comforting. Like she was, Flash reflected.

The feeling of comfort passed as the tail gate was thrown downwards, and he was quite literally kicked off the side of the truck. It was replaced by a steadily growing sense of dread in the pit of his gut that was in no way assuaged by the row of crosses that lined the road in front of him. Flash raised one of his wings, folded in the shape of a finger pointing upwards, to make an inquiry.

“Yes, yes, those are what you think they are,” The Germanean NCO in charge sighed.

“But…why?” Flash choked out.

“Well, you are a homosexual,” It wasn’t a question.

“What? No! I have a marefriend.”

The Geramean squinted at him, looking him up and down. There was an expression of studied confusion on his face. He looked, Flash supposed, like a scientist examining a specimen. The NCO shook his head.

“You, heterosexual? I fucking doubt it.”

“No, I swear, I’m not gay!”

The Germanean screwed up his face like a disappointed father, “young stallion, all you’re achieving in lying to me is sullying your conscience before going to meet God. To be honest, if I were you, assuming that my pure genestock could produce homosexuals, I would be on my knees begging his forgiveness. You can go to hell if you want, my boy, but you’re going on that cross either way.”

Flash felt the bottom fall out of his world.

The Germanean smiled comfortingly, “look on the bright side, freund, at least you can’t spread your gay gene to children.”

He paused, “You’re bisexual, right?”

Flash looked up at the sky and swore like he never did before.

***

Twilight could barely hold back her tears. The Germanean offensive had breached the layered defences her brother had set up before he had disappeared. It was his final achievement, and she had hoped that it could have avenged him, likely in some concentration camp suffering a fate worse than death. This time the tears came freely. She couldn’t be seen like this! She had to be strong for the good ponies of Equestria. She had to hold out hope. She winced as another flight of the damnable screaming warplanes rushed overhead and she once again felt the now familiar sympathetic feedback of bombs striking home. Ponyville proper was safe for now. None of the Germanean weapons had fallen home in the town. But the outskirts were lined with hung, crushed and burned bodies.

The Germaneans were outside, crucifying a platoon of captured Equestrians. One of them was Flash Sentry. He hung from the cross, a screaming, writhing figure beyond the shield. She couldn’t hear the screaming. But she could imagine it. It played on her mind. Over his head was nailed a placard reading “Gender Traitor.” She fell back, her eyes clenched shut in an effort to hold back tears.

Her eyes snapped open. Something had force its way through the shield! She felt a twinge of panic, eyes darting wildly. She forced herself to calm, remembering the breathing drills Cadence had taught her. It was only one. He could be headed off and-

Another push. Then another. And another. And an-

“No,” Twilight whispered.

Twilight sprinted from the treehouse, manic eyes darting around the town square. Her friends, her fellow elements, rushed out behind her, concern written clearly on their faces. Twilight was hyperventilating, an insane look on her face, half between a smile and a fearful grimace. She felt a hoof rest on her back and jumped, physically leaving the ground as her wings pumped to push her away from the danger. She looked down to see Applejack staring up at her, a worried look on her face.

“Twai, you okay?” she drawled.

“No!” Twilight snapped, “There’s Germaneans in the perimeter.”

“Wait, how do you know?” Rainbow quizzed her.

“I felt something tear a hole. I mean, actually tear a hole in the lattice of the dome.”

“How?”

“That’s not important! They’re coming in from the direction of-”

“My home!” Rarity shrieked.

Twilight looked over. The Carousel Boutique was ablaze.

“Rarity’s place,” she finished lamely.

A squad of guardsmen rushed towards her, attracted by the commotion. Faces impassive, they came to attention. Captain Gold Dust threw a quick salute.

“Your majesty, we heard you yelling, is something wrong?”

Twilight pointed to the Boutique, her face almost deadpan, “They’re in the town.”

They took off in a run towards the fire, rifles hovering in tight magical grips. Twilight flew alongside, sword manifested by her side. She turned, and her friends, following her collided with each other as they ground to a halt.

“No, you stay here. Keep the people calm. Pinkie, take a squad and fortify the bakery. Rainbow, join her. Applejack, you and Rarity defend the city hall. If it goes down, it’s all over. Fluttershy-”

Twilight’s voice softened. Fluttershy’s eyes were still pink. Her home had been one of the first to be shelled.

