He pinned her against the wall, beak snipping lightly as he traced through her mane, finally reaching her ear and nibbling, lightly. She had to bite her lip, but only after the startled beginning of a breathy moan had escaped. She could feel him grinning and resisted the urge to punch him in his smarmy beak.

“Jebati!” she hissed, the word slipping out as she felt a claw digging into her haunch, her hooves at last leaving the ground. His waist was too large to wrap her legs around him, but she found purchase against his hips, hiking her body up the wall to finally put her on level with her lover. He pulled back, looking her evenly in the eyes, his own hazel ones overflowing with lust and desire. He opened his smirking beak, and said-

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine! C’mon!”

September 7th, 1011
Whitemane RAF Airbase
Bales, Equestria

“Hey, c’mon!” Static repeated, telekinetically tossing a book at Paige’s head. “We’ve got a mission outside Snowbury! Ace wants you out there now!

“Jebi!” Paige hissed in frustration, rubbing her head as both it and something else throbbed. “How long did I sleep?”

“About three hours,” Static replied, already dressed in her flight gear as she rummaged in the desk on her side of the room for something in a drawer.

“Sounds about right…” Paige grunted as her head flopped back down to the pillow, feeling her desire from the wet dream slowly ebb away, but remaining persistent in the background like an annoying friend with personal space issues. “That was a damn good dream, too…”

“You start humping your pillow again, I’m taking photos,” Static leered back, grinning.

“What do you mean ‘again?’” Paige snapped as she immediately took up a pillow, tossing it after her red flightmate, who ducked behind the standing locker as the fluffy projectile bounced harmlessly off the metal door, followed by a stream of Rijekan cursing.

“Outside, ten minutes!”

The winter wind cut through her as she stepped outside the flight barracks, even past her wool and leather coat and her own pegasi natural resistance to cold temperatures. Snow had yet to start falling, but the autumn tones on the trees and Bales’ holding of the Running of the Leaves were clear indicators that it was not far off. While Whitemane had been of a good size before the invasion, it hadn’t been near large enough to hold all the aircraft that had been frantically shunted here. As a result, both aircraft and aircrews were housed in quick built structures, whether it was ramshackle hangers or military field barracks set up outside the base proper. Planes from all over had been housed here, those not attending to keeping the changelings held back over Canterlot, the Crystal City or further west containing Las Pegasus. Paige hurried over to where No. 83 had been set up, in the middle of the yard with enchanted netting tossed over it. Underneath, Static was already going over a clipboard with a groundpony, checking off a list for parts and maintenance while munching on a bagel levitating near her face, coming close so she could take a bite occasionally. Upon Paige’s appearance, she nodded to a nearby platter on a stack of crates, piled high with other such breakfast delights such as the aforementioned bagels, prepackaged alfalfa pancakes, a few carrots that had clearly come out of a can and some applesauce and red apples dull from being in storage. Without a word, Paige immediately put together a wartime breakfast as she moved to look under, nodding to herself as she spied the empty bomb rack. Ever since they had arrived, Bomber Command had stripped Blenheims of their pitiful bomb load, repurposing them into heavy fighters to escort the much more efficient and powerful bomber flights, a job they found they excelled at.

“Mail call!” shouted a RAF corporal, a member of the groundcrew for Whitemane and another pegasus, this one of spotted grey coloration and a blonde mane, sorting through the mail as he went. They were familiar with this stallion, by the name of Dunky Dee, as he had been the clerk and operations junior NCO who often relayed orders from the base commander to their squadron, one of dozens of dedicated messengers who lightened the load of controlling massive numbers of aircraft on base at once. “Let’s see...Static! Static! Lilac! Static! Ace! Marbles! Another one for Static! Turner! And Static again!”

“Ah, my adoring fans!” Static quipped, waving a hoof to Dee before her red magical aura captured the proffered letters, drifting over towards her. “I don’t know how they figure out where I am so fast. These are the only poor bastards who have the military mail system beat!” She sniffed the letters from several of her radio fans back down south once more. “Sweet, sweet outrage and opinion leaking from every page. Hey Turner, d’ya think if I can get enough of them to sign a petition they can get me out of this lousy war?”

“I’d hope not,” Paige said back, heading to Dee for her mail. “I’d have no reason to stick around.”

Corporal Dee seemed to hesitate as she approached, the groundcrew who had also received mail having already grabbed their letters and scampered off to read what little bit of contact with their families, friends and civilization they had. But Paige knew exactly what the stallion’s furtive, nervous glance was about. News traveled quickly in military units, and the fact she had kept up a romantic correspondence with none other than an Imperialist griffon had become an open secret. With the grapevine in full swing, she’d gotten a lot of dirty looks upon arriving. After a moment, Dee released the envelope from between his teeth, as well as Ace’s so she could take it to him.

“Nah, you’d stay,” Static retorted, already ripping open one of her letters as she took another bite of her levitating bagel. “Where else would you go?”

“Griffonia,” Paige retorted almost instantly as she moved to 83’s hatch. “You’d have to ship my dust after, I’d be so fast.”

“Pillow,” Static teased after her, smirking as she turned back to her fanmail.

Inside the Blenheim, Ace sat at his pilot’s seat, silent as he went down a clipboard list of his own, checking instruments and watching the fuel gauge fill slowly. Paige moved up next to him, gently tapping his shoulder to get her lieutenant’s attention, holding the letter out to him. He raised his head in obvious surprise that she was suddenly there, but his reaction otherwise was muted.

“Turner,” he muttered in acknowledgement as he glanced down at the envelope, clearly crestfallen at the address. “Sorry to wake you so early. They’re scrambling us fast. Olenians and Umbrals attacking Snowbury, command wants us to plaster them before bug panzers back them up.”

“Forget it, sir,” Paige replied, moving towards her navigator’s station. Now she was no longer a bombardier, her natural inclination for weather patterns as a pegasus made her duties in charting even more important. Lucky her, she’d have a few minutes before she really needed to get to her job, so with the little time she had left before they took off, she quietly accumulated her breakfast of coffee so strong it could power a car, pancakes chewy enough to pass as dumplings and an apple or two, spread over her navigator’s table as she tore open the envelope, just happy to see something from her long silent beau.

