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
OFFICIAL SEAL OF APPROVAL
ACCEPT NO IMPOSTORS FOR THIS GENUINE PRODUCT
SS Transcendent 2: Double Siege Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast Edition
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SS Transcendent 2: Double Siege Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast Edition
Schwarze Sonne stood at ease before the dias that the Fuhrer would soon ascend to deliver his final orders in the Equestrian campaign. In the distance, the crack of artillery sounded against the sharp electrostatic sound of shield discharge. Germanean artillery had been pounding the twin sisters’ shield system for several months, but so far, had barely made a dent. Schwarze almost frowned. For the first time in a while, the Germanean war machine had been stalled, and what’s more, it had been stalled at the final hurdle. It was irritating.
Canterlot was not self-supporting. It never could have been. Cities, by their inherent nature, were like ticks, feeding off of the agricultural surplus of surrounding villages. Not only was Canterlot no different, but this tendency was all but compounded its location up the side of a mountain. It was a magnificent, grandiose, maybe even semi-apollonian feat of engineering, but it was also a stupid one, from a military standpoint. That was why it was going to starve. But that would take far too long, really. Why would they want to starve a city they would do better massacring? Why hadn’t they given in yet? Equestria barely existed outside of the city walls, things would be so much easier for everyone if they just surrendered and died.
The impromptu briefing room was quiet, save for the distant sounds of battle. It was a sullen kind of silence, born of stress and frustration, not of a war being lost, but of a war taking too long to end. It was a large, shielded tent, with rows upon rows of metallic chairs, a projector situated to the front on a large table, also made of metal. Large banners, crimson red like blood flanked both sides of the tent, adding the only splashes of colour in the green-grey mass of waterproof fabric. The rain had been pissing down for the past month, and the grey light of overcast skies barely came in through the window flaps. Sonne suppressed a yawn, inwardly wishing the briefing would hurry up and start so that he could get back to his outpost closer to the front to observe the screaming shells strike home. Ineffective though they were, he found the flash of the bombs and the golden spectacle of the flaring shield therapeutic.
That damn shield.
Germanean troops had tried to climb the sheer cliffs to undo the lattice, but the one thing the city had was the ability to bracket approaching units in immediate enfilade fire.Those troops that weren’t cut down by fire raining down on them had found the lattice of the shield spell too complex to quickly and reliably break down. It was, by all accounts, a military grade spell. It probably shouldn’t have been surprising. The Diarchs had been around for some time, they probably knew a thing or two about combat themselves.
Shame about their soldiers.
Some of the officers shot nervous glances his way every now and then. In an army of radicals, Sonne was famous for heading up the most uncompromising unit of them all. Where the regular army would crucify one in a hundred, the Storm Battalions would crucify one in ten. Sonne did not believe in doing things by half measures. Half measures were for Equestrians and cowards.
He glanced back as the tent flap was thrown back with a sound of swirling fabric and cold grey light poured into the command tent, and shot to his hooves. The rest of the staff followed. A tall, bipedal figure with a shock of blonde hair strode in. The Fuhrer wore raindrop pattern camouflage fatigues and a grey-green rain cape, a sign of the campaign’s stalemate. He swept his eyes menacingly about the room, face cold and impassive as always before marching to the dias, boots squelching with caked on mud. He ascended, boots pounding against wood in a rhythmic thump. He cleared his throat, and stillness settled over the room. He waited for several seconds, just long enough for it to become uncomfortable, before giving the silence a sound.
“National Comrades,” he began, voice neutral, “We’re another month closer to the final decision to make Army Group Centre a part of the navy.”
The officers glanced around nervously, split between laughing in case it was a joke and remaining silent in case it wasn’t. Sonne chuckled quietly, prompting the Fuhrer to fix him with an almost flat gaze and barely perceptible half smile.
“Which is why I have brought along some new weapons systems for you to play with. A major advance, to be sure.”
This time the officers seemed more curious than nervous.
“Our scientists call it Seelenkanone, and it will crack the shield.”
Hushed murmuring as the officers tried to dissect the name.
“Through the life forces of vermin, we intend to project magical energy of such high concentration that it will simply overwhelm the shield bearers and crack the city’s last line of defence like a watermelon beneath boots. Each of you has been provided with about a dozen of these weapons, the onus is on you to keep them powered.”