“Fluttershy, take care of spike and Owloicious.”

She nodded, whimpering.

Twilight spun in the air and took off after her sprinting guards.

***

She arrived at a scene of total devastation. Someone had gone over the area with a flamethrower. Napalm dripped off the Carousel Boutique like burning condensation rolling from a glass. The grass surrounding it had been turned brown by the intensity of the flames. The guards stood in an exploded cigar formation, weapons pointed outwards, prepared for an ambush. There was no sign of the Germaneans.

“Where the buck are they?”

Twilight looked around, trying to sense them. There was no way they could have left. She would have felt it. She felt cold. Had they gone further into the town? She forced herself to regulate her breathing. In, four seconds, out, four seconds, in, four seconds. She couldn’t hear anything except for the distant thundering of Germanean guns. Her ears twisted around, trying to detect even the faintest hint of movem-

*clink*

What was that?

A cylindrical object landed in the middle of the formation.

“Grena-”

The world exploded.

Twilight was blown back by the blast. She spun end over end in the air, before her wings failed her and she plummeted. She heard screaming, raw, agonized, real screaming. It was like the auditory equivalent of salt in a wound. She landed on her back and forced herself to roll over, despite the pain that told her distinctly that she had bruised something badly. She screamed as her rolling briefly positioned her right wing under her. Ah. That was it.

Twilight heard the roar of a buzzsaw, and watched in horror as the guards writhing on the ground were torn to pieces by a burst of green tracer. Captain Gold Dust had been the first to his feet, and he was the first to get slammed back by the fusillade. The poor officer was perforated through and through until he was more hole than body. He was flung into the river by the sheer force of the burst, and Twilight watched as the now reddened water carried his smashed body away.

They were in the Boutique! Those monsters were in the Boutique! Twilight didn’t know how, but there was something alive in that maelstrom of fire. What kind of magic allowed them to-

She fell to the ground, stunned. Her addled, tired mind took a moment to process what had happened. Something had struck her in the back of the head. She shook off the shock, trying to force herself to the feet. She wasn’t thinking clearly…

She started.

The dome! The dome! It had gone down!

A sharp pain flashed through her side, and suddenly she was on her back, a rifle aimed squarely in her face. She felt tears stinging her eyes. Her horn glowed as she charged it. She wasn’t going to go out without taking one of them with h-

Nachten struck her in the face, and Twilight’s world went black.

***

Nachten watched Germanean tanks plow their way into the town. This wasn’t even a battle anymore, it was a mop up. The trundling leviathans spearheaded lines of advancing infantry, rifles raised, faces hidden behind skull masks, heads weighed down by steel helmets. Sporadic fire ricocheted off some of the tanks. Still dragging the unconscious princess behind him, he scanned around, searching for muzzle flashes.

The bakery. He saw a blur of pink in the window.

High pitched screaming. His eye twitched. It was irritating and it was defiant. It sounded hyperactive, not at all afraid. He wanted whatever was making that horrific racket to die. He roughly shoved Twilight into the back of a half track. The crew looked over, saw the unconscious Alicorn. They started, eyes bulging.

“Watch her,” Nachten commanded.

A rifle was shoved into the nape of her neck. Nachten turned, gesturing for his squad to follow. Pushing through the shield had not been difficult. The Eiderlingesturmbattalion were the most potent magic users in the Germanean army. The dome was large, and it had been exceptionally strong, but it had not been designed with small, incisive magic in mind. It had simply been a matter of undoing a small portion of the magic lattice and walking through. This entire war was too easy, he decided. Nothing was a challenge. He moved towards the bakery.

A pink blur knocked him over, barrelling him over onto his back. Whatever this thing was had knocked the air out of him. He felt his head loll as the impact fed through his body. Yelling behind him told him something else was harassing his squad. He caught a quick glimpse of something cyan streaking from rifleman to rifleman, knocking them over. Knocking them out. He looked back up. A figure loomed over him, a flat, circular object raised to strike. What unholy weapon was this?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The world exploded in…sugar and cream?

He opened his eyes. The shape resolved itself into a pink earth pony, grinning down at him.