Her eyes skimmed across the paper as she took a sip, wincing at the bracing taste of the coffee...

Sent August 16, 1011

Dear Paige,

Happy Birthday. I’m hoping I get this in before it's belated, but regardless. I got you something from a local shop with the time I’ve had, but you’ll have to excuse the size. I didn’t have much time to get it or a wide selection (or envelope). Lucky me, I remembered purple.

I know it’s been forever since you heard from me. It took a long time to get your letter. I’m sorry. I was wounded again, this time a lot worse than before. They sent me to a field hospital, then on to a surgical station, then to Visaginas for recovery. By the time you caught up to me, I was mostly on the mend. Another week and I would have missed you again.

I’m so sorry to hear about the invasion. I know Equestria is like a second home to you. From the news reports we’re being told, it's not good. If half of what they’re reporting is true, the ‘lings are giving you a real fight. If more, then I shudder at the thought. I’ve seen the results of such a war myself. Looks like our suspicions were right. For what it's worth.

I’m honestly unsure of where to start. A lot has happened, to both of us. So I’ll start with your last letter and work my way up.

I’ve seen some changeling hardware. A lot of it was developed next to ours. Damned good guns, well made panzers. Aside from that, I’ll have to rely on you for descriptions. Mine are at least two years out of date. But given what I remember of that and the Equestria briefings, I know there’s a real gap in the technology.

I’m going to move on.

We lost Sabine. Turns out Wingbardy decided to give panzers and weapons to Asterion, so the bulls snuck a brigade over the Creeper Mountains somehow. After weeks of hunting partisans, we weren’t prepared for a full attack. Somegriff had to hold the line for the rest of the kompanie to disengage. Sergeant Hellseig’s gone too. Held out long enough for the rest of us to escape.

(A few lines are scribbled out)

And I've lost a wing. No, you’re not reading that wrong. My left wing got trapped in the wreckage. Haul had to literally hack the wing off to get me out, or I'd have burned with Sabine. It's hard to talk about. Or write about. This time, it's not just some shrapnel taken from under my skin. It's a whole part of me gone. I can’t fly anymore, and when I walk I’m off-balance most of the time unless they hang a weight on me. Sometimes, I forget it's gone and flare up my wings out of habit. Then I start tipping and see that little stub and it all comes crashing back. I still feel it sometimes too, and that doesn't help. Phantom-Extremitäten-Syndrom they call it. According to both the physician and psychiatrist, there's a chance it’ll never go away. I can feel everybody staring. It’s not natural, and I can tell only the dogs and wingless ponies don’t pity me. I try not to go out if I can help it.

Mother paid for a long distance phone call to me. Apparently it took twenty-three minutes and five operators patching her through. She kept going from crying frantically to hollering at me back and forth for about an hour before she hung up. I barely got a dozen words in. You know how she gets. She calmed down in her letter though.

I’m getting fitted for some new prototype prosthetic, one that is made of metal, can move like a normal wing and is powered by a small crystal. Normally it would cost a small fortune. But the Reichsarmee is covering it as part of the development, with me as the ‘volunteer’. Also, surprise, it's being made by your second favorite griff, Morgend Longpaw himself. He won’t leave me alone, keeps coming in at all hours to try frames on me, take measurements, other stuff I don’t know how to describe. I think, to him, I'm another test subject, part of the experiment, not so much a patient or customer. I think I see what you were talking about with his oddities when you described him.

I’ve been decorated with a Knight’s Cross, and offered a commission. Uncle August came in and told me they want me for some kind of propaganda program called the ‘Panzer Elite’. The Empire’s gathering all these high performing ‘ace’ crews from the past few years of fighting and are putting us up on a pedestal. National heroes, they call us. I wouldn’t have taken it, but the position offered an officer candidacy, and I know I'll never afford the tuition for university on my own. And, it came from Uncle. You know it’s a serious deal when he lifts me out of trouble. Eihol, Spotsley and Haul are coming with me to test some new systems. Need a new gunner to take my place. Uncle says that my Kadet-Offizier training will finish at the same time as the testing, so I'll be a Panzer-Leutnant by New Year’s. But after the orders came down, I had to write you before I moved on and things got even more jumbled up. You’ll find the Jungeschule’s address in the envelope, so we can avoid the confusion at my end. It’s so odd, starting at nothing and now soaring to such heights in only a few years (figuratively, at least. There I go, already joking about being flightless). So much has changed, it’s had to read back on the old letters I was able to save. We’re both such different people now.

It’s very strange, being the one at peace while you’re off at war. And what a war I’ve read. The press is going giddy, watching Equestria taken down a peg or two. For years, the Empire has had to endure scorn and political ridicule from across the sea, as the Sick Bird of Griffonia. Now the Empire’s on the rise and Equestria is looking to fall. The pundits and politicos out here are full of themselves. But I’m not celebrating. I’m right there praying Equestria pulls out of this war. You have faith, and you’re putting everything you have into this fight. I know it, or you would have grabbed the first boat East. So, I have faith in Equestria because I have faith in you.

Don’t worry about me anymore. I’m safe again, and you need to worry about yourself as much as you can. Keep safe, my love. Things are changing. And this war, however terrible, can’t last forever. We -will- be together one day. All the trouble we’ve been through can’t have just built us up to this if the gods didn’t have a plan for us in the end. And you still have my medal.

I eagerly await your next letter, and when I next write you, it will be from the akadamie as I take my first steps towards being an officer.

Yours always.

Love,

Cyril

(Inside the envelope is a photograph of Cyril standing in his dress uniform, wingsleeve pinned back, as he stands in front of a hospital’s flower garden. With the photo is a dried out but still beautiful lilac, the same as in the hospital photo. Another note reads ‘These are rare in the Herzland, but grow like crazy here, so I bought one from a slower stand. It’s not much, but I hope it’s enough. Happy Birthday ~Cyril’)

“Turner!”