“Mein Fuhrer,” one of the officers piped up, “Do we gather rats to power them, then?”
Dieter fixed him with what was, for him, a withering glare, “Yes, Generalleuntnant, of a sort. There are several Equestrian villages surrounding Canterlot that have traditionally provided it with food. Because of our occupation, they have been unable to evacuate.”
“I see, Mein Fuhrer. What would-”
“FETCH ME THEIR SOULS!”
Sonne grinned.
***
It was another grey, depressing day behind the front for Pear Blossom. She awoke to the sound of shell fire several miles to the South, as she had done for the past four or five months. She groaned, rolled to her hooves from the piled blankets that now served as her bed and emerged into what was left of her ransacked house. Germanean requisitions had stripped her home, and the rest of the homes in her village bare of food. She sighed as she entered her kitchen. She knew her pantry was practically empty, but she still went through it every day to try and recapture some measure of normalcy. The ground vibrated under the force of a particularly heavy Germanean superbarage.
Stupid, she thought, things will never be normal again.
She heard engines and the rumbling of trucks. More reinforcements to the front. The volume increased with every week that the Germaneans sat in siege against Canterlot. Were they getting desperate? Or were they just trying to make their coming victory as crushing as possible? She knew that the Royal Equestrian Army had tried to break the encirclement from the South several weeks ago. She had been awake for three nights straight, unable to sleep from the illumination of incendiaries and rapid tracer fire spiralling into the night air, tracking unseen pegasi. Distant, haunting screams permeated the air for days afterward, each cut short for reasons she did not want to think about.
The trucks were coming closer, and she realized that something was wrong.
The trucks weren’t heading South.
“Oh sweet Celestia,” she heard somepony scream, “They’re back!”
The sound of tires grinding through mud down the town’s main street sent her reeling back in fear. She turned and ran, mind addled in terror of what had happened the last time the Germanean army had come calling. She sprinted into her room and hid in the shadowed corner where the Germaneans would look last on entering the room, closing the door behind her as quickly as she could without slamming it. Maybe they’d miss her. She heard the Germaneans shouting in that harsh language of theirs as they dismounted by the trucks. The first Germanean truck she’d seen had been on the first day of the Canterlot Offensive. Flush with success, the Germaneans had mounted an officer’s head on the truck’s hood, and scrawled in Equestrian script beneath “Pacifists Make Good Hood Ornaments.” Pear Blossom didn’t want to be a hood ornament.
Booted hooves pounded down the streets as the Germaneans fanned out, heading door to door. She heard her neighbours scream in time with the distinctive sound of a wooden door being smashed in by magic. Blossom flinched. A Germanenan screamed something indistinct, and the screaming moved until it was outside. She heard mud squelching as a menacing presence stormed towards her front door. She bit back a cry of fear as the sound of splintering wood assaulted her ears, followed by the crash of her front door physically passing through the wall opposite it. Heavy hoofsteps pounded through her home. She breathed shallowly. For a few moments, silence. Her bedroom door exploded off its hinges. Blossom screamed as a skull masked figure stormed its way into her room, pistol floating in a crimson magical grip.
No use hiding now. She did the first thing she could think of and lashed out with her magic. The skull masked figure turned quickly, and the magic bolt winged him. He swore, recovering and advanced towards her. She readied her horn to fight him back again, but he surged forward, and suddenly she found herself staring upwards at a menacing, grey furred soldier, luger raised above his head.
“Vibe check!” he exclaimed, pistol whipping her into the wall.
The world exploded in white pain as her head bounced off of the wall like a basketball. She slumped over sideways, whining in pain.She felt blood trickling down the side of her face. The Germanean entered a power stance over her fallen body, before magically gripping her by the horn and dragging her towards the door.
“No, stop!” She exclaimed, “Can’t you just pretend I wasn’t here?”
“Well, no,” the Germanean replied casually, “I can’t, that kind of defeats the entire point of why I’m here.”
“W-what are you here for?”
“Uh,” The Geramean responded absently, “To take you away?”
“But why?”
“Because it’s hilarious? I don’t fucking know. It’s not like you Equestrian femoids are real sapient beings anyways.”
“B-but,” She stammered.
“Shut you the fucking,” The Germanean snapped.
She saw the briefest flash of movement as the Germanean raised his gun. She didn’t even have the time to flinch before he brought his weapon down squarely against her forehead. She felt her head bounce again, and now instead of a flash of white, she felt herself engulfed by darkness.