“Was zum-” Nachten started, “is this a fucking pie?”

“Good job Pinkie!” a brash, feminine voice sounding behind him, “you got a prisoner!”

“Gotcha!” The voice was happy. Too happy.

Nachten began to laugh. He laughed so hard he could barely breathe. Everything hurt. He laughed anyways.

Pinkie Pie started to laugh too. And then stopped. She choked as the bayonet pushed its way through the back of her neck, and out the side. Her eyes were wide with pain and fear. The bayonet very slowly, very methodically twisted. It wasn’t attached to a rifle. It floated sedately, lodged in its victim, surrounded by a light blue aura. Pinkie gasped and then went limp. The bayonet pulled out with a loud sucking noise, blood and spinal fluid dripping from it. It spun in the air and wiped itself on the now very dead Pinkie Pie’s coat.

“Murderer!” an angry, pain filled scream sounded in his ear. A blue pegasi was suddenly on top of him, smashing his face with her hooves. Nachten wasn’t laughing anymore. Now everything really did hurt. He felt a tooth chip. Whack. He felt it come out entirely. Whack. He spat it out, and now suddenly his nose was crumpling under what felt like a metric fuckton of agonizing pressure. Whack.

“That-“ Whack.

“Wasn’t-“ Whack. He was slurring.

“Me!” Whack.

The blue degenerate stopped.

“Wha-“

A rifle seemed to fly out of seemingly nowhere, smashing her in the throat and sending her to the ground, coughing and sputtering. Nachten groaned, rolling over to spit blood. He looked up, and found the barrel of the gun had rotated to point towards the still gagging Rainbow Dash. The magical aura briefly brightened around the bolt, and it pulled back. Nachten heard a round slide home.

Rainbow managed to gasp out, “do it you bastard.”

Nachten had to respect the pluck at least. Not much else.

“I just told you that wasn’t me.”

The trigger pulled. Rainbow Dash’s face slackened as the rifle round smashed its way through her skull. A neat hole drilled its way through her forehead, and the back of her skull blew out entirely as the round spun out of control passing through the bone. It exited her head, tumbling end over end, trailed by beads of blood and brain matter. Rainbow Dash collapsed with a soft thud.

A face appeared over the side of the halftrack.

“You got creampied,” Oberführer Schwarze Sonne observed drolly, a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, blue eyes half lidded in obvious boredom.

***

Germanean troops sprinted across Ponyville’s main street, and over the river of blood that was now flowing through it. They rushed up Ponyville city hall’s stairs, backing the surviving guards into the doors until they could retreat no further. A hail of bullets smashed their battered bodies back into the door, punching holes through it and straight into the next room, judging by the screaming. The doors were bolted shut. That was, until a Panzer IV trundled up the stairs, crushing bodies into them, snapping the corpses in half against the corners, before plowing through the large, wooden gates. A company of soldiers flooded in after it, rifles and submachine guns leveled. Applejack and Rarity started forward to confront them, only to stop in their tracks as Sonne entered, magically dragging Twilight by the neck. He tossed her to the ground, placing a hoof on the side of her head as he calmly surveyed the room.

“Your mayor,” he said, monotone, “where is she?”

A middle aged mare with khaki fur and graying hair reluctantly stepped out of the crowd.

“You won’t get away with this, Princess Celestia wil-”

Sonne’s eyes narrowed, and a magical aura appeared around Mayor Mare’s neck. She began to choke. Sonne dragged her towards him.

“What she does is irrelevant to you if I break your neck,” he intoned, “let me lay down some ground rules for you. You do not speak unless I ask you a question. You do not move an inch towards me or my troops, or I will snap your neck. You will comply with occupational forces, or I will begin shooting ponies as partisans. Are we clear?”

She nodded.

“You will give the Einsatz officers lists. On these lists, you will provide for us the names of species mixers, homosexuals, socialists and bankers. You will do this in the span of three hours.”

Mayor Mare stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief for a second before spitting at his feet.

“I’ll do no such thing!”

The Oberführer sighed, “Now look what you’ve made me do.”

Without looking, he used his magic to retrieve and aim a luger into the crowd. He fired five times. Five bodies hit the floor, eyes lolling, neat holes drilled between their eyes.