She snapped her head up, jolting in surprise, coffee slightly splashing onto her front as she cursed in Rijekan. Ace waited patiently before he tossed a clipboard to her, clattering on her map table.

“Need you to run your checks, chart us a course to Snowbury with these coordinate checkpoints and help with the systems test before we take off. Rest of the squadron’s queuing up, let’s go!”

With a sigh, Paige carefully tucked the letter away, mildly resenting Ace’s ability to still function even after such a personal blow as he’d taken. Regardless, they had a job to do, and lives to save on the ground. But before she got into it, she gently took a small sniff of the rather unfortunate lilac that had been pressed flat in the envelope. In Rijekograd, her mother had grown lilacs in that same flowerbed that they were surely about to abandon.

A stew of emotions churned in her gut. She desperately missed Cyril and her parents, it had been years since she’d been home and now like Equestria it too was falling to chaos. Her regret and resentment warred in her head a moment longer, battling over the sense of depressed dread she had felt everyday that past few months.

Then, after letting herself slip off the deep end a moment, she simply shook her head, sighed again, and tucked away the lilac to get started on her list. There was a war to fight.

She was so tired.

On August 25, 1011 ALB (After Luna Banishment), citing months if not years of bad relations and numerous provocations, the Griffonian Kaiserreich invaded their much smaller neighbor, the Skyfall Trade Federation. The stated war goal was to reclaim the prosperous port city of Skyfall itself and capture its fleet, which had once made up the old Kaiserliche Marine before the Republican Revolution of 978 saw the city split away.

While brave in standing their ground and professionally trained, the Federation’s defense forces were no match for the much larger and more heavily armed and now veteran Reichsarmee. Within three weeks, the countryside was completely under Imperial control and the city of Skyfall put under siege. But Skyfall was well fortified, and drew their fleet in to dissuade the Kaiserliche Marine.

In response, one Imperial commander, General Celia Marshtail, in a stunning show of ruthless cunning, bribed the mercenaries employed by Skyfall’s trade barons. The gates were thrown open and the mercenaries, bored and frustrated with being trapped in a siege by their employers, began looting the entire city, starting with the treasury. When Reichsarmee troops entered the city almost unopposed, many joined in the Sack of Skyfall.

It took an entire day before the Vollstrecker managed to regain control of the situation. In that time, almost all of the mercenaries were arrested, 600 Reichsarmee soldiers were summarily executed on the spot and 25,000 civilians were killed or wounded in the crossfire.

Relieved that the chaos was over, the city garrison, who had worked with the Reichsarmee to tame the storm, surrendered with no further resistance. The Federation government fled to the nearby Haukland Isles, attempting to rally political favor from the Griffonian Revolutionary Republic and the Federated Republic of Aquileia. By September 13th, both the city and the fleet were secured by the Empire, and the territory declared reclaimed.

President Verany of Aquileia insisted the Empire had gone too far, as while annexing the Grenzwald was seen as acceptable, this was seen as warmongering. Duchess Regent Gabriela pointed out the hypocrisy of that accusation, considering Aquileia had used the excuse of ‘unity’ to ‘liberate’ every single small republic and duchy, formerly part of the old kingdom, between the borders of Aquileia and the Empire.

No official response was sent.

The two nations now prepare, on the brink of war.

October 7th.

After weeks of quiet, careful negotiation, the Federated Republic of Aquileia, the Griffonian Revolutionary Republic, the Skyfall Trade Federation and the Knightly Kingdom of Vedina sign the Republican Entente.

October 9th.

Vedinian and Revolutionary troops cross the northern border from Cloudbury to the duchies of Feathisia, Strawberry and the newly conquered Whitetail Territory. To the south, from former Griefwald, Aquileian tanks surprise Reichsarmee troops, bombers soaring overhead. At sea, what’s left of the Federation’s naval forces join those of the other three powers to trap the Kaiserliche Marine in Skyfall and Rottendedam.

Imperial forces at the borders are caught in a state of surprise. The attack was only expected from one direction. While all Imperial branches scramble to respond, losses are already mounting.

The Great struggle for Griffonia has begun.

October 15, 1011
Grenzwald Offizier-Jungeschule
Zeldstadt, Hellsword

“Extra, extra! Read all about it! Empire under attack! Entente forces pinch from both sides! Duchess Regent calls for volunteers to stand against the Republican menace! Extra!”

The newsfoal standing on the street corner kept crowing as he held up the latest issue of Der Rechte Flügel, the stream of passing offizier-kadets occasionally tossing him a few idols for a copy. Cyril, for his part, kept on, pressing for the dormitories, not eager to dawdle. The kadet fatigues mercifully helped blend him in like camouflage in the brush, reducing the discomfort of his empty wingsleeve. But his was a matter of time constraint, not personal space. Flying over campus was off limits to all kadets (not that much of a bother to non pegasus ponies and dogs from the Bund), leaving the air open for instructors, staff and VIPs like visiting knights and inspecting officers. He couldn’t stand the stares that persisted, the whispers that he could barely hear in quiet lecture halls when the instructors had left them to their assignments or quizzes. He’d been warned to expect distaste, and got it. But there was an equal amount of awe from the younger, less hardened kadets. Much like the rest of the Empire, battle scars were a mark of honor, in the Grenzwald more than any elsewhere. But the same unnatural sense of missing a wing persisted, and the stares that came with it, from the Grenzwald kadets, Herzland kadets and even other combat vets like him. Those who would take interest in the young drake never took long to come face to face with him, and were all too eager to ask him about his experience, ponies and griffons alike, further dragging up unwanted memories. The only people he was friends with these days were his crew, barracked off campus at the proving grounds and a few of the other vets who managed to get past their own prejudice.