***
Pear Blossom woke to the thunder of guns and the rattle of an engine. Her eyes opened slowly, and for a moment she had difficulty focusing them. Her head hurt, and she felt a crust of dry blood over her snout. Her spine thrilled with fear as for the first instant, she saw nothing. As the interceding seconds passed, she came to realize that she was in the back of a transport truck, and that she was not alone. Against the dark canvas of the vehicle, and from the brief stabs of light that flooded in through the opening at the end of the truck, she saw that she was one body amidst perhaps fifty or more. The truck was not designed to hold this many ponies, and they were crammed together like livestock. It bounced relentlessly and painfully against craters and rocks, jostling her and the others about, smashing them against its wooden frame. At the end of the truck, two skull masked, submachine gun toting Germaneans sat. The prisoners sat away from them, even at the expense of their own space and comfort.
“E-excuse me?” She stammered, mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed full of cotton.
One of the Germaneans inclined his head towards her, eyes gleaming subtly against the backdrop of a twilight sky on fire.
“Where are you taking us?”
“We’re going to use you, fucking obviously.”
“What do you me-”
“Dammit, no more questions, Equestrian,” the Germanean growled, “You ponies have had more than enough time to ask them.”
The sound of artillery fire and the crackling electric discharge of magic, interspersed with the loud, dry twig snap of repeated rifle fire drew closer. Blossom wished she could see where they were going from the back of the truck, but she knew instinctively that they were heading to the front. The thought brought a strange comfort to her. Surely the Germaneans were just rounding ponies up for labour then? Maybe she’d just dig a few trenches and be on her way home? She noticed a few Equestrian uniforms thrown into the mix of prisoners, and knew deep down that things were not going to go well. Still, she hoped.
She risked another question.
“Are you going to let us go?”
The other Germanean’s head snapped towards her, and she almost expected to receive another butt-stroking. Instead, the Germanean started to chuckle. She couldn’t see his mouth through the skull mask on his face, and that only made it worse. The fabric distorted, making the bony mouth, highlighted in the darkness, warp menacingly. He stopped suddenly, and again, for a few moments, Blossom anticipated some act of violence to be carried out.
“In a sense,” he muttered, looking away.
The first one spoke again.
“You should be happy that you’re useful, frankly. That’s our great gift to you ponies,” he sneered the word, “Even if it’s just as industrial fertilizer, none of you will ever again experience the agony of uselessness.”
The other prisoners glared at her, as though resentful. They had, she realized, probably already asked these very same questions.
The two Germaneans glanced upwards over the tailgate as a wing of fighter-bombers rushed overhead, engines howling. Blossom could not see them, but she could hear them shrieking. The sound of engines faded, and then was drowned away entirely by the deep, booming giant’s voice of an explosion. Against the noise of the blast, the crackling whine of a magic shield being battered. The ground became rougher again, as the truck entered into a road full of potholes. Or, she corrected herself, craters. The truck ground to a halt. She listened for swearing to indicate that it had broken down, but heard none. This was the final destination, for good or ill.
On either side of her, she heard the buzz of voices over a radio. The Germaneans, in their harsh, ear grating language, were shouting orders.
“Fuer!”
The ground shook under the tremendous crash of artillery guns firing, and the sound blasted all sense of sound from Blossom’s skull. The ringing in her ears drowned out all other sounds, and she saw, rather than heard the tailgate of the truck come down. The guards dismounted one at a time, and, pointing their submachine guns up at the prisoners huddled in the truck, shouted indistinct commands. Bodies pressed her forward from behind, and she realized that they were being ordered out. She staggered, legs waking up after hours without use, towards the tailgate. Now she could barely hear the Germaneans over the false noise in her ears.
“Raus, raus, you Equestrian swine. You are slow even when hunger has taken away your obesity!”
She hesitated, staring down at the three foot drop to the ground.
The rightmost Germanean started forward angrily, horn igniting.
“Get you the fuck out of the truck, Equestrian, or may the Sky God help me, I will fucking drag you out of it and fucking lubricate the dirt with your brai-”
The other Germanean visibly rolled his eyes, “Please exit the vehicle, and Hochrot here might not hurt you.”
“Might,” Hochrot repeated.