“You-!” The Mayor started forward. The magical aura appeared around her throat again, and she fell back into line.

“I will repeat the demand. You will provide me with a list of names. On this list will be the names of species mixers, homosexuals, socialists, bankers. Since you’re willing to waste my time, I’ll give you two hours this time.”

“All of us would rather die than help you and your sick Führer!”

Sonne looked over her shoulder at the crowd gathered behind her.

“Is she telling the truth?” He asked.

Nods, murmurs of agreement.

“Well, Mayor, it seems we’re at an impasse. It seems that I will have to…what do you Equestrians say? Feed you the state line? Beat you over the head with propaganda?”

“What are you-”

A leatherbound tome flew out from somewhere inside the Oberführer’s coat. It was lined with metal, and in elegant swirling script, the cover declared “Mein Kampf!”. Before the Mayor could react, Schwarze Sonne had brained her over the head with it. She fell to her knees, stunned. He swung it again, this time aiming beneath her jaw. The corner of the book rammed home, and this time, he drew blood. Mayor Mare collapsed to the floor. She weakly brought her head up, and the heavy book came down again, forcefully, bouncing her head off the floor. There was an audible crack as her jaw dislocated. She was screaming now.

Schwarze Sonne was on top of her.

He brought the tome up.

“You!” Down.

“Do!” Up.

“Not!” Down.

“Argue!” Up.

“With!” Down.

“Me!” Up.

“You Equestrian swine!” He slammed the book down so hard, its spine snapped.

Dead silence fell over the room. The Oberfuhrer stared at the book, sighed, dropped it next to the mare’s battered and smashed face. He pulled out another book. This one was roughly the same length, also leatherbound. It was marked “Table Talk.”

“That was a good copy too,” he groused, slamming Table Talk into the Mayor’s throat. There was a loud, brittle snap as her neck broke, like a twig snapping. Her head fell back limply, mucus and blood flowing from her shattered muzzle. Her head had a much more mushy constitution to it than it had five minutes ago. It flopped around, turning blue as she choked on her broken windpipe. She wasn’t quite dead yet.

Schwarze Sonne stood up, ignoring the dying wheezes next to him.

“Who’s next in authority?”

***

Twilight awoke with a pulsing headache. She also awoke to the sounds of crying children. Her eyes snapped open, and she realized with a start that she was lying on a tile floor. It was cold. She could feel her right wing flopping uselessly at her side. She looked up to see a Germanean officer. Applejack was on her stomach in front of him as he viciously beat her with the butt of his pistol. The crying was Apple Bloom. Twilight’s stomach lurched. She tried to drag herself to her feet, but was smashed back down to the ground by a rifleman behind her.

Everything hurt. Twilight couldn’t even begin to put the pain into words. It was like every cell on her body was on fire. The pain radiated outwards, throbbing. She let her head sink down, gasping for breath. A hoof came down hard on her leg. Twilight felt something give. She screamed. Suddenly every eye in the room was on her.

“Princess!” Some in the crowd were shouting.

Applejack was livid, “Why you mangy varmints better let her go! Isn’t it enough that you’re gon to take her most precious possessions away from her?”

The officer sighed, “Oh be quiet, you impotent inbred.”

Applejack went sailing across the room, propelled by vicious magical force. She smashed into the side of a halftrack hard enough to dent its hull, sending it rocking back and forth with a scream of brutalized metal, and collapsed in a broken heap on the floor.

It was about this point in time that Twilight saw the pile of books on the floor. Her books, and Spike next to them. He was flanked by a pair of Germanean soldiers who stood rigidly at attention. The officer cleared his throat, checking his forehoof for blood.

“You awoke just in time,” His voice was flat, bored, even, “for the book burning.”

“You can’t do that!” Twilight started, “Those are the public library’s books!”

“Up-bup-bup-bup-bup, it’s degenerate literature. We went through them, you know. Guides on sexual deviancy. Political treatises glorifying stableism. Zigger jungle beats. Zap music is disgusting.”

Twilight’s vision swam.

“So, we’ve decided to honour your filthy refugee child with the privilege of burning them.”