As if his unwanted celebrity wasn’t already rather uncomfortable, the classes were killing him. Normally, a kadet candidate would take at least two years of education in the Empire to earn a commission from the Osnabeak Akadamie. The knight-run learning institutes in Hellquill, Swordsson and Zeltdstadt were even harsher, taking up to three years according to what he had heard. But for a combat veteran like Cyril, who had already passed basic training nearly half a decade ago and acquired more combat experience than most of the frontier kadets here, there was a fast track option available, his training being focused on more intellectually demanding undertakings. Imperial and Reformisten officers, NCO’s and instructors alike shared these halls, the Herzland specialists imparting their expertise until the Grenzwald campus was fully caught up on modern panzer warfare, which only a few Black Knights had grips with. But from all sides, he received no quarters. Upon waking up, it was physical conditioning, with extra physical therapy for Cyril himself instead of flying. Then, after breakfast it was a full barrage of classes for eight hours in subjects like mathematics, combatives, foreign briefings, etiquette, political science, tactical lessons and for him particularly mechanical engineering.

Ironically, the subject Cyril suffered in the worst of all, worse even than mathematics, the physical training or etiquette was tactics class, by far the most essential. In all his time, Cyril had only ever had to worry about staring down a gunsight, predicting what the other side was about to do. Now, he’d be in charge of not only his own whole panzer, but three more on top of that. And so far, his idea of reasonable tactics had only been met with lukewarm success. Hauptmann Zettler had highlighted this with a simple exercise; with a theoretical four panzer force, assault an enemy bunker on a hill dug in with an anti-Panzer gun. Cyril’s answer had been to split the force and pincer from both sides, but Zettler had pointed out that it exposed all four panzers’ flanks. Much as Cyril had wanted to protect his drakes, the captain had informed him, he had risked even more injury by letting the enemy take a pick of such juicy targets. The correct answer, Zettler had said, was to square off with two of the panzers as a gun line with their thick frontal plates, while the other two were to pinch from the flanks. It sat badly in Cyril’s beak, knowing from firstclaw experience that such a move would cost at least one panzer. But according to the instructors, his own tactic would result in two, possibly three panzers down with flank shots. It had been embarrassing. Despite this display, Oberstmeister Heimclar, watching nearby, reiterated that the suggestion of the aspiring kadet was not entirely without merit, mentioning how his logic of trying to prevent casualties was admirable. The execution, Heimclar has reasoned, required refinement. The real exercise, for example, would have far more clear conditions than a stock sample tactics board.

After all this, Cyril had just enough time to rush to his dorm, change out of his kadet uniform into his newly issued panzerwaffen blacks, grab a bite to go and get out of town to the proving grounds. Luckily, Zeltstadt’s train station wasn’t far from the campus, and once he was aboard it was smooth sailing, assuming he caught the 4:35. So it was he flung open the door to his dorm, glancing around the room. His roommate appeared to be otherwise engaged, the blue blood lout. Cyril sighed, changing out of his kadet uniform and into his Reichsarmee panzerwaffe uniform as quick as he could, already trying to remember what they had tested yesterday on the Gryta and what the engineers claimed they’d be testing while he was gone. He’d have to review the notes once he got there, assuming they didn’t move to gunnery without-

Something on the bed caught his eye, and he paused. A few envelopes. His mother hadn’t stopped writing, since the telephone she used had been down at the local pub (they were too poor to afford their own set), but her last letter came in two days ago, after she’d already come to visit him. He moved quickly, flipping them over to inspect. A letter from the Reichsarmee, which he would save for later. Another one from Griffenheim made him pause as he recognized the name of Father Andreas Bronzeclaw, the priest from Greifenmarsch and the Herzland Wars who’d returned to the Great Temple afterwards. That could be interesting.

The last letter, however, made his breath hitch and his body freeze up.

A letter from Paige.

For one long, agonizing minute, he stared at the letter. That was her writing, she always addressed it in cursive, and the stamps were indeed Equestrian, the spires of Canterlot on the small tabs. He almost didn’t know what to do, having been so long without her.

Then a train whistle blew in the distance, and he snapped back to reality, quickly tossing the letter in his pack and finishing his preparations to leave.

Ten minutes later, Cyril squeezed between two tired looking pony laborers, finding an open space on the passenger car to let him slip in and sit down next to the Bronze Dog slumbering near the end of the car. The window captured the setting sun perfectly, and he set his travel bag down as the letter once more materialized. Another minute of indecision, and he sliced the top open with a claw.

As the train steamed off into the Longswordian countryside, Cyril finally unfolded it and began to read Paige’s words once again...

Sent September 9th, 1011

Dear Cyril,

It’s so good to finally hear from you. I was worried something had gone wrong. In a way, from your description, it did. I am so sorry. I have no words to express my sorrow and sympathy. Pegasi feel the loss of another creature’s wing much like death. It’s our greatest fear. Not even magic can properly heal it sometimes. The thought of having to live without it makes me feel ghastly ill for lack of a stronger term. And you’re working with Morgend Longpaw! What I wouldn’t give to be with you, for multiple reasons. Try to work through your troubles with him for me, he’s possibly the most brilliant drake you’ll ever meet (though I wouldn’t say he’s my second favorite).

Your news about the Panzer Elite promotion makes me happy. Congratulations on making the cut. Now you’ll be getting an education too. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You’re a hard worker. I know you can be a good student at this, army life is everything to you. You earned this, and you’re finally getting recognized for what I’ve always known you could do.

I’ve been so scared the past few months. This war has only gotten started, and for a while it seemed like you were gone. Or at least just not there. But now you’re safe again, and I can look forward to your letters once more.