Blossom squeezed her eyes shut and jumped. The Earth came up hard and fast, and she fell hard into the mud. She felt something in her right front leg pop, and she went down.
“Fucking mulebrain,” Hochrot snapped, “Do you not know how to jump prop-”
“Ach,” the other Germanean spat dismissively, “Equestrians aren’t real ponies, go easy on them.”
“That’s even more of a reason to fucking beat their fucking brains out, Mitternacht!”
“Waste of time, waste of effort. You have to grease them all at the same time.”
“No you don’t, it’s cathartic as shit to single the dumbest of their kind ou-”
The moan of pain that Blossom had tried to hold in escaped.
Her eyes opened to find the two Germaneans staring down at her.
“Well, Hochrot, let’s get a third opinion on this.” He leaned down towards Blossom, “Little Equestrian, would you rather Hochrot stomped you to death, or would you rather be shot into a trench with ten others?”
“N-neither,” she stammered.
“Ach,” Hochrot groused, “Fucking centrist coward.”
“Depraved and weak-minded,” Mitternacht agreed, hauling her to her hooves with his magic.
“It’s a third position,” Blossom tried to reason.
The two Germaneans paused for a second.
“Shut up,” Hochrot snapped.
“A third position,” Mitternacht exposited, “would be if Hochrot beat you half to death and then we shot you into a trench.”
“Not a bad idea, actually,” Hochrot’s eyes brightened.
“Yes, actually,” Mitternacht nodded in agreement. He turned back to Blossom, “You are good for something after all, Equestrian. You are a credit to your...”
He paused.
“Uh...racemix?”
Blossom groaned, her leg throbbing.
Hochrot suddenly turned to Mitternacht, “You got any pervitin?”
***
Sonne raised the binoculars, gazing out across the blasted field to the great mountain city. Its glinting golden dome stood out against the darkening sky and the angry red of burning grassland. It held strong, flaring against the steady, continuous pounding of Germanean guns. More than any other shield the Germaneans had run into throughout this campaign, this one was the most difficult to deal with. It was especially bad that the twin sisters could lower small portions of the shield to deliver counterbattery fire, and then shut it up again tight before Germanean shells could find their way in. Counter barrages had forced Germaneans down into trenches. The Equestrians would eventually starve under the relentless siege they had been subjected to, but that would take months, years even.
That was, until now. He grinned as he lowered the binocs, glancing to the gun line behind him. Mixed in amongst the vast siege artillery pieces that the artillery regiments had brought up were new, strange looking devices. Spiny pieces with no visible breaches or muzzles, but plenty of tubing. They hummed, a malignant background thrum that made ponies’ teeth ached if they stood around them for too long and carried with them the stench of ozone and corpses. Unlike the guns around them, they looked like a row of teeth sprouting from the smashed and muddy ground, a predator’s maw, ready to bite. Sonne rather liked that comparison.
Rows upon rows of Equestrians were marched under escort to the guns. Battered, broken, defeated, afraid, they refused to make eye contact with the Germaneans. Sonne felt his smile turn as he registered the scene of unforgivable weakness in front of him. They were a mix and tangle of every walk of life, a heterogenous mass of useless flesh. Some of them were crying. No dignity at all. At the head of the ragged line of subequinity, a pear brown mud crawler limped, whimpering with pain. Sonne scanned across the line, noting a number of tattered khaki militia uniforms. Again, a disgusting sign of weakness. A Germanean would never have allowed himself to fall into captivity, the Equestrians frankly should have blown themselves up with hoof grenades, like respectable ponies.
There were hundreds of them here, carried by several armoured lorries, and kept in line by a section of submachine gun equipped Germaneans. They were made to line up in front of the gun line, retching on the corpse stench of a battlefield turned gangrenous greenish-brown by endless fighting. Before the two sides had settled into their comfortable and boring pattern of continuous barrage and counterbarrage, a number of break-in and break-out attempts had sowed the fields with the dead. Thousands of corpses, left to bloat in the sun, had over the months been pounded until they were indistinguishable from the mud around them. In one memorable instance, a battalion of captured Equestrians had been dressed in Germanean uniforms and marched towards Canterlot in an attempt to bait the sisters to lower the shield enough to strike. The shield was lowered enough for the battalion to get flattened by artillery and incendiaries, but not quite enough for the trifluoride to make its way in.
