A set of dice clacked across the deck of the battleship as it neared its destination. Upon stopping, the cubes revealed a total value of eleven.
"Ha! You lose again, Marks!" one of the soldiers.
"Ah, screw you, Ramirez! You loaded the dice, anyway," replied another.
"Those sound like fighting words, laddy," Ramirez said in his best mockery of a pirate voice. The two soldiers approached each other and began to engage in an obviously friendly tussle. From not fifteen paces away, a thin boy, no more than eighteen, looked downward towards the deck, clutching his rifle as if were his only lifeline.
"Hey Leeper, get over here and have some fun," said Marks to the thin boy.
The boy shifted his gaze from the wooden floor to the sky. The dull gray hues and silver linings of the clouds seemed to hide all traces of the sun behind their massive cover. As the ship struck a wave, the sea spray shot up and sprinkled the boy in a light coat of water from the English Channel.
"Hey! Leeper! Anybody in there?" asked Ramirez, now tapping the boy's forehead with his knuckles. Leeper was shocked back to reality and shook his comrade away.
"I-I was just looking at the sky. It just looks so beautiful," the boy said, resuming to stare at his aerial temptress.
"Come on, kid. It's time to get your head out of the clouds and stay alert. The Lieutenant will be here any minute to tell us what we're supposed to do." With that, Marks grabbed Leeper by the shoulder and hoisted him to a standing position, much to the displeasure of the boy.
"Attention!"
Every soldier on the deck ceased their recreational activities and scrambled to form a single-file line across the wooden planks. Once this line was formed, every member raised their hand in a salute to the approaching leader of their platoon. A uniformed man slowly strode by the scores of men saluting him.
"At ease."
The men lowered their hand to their sides but remained as sturdy as statues, listening for their orders.
"I'm sure many of you are wondering what we're doing here," the man said, "well, I'll be brief. We're invading Normandy."
Concerned and unsure murmurs rippled through the ranks. Some of the men tightened their grips on their weapons with new-found fear.
"Operation Overlord has been set into motion. We are to land at an area code-named Omaha Beach in precisely half-an-hour. Once this ship is within artillery range of the beach, this platoon will be sent as the first wave of of infantry to try and take the beach. Many of you will not make it out alive."
After that somber statement, the noise that could be heard was the constant rolling of waves against the ship's steel frame and the Channel's spray raining down on the solid wood deck.
"If any of you need to make peace with one another or write a letter to your kin back home, now would be the time." The Lieutenant proceeded to make his way back to his quarters, leaving the men on the deck to silently contemplate their next actions. One by one, the soldiers returned to their quarters to write their final letters, make peace with those they had scorned, or simply to reflect on their lives before the battle was to commence. Private Leeper, however, had something else on his mind.
A gentle knocking at the Lieutenant's door caused him to look up from the sub machine gun he was polishing.
"Yes, come in," he said. The door creaked open slightly to reveal Private Leeper, his face pale and his hands shaking. The officer went back to polishing his weapon. "What do ya want, kid?"
"Lieutenant Blithe, sir, I just wanted to see if, maybe I could, um...sit this one out. Please?"
The movement of the officer's hand quickly ground to a halt as he slowly lifted his head to stare at the Private standing in front of him. "Excuse me?"
His tone sent shivers down the Private's spine, but still he continued. "I'm feeling mighty sick, sir. I think I'd be more of a liability than an asset."
The Lieutenant stood from his chair and grabbed the boy by his uniform collar.
"Listen, Private. I understand this is your first assignment after getting out of boot camp, but I'm gonna need every son-of-a-bitch at my disposal to take that beach. Including you."
Leeper looked towards the ground, moisture forming in the corners of his blue eyes. This caught the officer by surprise, causing him to loosen his vice grip on the boy's shirt.
"Tell ya what. I like you, kid. You had a lot'a nerve coming to ask me to miss out. When we land, just stick next to me and I'll make sure you get out alive," Blithe assured with a smile.
The boy let out a small sniffle as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "R-really, sir?"
"Sure."