We’ve been pulled back again. Tall Tale and Las Pegasus fell to the assault, so our flight has been taken to Bales. Canterlot is practically within short flight range now. But it’s changed. The mountains and forests here are now working to our advantage, funneling the changelings into killzones. I hear there’s still fighting in Mariposa and Raspberry Grove. Word is the Royal Army finally got solid defense lines around Marechester and Ponderosa. Rockville is supposed to get reinforcements, but that’s so far away I can’t say for certain. There’s no way the south will let the bugs roll through. But. We may have finally slowed them down. Maybe even stopped them. I haven’t been anywhere but the airbase and Bales. Well, and up in No. 83, shooting at the bugs. They stopped fitting her with bombs. Seems we’re a bomber escort now, which makes me just a navigator. We go up almost every day, it seems. Never at night. It’s practically suicide against the enemy. Changeling fighters, it turns out, are not so impossible to kill by Spitfires, but we’ve got less and less of those every day, and the bug pilots spent a hell of a lot longer training for this job. Some of their aces are almost magical in the air. There’s two we’re always concerned with; Verkut and Kalart. We know their names because changeling propaganda leaflets keep turning up bragging about them. Both are able to slip right past a bomber wing’s fighter escort and gut the wing with little effort, kill an escort or two and get away scot free. I hear Verkut even shot down a Wonderbolt, but nopony official’s talking about it.

The rest of the base always seems to be in some grim spiral, only broken up by radio speeches from the Princesses and large doses of cider, the “old medicine” as we call it. But we keep going up. We get shot down or full of holes, and we grab replacement planes, replacement crew, patch up the damage and go again. And again. It almost seems endless. All the ordnance we’re dropping has to be doing something. RAF High Command ordered the cessation of strategic bombers on our cities. Apparently, there’s too much collateral damage and the Princesses don’t wish to cause anymore civilian deaths. Good and bad with that decision. But still.

Sombra’s back. It’s official. I don’t know if your newspapers are reporting on that. He was never confirmed destroyed in the Crystal War. Now he’s back and converting Crystal ponies to his Thrall Legions, working with the changelings. This war is like something out of a nightmare. It just keeps getting worse for us when we think we’ve seen it through to the worst. No word on what Royal Command is doing about it. I just hope they act fast before the Crystal Empire falls, and then we have one more frontline and one less ally.

We’ve been told to expect some company. Apparently, a treaty was signed with (the word has been clipped by a censor), so we can expect to see more backup any day now. Any port in a storm, I guess. Commonwealth fighters touched down, talking about Expeditionary battalions landing in (the word has been clipped by a censor) to come help us. About time, but I’m betting nopony is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bit of an odd bunch, kind of treating this war as an exciting getaway. They keep going on about ‘saving our flanks a second time’. I remember flying with them in the Crystal War. Seems a lifetime ago, not just a few years. We’re just fighting and surviving as best we can out here, but it’s hard. Static covers it up with sarcasm and humor, but I can tell she’s scared to death. The more she laughs it off, the more frightened she is. We also found out that Tall Tale was Ace’s hometown. He doesn’t even know if his wife and foals got out. No wonder he’s been out of sorts. We let him be after that. I think he needs to work out a few things before we can help him. He always seems to be on the verge of cracking. I just hope that if he does, it’s not while he’s at the stick.

Looks like the Empire decided not to sit back and wait. The newspapers are going crazy about Imperial panzers blitzing the border, like it's somehow right up there with the changeling tanks bearing down on us even now. I know how loyal you are, but I’m going to say this right now, and you’ll likely disagree, but here it goes; invading Skyfall is a mistake. I don’t doubt the Empire can win in Skyfall and the Haukland Isles. But you may have to watch for a bigger war yourself. Aquileia and the Republic both were trying to get on the Federation’s good side. You’re so worried about me, now I’m getting worried about you all over again in the course of a letter on top of the news of your wing, now what the papers are telling us from across the sea.

In these times, I find myself turned to poetry and sayings. Pieces of home I’ve come to treasure the longer I am away from it, and the worse I hear things are getting. Father finally admits it is probably for the best to leave now. They’re talking about trying to apply for entry to Gryphia, as much as he hates it. Mother keeps reminding him they have no choice. Almost all sea traffic is blockaded right now, and the only choice aside from fleeing to the Hillfolk League through Diamond Mountain is trying to push through Barrad to Kása. Brook fell off the scene again. Probably left the Friestaat to escape before the Reformisten advance. There’s nothing I can do to help any of them, and what’s worse is that the letter took two months to reach me here. They’ve likely left by now. I don’t even know where they decided to go. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear from any of them again. They may as well be one of my squadron, shot dead out of the sky. It feels the same.

I’m going to miss my mother’s garden.

The whole world seems to be falling apart. Sometimes it feels all I have left is my flight and you.

Stay in touch. I can’t lose you again.

Ostani na sigurnom i živi dobro, draga moja.

Gives you a reason to learn Rijekan.

Love,

Paige

P.S: the lilac was perfect. They grew all over the hills around Rijekograd. I remember a corner of my mother's garden had a huge lilac bush, too thick to play in but beautiful to look at. It’s likely gone now, but your gift will always remind me of it. Thank you.

“Next stop! Korinna Proving Grounds!”

Cyril’s head snapped up from the letter, which he’d fortunately only just finished. Time to think about it later. There was a lot to unpack in this.

The crowd on the station was not thick, and Cyril had no luggage. He flowed through the station like water, trying not to look up at the winged forms flying overhead, either chatting in the station rafters or leaving through the open ends of the station. But he couldn’t help glancing up at the Pegasi and griffons above him, a twinge of jealousy in his gut.

“Oops!”

Something small and solid impacted his waist, and Cyril glanced down to apologize to the small figure when his voice caught in his throat. He had assumed them to be a chick or a foal, but upon first glance he had no clue what to think. He was the right size, and possessed a muzzle and front hooves, but his head and chest were covered in white feathers, and his lower half was a sky blue that reached to paws and a leonine tail. He was dressed like many other lower class worker children in the Grenzwald, though this being Hellsword the style closely resembled Herzlander clothes.

And, strangest of all, the child had purple eyes and no wings.

“Sorry, sir!” the chick, foal, whatever this child was snapped a clumsy salute at the sight of Cyril’s uniform. “Wasn’t watching where I was going!”

“It’s alright,” Cyril found himself automatically replying.

With that, the child beamed up at him before galloping off, moving through the sparse crowd towards a female griffon, who smiled down at the child warmly. She must have been his mother, but how? Adopted, surely.