And now, finally, these guns would do what two hundred thousand shock troopers and four thousand pieces of artillery could not.
Sonne waited for the Equestrians to fall into line with butt strokes and cursing, running his gaze over them a final time for effect. He magically amplified his voice.
“I am certain that you Equestrians are wondering why we have brought you here. It’s simple, really. Behind me are a series of guns. You are going to help us make them work.”
The Equestrians muttered, concerned. It was unlike the Germaneans to let them anywhere close to their weapons. Some, Sonne was certain, thought that perhaps they could turn the new wunderwaffe against their captors. Let them hope, he shrugged mentally, it would probably make the effects more potent.
“Well,” one of the Equestrians, a militia member, started uncertainly, “What do you need us to do?”
Sonne chose to ignore the interruption, but only barely, “We’re going to hook you up to the weapons. It will be, as your people say, quick and easy.”
Those would have been lies if he had been speaking to beings with the credentials to exercise free will.
“So, it’s not hard labour?”
Sonne sighed, “No, not hard at all. You just need to sit back and let it happen.”
Another pony piped up, “Let what happen?”
“The help, obviously.”
“But what help?”
“Holy shit!” Sonne snapped angrily, without thinking, “Have you even been watching what we’ve been doing? At what point do you see us mounting heads on fucking tanks and go ‘oh yeah this is going to totally end well for me’? Indra’s fucking teeth, we’re going to use you as batteries!”
One of the Equestrians broke away in a blind sprint. Sonne growled, withdrawing his sidearm. The crack of small calibre discharge was almost lost in the continuous drumbeat of artillery fire. The Equestrian stopped suddenly and rolled as his front hoof was blown out from under him. He screamed, knee oozing blood and shattered cartilage.
“Fuck it!” Sonne snarled, gesturing to Mitternacht, “Scharführer, get them jacked in.”
The Germanean squad jumped into life.
***
The Equestrians screamed in agony as the gun powered up, an azure agglomeration of energy at what could roughly be described as the gun’s barrel heralding the coming maelstrom. They howled as the gun vibrated, a dull rumbling growl. Various tubes attached to the prisoners pulsated with sickly energy, their magic and souls, ripped straight from their bodies and fed through capacitors to generate a beam of raw power fueled by hatred, fear and pain. One of them, the pear brown mare with the messed up knee, seemed to have enough presence of mind to roll a pleading eye towards Sonne, as if begging him to provide succour. Her shriek was raw, heart-rending, mixing fear, pain and death together into one singular blast of horror. Sonne rolled his eyes. He strode up to her and struck her across the face.
"Oh shut the fuck up you decadent weakling," He snarled, "You should be thanking us for giving you the opportunity to die for a worthwhile cause for once. You are not good for much, but you are passable batteries."
The gun fired, a dazzling beam of light that flashed between several shades at once, and the Equestrian fell silent, body turning dark and then disintegrating. In turn, her cry of desperation became part of the abyssal wail of the artillery piece, a rising crescendo of dozens of souls ripped from their vessels, forced together, and thrown towards their countrymen to kill them.
In the distance, the bright lance of pure magic smashed into the golden dome surrounding Canterlot. The brief flash of light momentarily blinded Sonne, and outshone the slowly rising sun. The world seemed to turn dark against the burst of radiance. The shield wavered.
Sonne chuckled.
“Next!”
***
Celestia flinched. The magic backwash of the Germanean attack flowed over her psyche just as it did over the magical latticework of her shield. She felt as much as heard the psychic force of the blast that had just struck her defences. For a brief moment, dozens of voices echoed in her head, and their fear and agony became her own. She tasted copper, and had to physically stop herself from vomiting from the sheer force of the attack. Next to her, Luna fared worse. Her younger sister was a better combatant, but in her own way was also less emotionally disciplined. Luna physically recoiled, nose bleeding from the pressure, eyes flicking about the throne room in abject panic as her personality was temporarily subsumed by the terror.
“Luna,” Celestia gasped, “Hang on, sister.”
Luna’s eyes flickered, and then sharpened as she reasserted her personality.
“What was that?” She asked, gasping.
Celstia wasn’t sure what it was in totality, but she knew what it was in essence, “It’s evil, Luna.”