"Thank you so much, sir. Thank you!" exclaimed the boy as he hastily exited the Lieutenant's quarters and dashed across the deck of the ship towards the cabin.
The officer picked his Thompson up and slung it over his shoulder, his smile faded. "What a little pussy," he muttered.
***
Even though it was June, the air seemed to grow colder and colder as the soldiers clambered down the rope bridge and filled the rectangular landing craft below. Just to add to the bone-chilling cold, the waves began to grow in magnitude and crash more sharply against the sides of the landing craft, sending buckets of freezing water splashing over the unfortunate G.I.'s. Once the Lieutenant climbed down the ladder to fill the last seat in the fifth craft, he gave the 'all clear' signal. As the crafts slowly moved past the large hull of their battleship, the U.S.S. Nevada, several other battleships and dozens of other landing craft came into view, all carrying boys and men as frightened as themselves.
"Alright boys, listen up," Blithe said as he stood up. The soldiers turned their attention to their commander, staring at him with gazes of worry and uncertainty.
"The Krauts know we're coming. The beach is heavily fortified with machine gun nests, bunkers, and lines of barbed wire. To make matters worse, the bunkers and machine gun nests sit atop a hundred foot cliff. When we get off this thing, I want you all to take cover behind anything bigger than a golf ball. Once you've done that, we need to take out those guys manning those gun bunkers -- those MG-42's will rip you apart."
An artillery round exploded in the water near the craft, causing it to be rocked by new waves.
"As I was saying, once the MG's are dealt with, we need to make sure we're not driven back to the water, so I need a radio operator to call for support."
The Lieutenant looked over at Private Leeper who was looking down at the floor of the craft, muttering incoherently to himself.
"Leeper, you just volunteered to be the radio man," Blithe said with a smirk.
The Private broke his stare from the floor to his commander, what little color he had left leaving his face. "W-what, sir?"
The officer walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine, Private. Remember: stick close to me, and you won't get hurt."
An almost undetectable smile appeared on Leeper's face. His face returned to a look of fear, however, when an artillery shell slammed into the craft next to them, causing the metal carrier to explode in a deadly inferno. The men had little time to dwell on their doomed comrades. The sound of bullets whizzing past and ricocheting off the steel hull of the craft began to drone out the noise of the waves still lapping at the sides of the boats. One soldier stood up from his seat, leaned over the edge of the craft, and vomited. A stray bullet struck the unfortunate boy in the temple, killing him instantly and causing his body to fall over the edge into the frigged water.
"Jackson!" cried Ramirez as he stood up to try and save his doomed colleague.
He was interrupted by a hand grabbing his shirt and violently tugging him back into a sitting position.
"Sit your ass down, Corporal!" screamed the Lieutenant as the the sound of gunfire grew louder, "I'm not going to lose two men before we even land!"
The boat was close enough now that the squad of men could see their target. When the beach became visible, however, even many of the hardened veterans went slack-jawed.
Small metal structures lay strewn across the beach to hopefully prevent the crafts from landing. Behind the beach sat a nauseatingly high cliff occupied by three bunkers, each with their own machine gun nest. To the left of the bunkers was a path leading up the cliff guarded by dozens of sandbags and two Germans manning an MG-42.
"We're in range now! Marks, get on the .50 caliber and give'm hell!" Blithe shouted over the explosions and gunfire. The Private obeyed by clambering up the small ladder and grasping the sides of the heavy machine gun. Taking aim at the sandbags, the soldier let loose a fury of bullets, hoping to eliminate at least one threat the Germans had thrown their way. The sound of the heavy gun pumping out shell after shell right next to them was deafening to the other G.I.'s, to say the least. Suddenly, a bullet struck Marks in the abdomen, causing him to cry out in pain. He slowly descended the tiny ladder with his remaining strength and fell to the floor of the craft, a puddle of his own blood pooling around him.
"God...dammit!" Marks exclaimed through clenched teeth as he writhed on the cold, wet floor of the boat. Ramirez hoisted his comrade back into his seat and tried to help Marks tend to his wound.
As the hellish looking patch of sand came closer to greet the Americans, the soldiers hearts began to beat faster and harder than any of them thought possible.