The formel and strange child turned to the train, where an Earth pony stallion, one of the bigger breeds, was exiting a passenger car. Like the formel and child, he was dressed basically, like a low class worker, his saddlebags bulging with what looked like tools. The griffon and child embraced him, and he back to them, talking and smiling like a family recently reunited.

Because they were.

“Huh,” Cyril remarked quietly to himself, watching the scene until the family made to move towards the entrance. In a flash, he was gone, though not without a pit in his gut...alongside a warm glow of some kind of positive emotion he could no longer name.

He was met at the station entrance today by Gefreiter Sabrina Eisenwing, his new gunner, lounging in the staff car, paging through a magazine with a bored expression. While the Panzer Elite has done their best to keep veteran crews together, Cyril now had need of two new crew members, with him being promoted and Haul seemingly having vanished. As a result, he’d been given fresh graduates, replacements in the barest of terms. At least Eisenwing has come highly recommended, and if he was being frank she was fairly attractive, a nice change from the rough and scarred faces he’d served with the past few years. She glanced up as he approached, then immediately stood, stepping out to open the rear door for him and saluting sharply.

“Afternoon sir,” she greeted, back ramrod stiff, wings frozen in place.

“At ease,” Cyril replied, saluting in return. After so long as one of the griffs below in the enlisted, being greeted as a ‘sir’ was still strange to him. “Were you waiting long?”

“No sir. Pulled in thirty minutes ago.” She shut the door behind him, taking her own seat and starting the staff car. “You lucked out, sir. They’re currently fixing a problem with our engine, so we’ve got time to get back and get you up to speed.”

“That -is- good news,” Cyril acknowledged, watching the train station pull away and the Korinna grounds roll up instead, his mind elsewhere as he moved on into the second phase of his training. Right now, his mind was on the slip of paper tucked away in his coat pocket. And it would stay there the rest of the day.

November 20th, 1011
Whitemane RAF Airbase
Bales, Equestria

Paige spat as she threw her flying cap to the tarmac, cursing to herself. Another flight, another bitter disappointment. Gods, they had -won- this one. So why didn’t it feel like a victory? She looked back over No. 83 and the sheer number of bullet holes in her side brought back to mind the wind whistling past her mane, hearing the shriek of the air as they had dove and banked through the sky. Contesting the air above the Crystal Empire against the Thrall pilots had been assigned to the Reds, leaving the Royal Air Force to focus on protecting what was even now being referred to as the Blueblood Line. While the situation up north was still in turmoil as the Crystal and socialist ponies kept being pushed further and further back by an almost unending tide of Sombra’s Thrall Legions backed by changeling panzers, umbral monsters, Olenian skirmishers and now polar bear shock troops, the focus of holding Equestria was seen as the more vital point. Mariposa had finally fallen, but Paige had been there to witness the almost flawless execution of the fallback to Marechester. From what the squadron had been told, command had been expecting Mariposa to be taken, and played it to their advantage, evacuating the civilians, booby-trapping the buildings and streets after and then falling back to stronger, more prepared fortifications in Marechester. The bugs’ attempts to use Mariposa’s military structure would receive a nasty surprise in the form of several thousand timed explosives hidden in hangars, radio stations, munitions bunkers and under roads, bridges and runways.

Since No. 83 no longer carried bombs, another Nickers machine gun had been installed in the nose for Paige, a role she took to eagerly, ready to fight back when she had previously been little more than a passenger at the mercy of Ace’s flying. The operation had gone off without a hitch...for the army. While Equestrian troops and tanks had moved into trenches and behind artillery pits in Marechester, the Queendom had plastered the RAF with an enormous air fleet, including the two aces Verkut and Kalart, vicious air killers both.

The result was half the squadron being shot to pieces, unable to handle the massive swarm they suddenly faced. Even the pegasi fliers had been ambushed by changelings, and the uncomfortable realization that battleshifters could fly still, and were capable of literally ripping apart tactical bombers in midair only worsened the situation. The only reason the rest had escaped was thanks to Marechester’s AA defenses and intervention by fighters from Commonwealth No. 3 Squadron. Ironically, the Mustang and Bucksbane fighters used by the Commonwealth aviators were more modern than the Hurricanes most Equestrian fighter wings were still forced to use.

The victory was soured for many surviving ponies as well as Paige herself as she sighed, looking around at the other planes coming down to the tarmac. Most were as beaten as No. 83. Some were worse off, spewing smoke and flames and just barely getting down so the fire crews and on hoof unicorns could halt the fires, some crashing and wrecking on the runway. Pilots and crew were being rushed to the healers, and even from here Paige could see the lines forming up outside the medical station, medics and healer unicorns rushing from patient to patient, trying to stabilize them long enough to get them to a hospital. Many had white sheets pulled over their forms, but no time or hooves to move the corpses away from the living.

“Y’know,” came Static’s drawl as she also emerged from the plane, muzzle streaked with sweat and soot around where her goggles had been. “I could have sworn to the Princesses we won that one. They told us we won, right?”

“Army won,” Paige replies quietly, an edge of bitterness to her tone. “That’s the difference.”

“Well at least somepony on our side is,” Static shot back, stretching out as her magic also tugged the flight gear from her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna grab some coffee and about twelve hours of sleep. Let me know when they need us, should be about three hours.”

“You realize you’re getting coffee -before- you go to sleep?” Paige replied, raising an eyebrow at her crew mate. Static thought about that for a moment before simply shrugging.

“Yeah. But I need the coffee to make it to my cot. Guarantee I’ll still knock out before you.”

And with that, the red unicorn took off at a wearied, tired trot towards the mess hall.

For her part, Paige endured the poking and prodding by a unicorn healer before she was finally allowed to leave herself, exhausted and almost dragging herself back to the flight barracks, where many other crew ponies were staggering towards as well. Her wings ached from lack of use, and she smelled like gunpowder, grease, sweat and exhaust. But the showers would all be occupied by now. She would have to wait her turn, which she was currently more than happy to do. She made it to the room she and Static shared, tossing her flight jacket unceremoniously onto the ground, stretching as wide as she could.