Spike shook his head emphatically. The Oberführer rolled his eyes and kicked him in the stomach, forcing out a belch of fire. The books went up in flames. Twilight screamed. She screamed like she had seen a friend die in front of her.

“I’m sorry Twilight!” Spike screamed, “I didn’t want to, I really didn’t!”

Twilight rocked back and forth. She had spent years collecting that library. Even pulled books from other dimensions. She stopped. The officer was holding one of her books. Its cover declared aggressively “SIEGE” and underneath that, “James Mason.”

“The only good book,” the officer said, following her gaze, “I’ll make sure everypony reads it.”

Something in Twilight snapped. She sprang upwards, horn materializing a sword, eyes blazing with magic power. The officer didn’t even have the chance to take a step back as she sent her rage manifested weapon careening towards his head. He didn’t even have a chance to flinch. Or was he still just bored? The sword stopped short. Twilight looked up, confused. What she saw caused her jaw to drop.

A human, wearing a black uniform, a cape draped over his shoulders. A cavalry saber hilt hung from a sam browne strap. He towered over her, a shock of blonde hair poking out from under his black peaked cap. His piercing blue eyes regarded her coldly, dispassionately, devoid of emotion. His hand was outstretched, clutching the sword, deftly blocking her strike. Twilight tried to calculate quickly. If she moved her sword, she opened herself up to a counter-attack. If she didn’t, he could simpl-

“You are already dead.”

“What?”

She felt, rather than heard the gunshot. As Twilight toppled to the ground, she realized the fatal flaw in her calculation. She hadn’t checked his other hand. The hand holding the luger. She could feel her pulse pumping blood from the ragged, sucking hole in her throat. She hit the ground hard, and set about the painful process of choking on her own blood. She was dimly aware of Rarity screaming her name, of the gurgling sound in her ears, that she knew objectively was the sound of her own blood passing through her throat, felt the paralysis of a spine severed by a piece of high speed lead. She lay wheezing, sputtering, staring upwards with bloodshot and unfocused eyes. Dieter turned on his heel and strode away, like nothing had happened.

The room was dead silent.

“Withdraw from the building,” he said, calmly.

“Mein Führer?”

“Barricade them in. We have something to test.”

***

The shells came in large, sealed containers, marked with red skulls and crossbones. Around the tips of the shells was an alternating colour pattern, green, red, green, red. This clashing colour pattern was a warning. Danger, reactive materials. The shells were new, as far as Verbrante Erde, new. He’d never seen them before. All he knew was that he had been told that dropping them was a death sentence. They called them Trifluoride shells. Chlorine trifluoride. It was, he had been told, like white phosphorus, “but like a million times more entertaining, kamerad.”

Good enough for him.

The coordinates were already plugged in. The gun was already loaded. The barrage was fourty shells per gun, five guns total. Might as well get the show on the road, he thought.

“Fire.”

The first shell smashed into the top of the city hall, and burst with a tremendous, explosive force. There was a bright, blinding flash, that could be observed for miles around. The glass didn’t blow out. It ignited and burned. Another shell fell short. The ground within a hundred meter radius of it caught light. The Ponyville bakery spontaneously caught alight, intense heat pushing fire through the building, burning and charring everything inside, living and dead. The fire spread quickly, intensely. Sand and dirt on the street burst into flames as they made contact with the cholrine trifluoride. Another shell, then another, and another. Stone caught on fire, warping, twisting and melting under the intense and terrible chemical reaction that was occurring. In the city hall, the roof collapsed in, pinning dozens beneath it. They howled, to the back drop of popping bones and flesh as the flames licked away at them. Another shell burst over them, spraying them with a fine mist of chlorine trifluoride. It took an almost imperceptible amount of time for the reaction to begin.

Within ten minutes, the entire town and the surrounding area was burned, from the smallest rock to the largest structure, and everything there within. The bodies looped through the town, twisted, charred in positions of abject agony and misery. Their dying screams immolated out of them. A breeze blew through the town. The corpses disintegrated. Blowing in the wind, they mixed with the vast cloud of smoke that blotted out the sun and had turned day into night. The test had been an overwhelming success.

The Germanean Army marched onwards.

Author's Note

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