They both cried out as the second blast struck their mental defences, then a third, and a fourth. Celestia let out a whimper she could no longer hold back as she felt herself fading away amidst a sea of panicked souls. Her horn flickered, then with a sharp crack of disengaging magic and smoke, failed entirely.
Outside, Germanean loudspeakers blared loudly. As Celestia sank to her knees, a stab of hard sound assaulted her ears. She wondered, distantly, despite the emotional resonance of the repeat attacks, just how loud those propaganda pieces had to be for her to hear them in her spire. For them to be so clear, and yet so free of distortion...
“Equestrians! This is not a call for surrender! This is not a call for you to throw down your arms and live! You no longer have any recourse or option! Others will ask you to submit or die, we demand that you submit and die! Fight back, if you wish. Clutch your families, if you must. Make use of your final moments as you think is productive, and find us indifferent.”
The steady beat of what sounded like thousands of insectoid wings echoed throughout the city, chopping up the sounds of shouted threats and blaring music. The pin dropped.
“They’re in the city!” Celestia yelled, using her magic, despite the strain, to amplify her voice, “To arms, they’re in the city!”
***
Nachtenkrieg chortled as he fired. He sprayed bursts of withering machinegun fire from the side mounted turret of his helicopter. To the left and right of his black, locust shaped transport, he saw the diving forms of Germanean pegasi, whooping and cajoling, skull masks filling their manner with a sense of malignant ease. He saw one, eyes bloodshot with pervatin use, casually lob a grenade through the third story of an apartment complex as he flapped by. The window blew out in a spray of glass. The pegasus gracefully spun under a burst of tracer fire, bringing his submachine gun to bear in a fluid motion. He fired downwards in quick precise bursts as he passed smoothly over an Equestrian checkpoint below. The Equestrians twitched and spasmed under the hail of bullets, splattering the cobblestones with vitae. Sometimes, Nachten wished he could experience the beauty of pegasi flight, even if it meant being an honourary unicorn.
Nachten’s helicopter rushed over the rapidly overwhelmed Equestrian defenders, magically controlled frontal machinegun bifurcating civilians as it went. He frowned in the next moment as the helicopter banked away from its objective, under a concentrated fusilade of Equestrian anti-aircraft fire. While the pegasi could fly between buildings, the helicopters were too large to do so, a fact the Equestrians were now exploiting. He saw the anti-aircraft gun, its quad barrel spraying fire in the vicinity of his transport wing. Time seemed to slow artificially as he saw the weapon swivel to point, it felt, directly at him. He felt his heart beat twice.
Three pegasi rushed upwards from the street below, and swept up behind the defence. They pulled themselves into a hover just long enough to lob white phosphorous into the gun. Even over the rotors and gunfire, Nachten could hear the crew screaming as the chemical ate their flesh. The gun’s ammunition began to cook off. One of the pegasi lazily threw a wing up towards him, retaining forward momentum even as he interrupted the natural rhythm of his own movement. It was simultaneously a greeting and a show of skill. Nachten could sense his comrade grinning behind his mask. He waved back.
The helicopter corrected its course, and continued.
Equestrian pegasi battalions were beginning to disgorge from positions across the city. They reminded Nachten, for all the world, of a flock of birds. He was in the thick of it now. To his left, a transport fell out of formation, hurtling towards the ground. He saw a flash of movement as the fireteam of Equestrians that had maneuvered their way onto its canopy and shot it apart leapt up and away. As he observed the helicopter’s hurtling, twisting decent, Nachten found himself subtly impressed. He caught a brief glimpse of a cockpit turned red with blood before the chopper smashed through a building, rotors snapping off even as they smashed the structure apart.
A dive bomber rushing overhead literally came apart as it found itself suddenly swarmed by Equestrians. Its shrieking horn cut short as an Equestrian managed to flip over its buzzing propeller, only barely avoiding being shredded. The Equestrian landed hard, and smoothly shot the pilot. Nachten only had a brief moment to see the Equestrian’s head lurch sharply towards his group. Then the Equestrian was gone, a Germanean pegasus battering him from the plane, a combat knife smashing through his eye. Nachten caught a glint of white fur and the flash of a gold icon on the Equestrian’s right foreleg. Royal Guard.
“So these are Equestria’s elite.”
Below, far from scattering, the Equestrians were rallying. Nachten felt a stab of regret that he hadn’t fought these soldiers earlier in the campaign. Finally, a challenge worthy of his skills.