All her exhaustion disappeared, however, with the sight of an envelope on her bunk. Glancing over at Static’s, she saw the customary small stack from the radiomare’s fans. Corporal Dee must have delivered their mail while they were in the air. Eagerly, she swept over, only giving the address a cursory glance before ripping it open, eyes eagerly scanning the paper inside as she laid back on her bunk, feeling her aches and worries temporarily fade into the background...

Sent October 17, 1011

Dear Paige,

I’m sorry to hear I made you so worried, but I suppose it couldn’t be helped. While I’m grateful you can sympathize with me so much, I find I don’t want to talk about my missing wing anymore either. I’m having a strange experience here. The other kadets all seem to react to it, one way or another. Those from the Herzlands who came East because Osnabeak and Vinnin were overcrowded look at me with shock and sometimes a bit of revulsion. To be fair, I kind of know how unnatural I must seem to them. Then the Reformisten kadets are fascinated by it, and keep coming up to ask me how I lost it. They want me to relive that night, over and over again. So no, I’d rather stop talking about it, honestly.

Longpaw is...interesting. He is certainly different from the scientists back at Krallestein, my only other basis of comparison. Disconnected from the world around him for sure, but he truly does seem to care. It is never just a science thing with him. He speaks as if we were changing the world with all of this. Were I a bit more optimistic, the words might be touching. What is more strange is that he doesn’t strike me as someone who would become a part of such a fanatical organization as the Reformisten. He doesn’t spout ideology and he certainly doesn’t seem to be aligned with them by common thought. I suppose even the most idealistic need to be pragmatic at times. He came in with the first prototype the other day, a big bulky thing that he called the ‘concept piece’. It fit my back and the stump, but it was so heavy it tipped me back the other way. I never even got to try and flap it. For a moment I could see a disappointed look on his face, a strange sight for one so mysteriously jolly, but in less than a second his attitude shifted back to his energetic usual self. And he was off again saying how he would come with a better design soon. It is a strange feeling to be a part of something that will change society so drastically, the way he speaks of how his invention will help those like me who either cannot fly because of a lost wing or of those without wings strong enough to achieve flight, it seems as though Doctor Morgend truly means well, an unusual sight in this bleak world. I hope he is right.

The crew has been alright. Spotsley and Eihol came out okay, just with some injuries. Eihol lost most of the feathers on his face and the hearing in one ear, but he’s very popular with the formels here out East. Spotsley lost an eye, but she’s not letting that slow her down at all, certainly not when she lectures us. They both got promotions to sergeant, and they damned well deserve them. I haven’t seen Haul since the hospital. He just seemed to have disappeared. If I were to guess I would say he has been transferred because the replacements also included a loader for our crew. I may not have trusted him much, but not getting the chance to say goodbye stung a bit. We were never even told he was leaving.

Back to the replacements. Sabrina Eisenwing is just a Gefreiter, but she apparently scored top of her class on the gunnery range back in Vinnin, and we need good shooters. She’s new, but so far she’s proving her scores with the Gryta cannon. Our new loader is Lukas Brightclaw, also a fresh rookie, but he apparently comes from a noble family in Yale, so he was talked on. He does a decent job as a loader, he’s a big griff. But he’s also pretty temple-headed. Apparently his father’s actually a bishop or something, I don’t remember. He’s always quoting scripture and saying prayers aloud, singing hymns as he works. Now, I’m a devoted follower myself. But there’s only so many times you can hear “Praise to the God King!” when you call for a reload before it just gets to you. He’s not bad, but he’s also kind of disappointed that nogriff else is as onto them as he is.

I can’t tell you about the panzer, which is really frustrating because it’s the more enjoyable part of my day. But it’s considered top secret information, so anything I write will just get clipped. I’d rather save the time and ink and just write you things.

I can tell you about the akadamie, however. This place was built out of an older one meant for the Longsword military, but that changed after the civil war. They only just got the new curriculum up and running two years ago, and now it’s seeing more students from the west. It’s not a bad place, but the sheer amount I have to go through is staggering. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say there’s far more to being an officer than you or I ever realized. I have to learn mathematics, for example. Some of these concepts I’ve never even heard of before now. Etiquette is another one, where I learn just how to speak with other officers, nobles, knights, royalty, on and on, given the Grenzwalders’ mindset picking up on these habits should not be so difficult but it appears that relearning my manners for the Imperial elite could cover a whole semester alone. It also turns out that being a good shot doesn’t translate to tactics well. I do well on the range, but that’s only for certification and then we’re done. Now, I have to learn how to manage several panzers at once and place the good of the mission above those under my command. It’s not a mentality I’m comfortable with. The physical conditioning is hard, too. I’m excused from the flying exercises, but they find other things for me, like sprints with the ponies, climbing up obstacles, things like that. The instructors seem to love singling me out.

The topic of Skyfall being a mistake is too high above my head to debate with you. Invade as many lands as I have and they all start to look the same through a gunsight. You should know. But I’m not a politician. I’m learning about history and military structure, but the reasons for us being in this war are beyond me, and I know better than to trust the newsrags to tell me the whole truth. Whatever else, we’re at war. This time, we’re on the defensive. Propaganda on the approved radio nets spins it like we’re mounting a heroic defense to throw the invaders back any day now. But then they said that when the enemy was (this section is clipped out by a censor), and when (so is this section) was invaded, and now that Rottendedam’s under siege and our forces are (this section too) to Skyfall while bombers fly over the Herzland. Strangely, the fact I’m now on the other side of the Empire from the war makes me all the more nervous. I don’t know if word’s gotten back to you yet, but with Cyanolisia’s liberation, the war in the east is looking close to closing. They’re saying Asterion will be taken by Mondstille. So all the real battle is in the west. We’re all ready to get into the fight, but told we must stay. How strange. When I was at war, I wanted to be anywhere else. Now I’m in safety, enforced safety, and I can’t wait to go back. I don’t know what to make of that.

Mother and Sophie visited over the weekend. There was a lot of crying and cursing from my mother. Then she straightened out and told me how proud she is of me. I can’t tell you how happy that all made me. She gave me some chocolates she made to send out to you, hoping it would reach you before the holidays. Some timing on that formel. Sophie is growing up everytime I look away from her. I can hardly believe it. I’m gone only a year and she shoots up like a weed. An eleven year old weed. And I’m not there.

We went out on the town over the weekend, had lunch at a cafe. First time I’ve seen my mother and sister since I shipped out to the east. The stories they share about the air battles over Griffenheim make me more concerned than ever. They take shelter in the cellar while the Luftstreitkräfte fights Aquileian bombers back, listening to the ordnance pounding the Imperial City, while flak guns rattle away. To hear them tell it, the bombardments go on forever, and I can see the same darkness in their faces that many say I have in mine. Mother joined a volunteer group, some sort of Eimerbrigade. She goes out after the bombs stop falling and digs through wreckage for anygriff trapped beneath, then helps the fire service to put out fires. In the mornings, she helps pick through wreckage for bodies and precious remnants of lives shattered by the bombers, then joins the repair parties to fix the damage. She should not have to be the one to step into this role. I am now torn between wanting to be by your side, wanting to join the struggle out in Feathisia and being back home so I may protect my family. Sadly, it seems, I can have none of them. Mother and Sophie departed on the train for home after that. We have no family anywhere safer right now, but I have heard rumors of a chick’s evacuation to the east. I pray it does not come to that.

I’ve been hearing news about the Riverlands. Concerning news that I’m not sure you know. Before the Entente invasion, the Reformisten were mostly concerned with restarting the crusade that was supposed to crush the east. Plenty of the instructors here speak of striking while the Coalition is tearing itself apart. But it appears that decision is no longer in their claws. Your parents will be fine, Paige. If they got out early enough, they can find safety in a number of places. And they’re smart enough to leave before things got too out of claw. After all, they were smart enough to raise you right.

We get flyovers from the Luftstreitkräfte from time to time. Everytime they do, I always look up and think of you, even when I’m in class. It must be hell up there, from what little I know of aerial combat and what you’ve told me. If it's anything like panzer warfare, cooped up in a can while your fate is in the claws of others, then I at least have a shred of knowledge. Everyday the miles separating us seem to grow ever wider. We now have two enormous wars in our way, and I don’t know when the fighting will end this time. It seems endless, this gulf. The drumming never seems to cease, beating its chant into time as we try to march to its tune. It seems less land and sea striving to keep us apart and more a river of soldiers, walls of steel armor and an ocean of blood. The very force of war itself seems dedicated to our separation.

You’re not the only one turning to poetry lately.

Love,

Cyril

And that was it. No positive message at the end, no PS, no mention of how much he missed her. It didn’t seem so much a response to her last letter, and more Cyril getting a lot of baggage off his chest. While she felt for her beau, the letter left Paige a bit down, unsure of how to react to the words. War had come to Griffonia as well, and the news reports she trusted showed it to be just as bad as this one. By Cyril’s words, the distance between them now seemed as wide as going from the ground to the moon. Armies and fleets separated them now, not just land and an ocean.

She was staring at the letter, trying to read deeper into it or at least gain some shred of the joy she used to have when she read Cyril’s words, when Static came back in, looking about as worn out as she felt. She glanced over at Paige with a small smile on her face.

“Ace just got word. His family got out before Tall Tale was cut off.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s great,” Paige replied, not quite distracted but also not really able to muster up the energy for the relieved and active response she knew positive words like this deserved. True to form, Static raised an eyebrow as she eyed up the letter Paige had before her.

“You okay? That a letter from Cyril?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh...how is he?”

“Not good,” Paige said back, turning to the paper and scanning it for the fifth time. “He’s having a hard time at officer candidate school. Plus losing a wing. Griffenheim’s getting the crap bombed out of it, and his family’s right in the firing line.”

“Damn war,” Static grumbled as she tugged her jacket off. “Both of them. What in Tartarus happened to the world? Four years ago, war was a memory as distant as Nightmare Moon. Now we’ve had civil wars, revolutions, coups, an evil resurrection and now we’re sitting in the middle of two firestorms threatening to burn down both continents. It’s insane.”

“Yeah,” Paige mustered up, glancing over at her side table, where she’d cautiously set up the last photo she’d taken with her family, a week before she left for university, an eternity and a lifetime ago. “Maybe the world’s always been broken. We just covered it up so we could pretend everything was fine and carry on like it was all just one big, magical adventure.”

To this, Static sighed as she collapsed onto her bunk, the fanmail shoved off the side to think about later.

“Well, that’s certainly what Equestria’s been doing. Can’t really go back, can we?”

And with that, the unicorn gave an enormous yawn, curled up with her pillow under the covers, and nodded off in minutes.

The Rijekan Pegasus sighed, reading the letter once more. It would be hard to write back, she knew. But she had to. He was her only connection left. Maybe later, when she wasn’t so tired. But as she collected up the envelope to store the letter so she too could get some sleep, another slip of paper caught her eye. There, in the envelope as well. She’d missed it when she had opened it up. Curious, she reached in and gently extracted the much smaller piece. It had one line of text printed on it, in neat letters she thought she might recognize.

Your family has passed through the Host. They are secured.

And underneath, all there was for a signature was a drawing of an eye. Some kind of symbol? What did it all mean?

Paige glanced up at the window, still holding Cyril’s letter as she watched the activity of the base outside and, more importantly, the sky.

It had started snowing again.

Author's Note

Something new for you guys, a mixture of styles from narrative and letter both. A sign of changing times, how nothing is normal anymore, and how they cannot go back to the way they were.

Expect the next one coming up fast, as I am very excited to write it. Its thanks to your support and eagerness that I keep writing these, and we still have a long road to go. Comment below on thoughts and feedback, join the Discord if you haven't yet and want to find some kindred spirits or join my patreon if you feel my writing deserving of what little you can give! Remember, we're all just starving artists!

Next time:
Winter War Stories