The helicopter lurched, and he looked down to find a batpony hanging upside down from the landing skid. The Equestrian glowered up at him, eyes gleaming with hatred, face partially obscured by the skids themselves. He held a pistol in one forehoof and a brick of explosive in the other. He levelled the pistol.
“Fuck!” Nachten swore, throwing himself back from the turret just in time to evade having his head blown open.
Using his magic, he swung his submachine gun out the side of the transport’s troop bay and fired downwards. It was a long, spraying burst that had no regard for fire discipline. He leaned back over the side to check if the Equestrian was still there. Shockingly, he was. The Equestrian had been hit four or five times, bloody puncture wounds sending blood streaming in a long trail in the whipping wind of the chopper’s movement. Still, the Equestrian reached upwards to plant the charge. Nachten shot him again, this time squarely in the head. The Equestrian slackened, then fell away, body spiralling to the ground below. The explosive was still magnetically attached to his hoof.
To the sides of his chopper, loudspeakers continued to blare music, distorted by the rotors and punctuated by the sounds of battle. A product of the Führer’s homeworld, it was a rousing piece of opera, one that spoke of goddesses riding out to collect the dead and dying warriors for an eternity of triumphs. He could see it now, in the flurries of pegasi and thestrals twisting around each other and spiralling by, shooting and stabbing, screaming and snarling. He barely had time to flinch as a Germanean and an Equestrian, locked in a manic death struggle hurtled through one side of the open troop compartment and out the other. Barely missing him, they twisted around each other wildly, trying to slip knives in.
They were bearing down on the main spire, hard and fast. The whole world seemed to fade away in light and noise as the rocket pods to either side of the choppers spat death into the face of the building, smashing vast, smoking holes into its edifice. Below, anti-aircraft batteries sprayed wildly into the air, tracking targets too numerous to coordinate around. Hundreds of planes roared overhead of the duelling pegasi. The teeth rattling roar of their engines set the background tone for the entire battle. A flight of them dove out from the vast, geometric patterns of formations overhead, rocket pods shrieking fury. They impacted just as the helicopters swug and, still moving forward came close enough for the infantry to dismount.
“Out! Out! Out!” Nachten roared, unclipping himself from the chopper and hitting the ground running.
He saw his squad hit the ground, scattered over a few meters as the helicopter rushed ahead, and banked upwards. The helicopter group roared upwards, split, banked around both sides of the tower and vanished from sight.
“Attack by section!” he heard his platoon leader shout over the comms.
“Section, section, section!”
His troops began to leapfrog forward towards the tower as machine guns began to spit withering tracer fire from the battered edifice. He pushed forward, in the trailing element of his line. Behind him, to the left, he sensed the covering fire his 2IC’s group was laying down across the face of the spire. Pushing the Equestrians’ heads down. A platoon of pegasi rushed over their heads, heading for the upper floors. They blew out windows with smgs, showering the rooms within with broken glass and spraying blood. They disappeared inside, to fight, downwards, room by room, to meet the infantry advancing upwards.
If they could manage to get inside.
They were close to the stairs now. Another squad of pegasi blazed past, hurling hoof grenades as they went. As soon as the grenades landed, they launched themselves upwards, firing into windows as they went. A burst of fire winged one of them. He spun away, screaming, end over end to a hard fall miles below. Blood trailed from his body in pseudo-artistic fashion. Another immediately jinked to the side, flipped upside down and rushed downwards past the window and lobbed a grenade through. The machinegun fell silent. So close now, so close. They simply had to shoot those two puffed up creatures in there and the war would be ove-
“ENOUGH!”
Nachten couldn’t see. He couldn’t see! He couldn’t see! He yelped in alarm, tripped and fell hard. Around him, he could hear his comrades do the same. Around him, blazing golden light reduced the world to dim nothingness. The voice was loud, it was deafening. All around him, the sound of battle faded away, first overwhelmed by the shout, then ending in fact. He knew, instinctively, that all eyes were fixed on the scene transpiring before him. His vision cleared just enough to see two figures emerging from the spire.
Celestia, Luna on her right, eyes blazing with light, horn gleaming. It was like staring into the sun. Nachten could feel his eyes turn dry before a power greater and more ancient than he could comprehend.He attempted to rise.
“CEASE!”
The echoing volume of the command made his ears ring. He nevertheless found his footing, and tried to bring his weapon to bear.
“KNEEL!”
Nachten fell to his knees, clenching his eyes shut against the terrible brightness. He felt wet blood dripping from his ears, sticky and hot. He was going to die. He knew it in his gut. This was where his life ended. He wasn’t afraid. He was simply numb.
The light intensified. A sharp snap of burning air drove Nachten flat once again. He was dead. He was dead. It was over. But the light was fading, the pattern of veins in his eyelids were no longer overwhelmed by the astral power they had been assaulted by. He opened his eyes. Two bipedal figures towered ahead of him, uniforms sharp, capes fluttering in a non-existant wind. They blazed with a light, that far from blinding, seemed to soothe his eyes and push back the force of the false sun. He caught a shock of golden hair beneath the storm cap of the one on the right.
The Führer!
But who was that on the left? It was not any of the field marshalls, he knew. This man was shorter, but held himself with an aristocratic dignity. Both figures turned, seemingly indifferent to the two princesses behind them. For the first time, Nachten saw the face of the man on the left. His uniform was simple, brown, and all the more powerful for its restraint. Black hair poked out under his cap, bearing an eagle and swastika. But what drew Nachten’s attention was the moustache. Small, distinct, disciplined, noble. This man was important.
“You have done well, soldiers,” Dieter Hienrich called, voice clear, “Now, you need only watch.”
“You are the heroes of the Reich,” the second figure commented, “True National Comrades.”
“YOU!” Luna roared from behind, “COME AND DIE, MONSTER!”
Dieter and the figure turned calmly.
“Your power cannot defy the will of the Volk,” Dieter intoned.
“Your power cannot change this world-cycle,” said the black haired man, “Alone.”
“I am Lightning.”
“And Sun.”
And the two became one.
Eyes blazing with white light, Dieter spoke again, voice echoing with power, “I am against Time.”
Nachten shot to his hooves, saluting wildly, “KALKI! Praise Kalki! The Avenger! Cleanser of the unclean!”
Around him, the platoon repeated the same chant.
“Kalki! Kalki! Kalki! KALKI! KALKI! KALKI!”
“Come and fight, false Kshatriya,” Dieter intoned solemnly, “Fight and relent.”
Luna roared forward, eyes blazing with lightning, a magically manifested sabre ready to rip the Avatar’s head from his shoulders. He raised his hand, casually, and caught a blade made of pure night between his fingers. In a twist quicker than mortal eyes could comprehend, he twisted the blade, shattering it. Luna howled from the magical discharge, and fell back. Celestia was immediately on her heels, roaring as she bathed the tall figure of the Führer in solar radiation. For a moment, the biped disappeared, and Nachten almost feared the worst. The light cleared, and the Führer wasn’t there anymore. There was merely blackened cobble.
Celestia smiled triumphantly. The smile cut short as a brightly glowing hand reached from behind her and grabbed her by the horn.
“I am the Sun,” Dieter reminded her, and wrenched her head back.
“I am the Lightning,” he wielded a burning sword, that dimmed the world around it and thrummed with incomprehensible might.
“Through the power of will and vril, I ascend,” He brought the sword to her horn.
“I bring truth,” Dieter continued as Celestia choked, and Luna rushed towards them, “And this is truth: The weak and servile may rule by deceit and false power-”
Luna lept towards him. Dieter, in one swift motion, turned, wrenching Celestia with him, and allowing Luna to overshoot him. She collapsed hard into the marble ground.
“-and I stand to face them. I bring might and light,” he continued, “your rebellion ends today, my steed.”
Celestia screamed in rage and pain as Luna was drawn into her.
“You split yourself in twain, but what has been done can be undone. You have the degenerate to trample, and I worlds to burn. Resist it no longer.”
Celestia and Luna fused together, their screams becoming fainter and fainter. Dieter hauled himself onto the back of a now larger and singular white Alicorn. She reared back, as he raised his sword triumphantly. He gestured with it across his equine soldiers lined up and watching him. They were changing too. White, blazing with power, tall and apollonian.
“You,” he said, “are worthy. You shall pull the chariots of light to end the Kali Yuga.”
“Kalki!” They roared, “Kalki! KALKI! KALKI!”
The field marshals stepped forward through the haze of light, radiant.
“We ride,” he announced, “To reclaim what was lost.”