"This is it boys! Brace yourselves, and remember: 'The only good kraut is a dead Kraut'!" the Lieutenant attempted to shriek over the deafening sound of artillery and impacting bullets. Seconds became hours as the multiple landing crafts finally kissed the French coastline. The doors on the craft began to lower slowly.
Now was the time for action. Once the door lowered enough for a body to run out, the gunners in the bunkers focused their fire on the crafts, annihilating entire squads before they could react. Blithe, Leeper, Ramirez, and several others hopped from their craft in time to avoid the German onslaught. Those who were able to escape their boats were not out of the woods. They still had to find cover until the battleships could hopefully soften up the Germans, allowing them to advance. Taking cover behind the hull of the boat, Blithe waited for Leeper to follow suit. Sure enough, the stumbling Private also took cover behind the wall of metal.
"Private, where the hell is Ramirez?" asked the officer angrily. Before Leeper could say a word, the short Corporal ducked behind the make-shift shield.
"Ramirez! Any luck with Marks?"
The Mexican made a cutting motion across his throat. "No, sir. He's gone."
"Damn! We need to get rid of those gunners! Leeper, did you grab the radio?"
The boy wheeled around to reveal the large box on his back. The Lieutenant forcefully grabbed the phone from the side of the box and began to yell.
"This is Lieutenant Ryan Blithe requesting Naval artillery strike on Sector Alpha-Niner-Three, over!" he screamed.
"Be advised, be advised! Artillery strike imminent. Lighting up Sector Alpha-Niner-Three, over." said the man at the other end of the line. More and more craft began to touch down one by one on the now red-stained sand. A low piercing whine signaled the incoming naval bombardment.
"Get down!"
Before any of the men could comply, the far end of the beach started to erupt as massive rounds struck the German fortifications. The shock waves were powerful enough to rattle the Americans' bones, but still they held fast. Seconds turned to hours as the battleships continued their onslaught of destruction upon the Germans.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of anxiety-filled waiting, the shells stopped. Emerging from cover, Blithe looked over the sustained damage and smiled; the MG nest on the hill as well as two of the bunkers on top of the cliff now lay in ruins. One bunker remained, however, still rattling the ground below with a hail of lead.
"Alright. Who's left?" the Lieutenant asked.
Ramirez searched the few remaining soldiers around them, then spoke. "Looks like it's you, me, Leeper, Anderson, Bloomfield, Kenny, and Vic, sir."
"Christ," Blithe muttered, "Anderson, did you get the flamethrower from your squad's craft?"
"Sure did, sir," the red-cheeked Corporal replied, showing the officer the large tank then swinging it over his shoulders.
"Good," said Blithe, "We're gonna need it."
Trying to ignore the continuous fire from the German machine gun, the Lieutenant told the men to advance to the hill as quickly as they could. Once there, Anderson would use the flamethrower to snuff out the krauts in the bunker so they wouldn't serve a problem for the second wave of soldiers.
"Go go go!"
The men immediately emerged from the metal walls and made a mad dash for the hill. The German shifted his attention to the seven American's sprinting for their lives. A young American with glasses was the first to be hit by the hailstorm of bullets.
"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!" Vic screamed, briefly looking back at his fallen comrade.
"You bastards!" Anderson yelled as he ran.
Once the American's reached the base of the steep hill, they were nearly out of the German gunner's line of sight. The last bullet the German shot, however, hit a land mine not ten paces behind the Lieutenant, causing it to explode and send him flying forwards and land with a dull thud. The officer slowly raised is head, eyes wide from the sudden shock of the blast. The entire world seemed muted as he watched the rest of his team rush up the hill; some rushing to his side, the others running to the bunker not far away. Seeing his helmet on the ground within his reach, the officer extended an arm, grabbed it, and placed it on his head in time to watch Anderson let loose a storm of napalm on the opening of the German fortification. As his hearing slowly returned, he could hear his comrades shouting at him, seeing if he was okay. Blithe slowly returned to his feet, surprised that nothing seemed wrong with him.
"Are you okay, sir?" Ramirez asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine," he said lazily, still recovering from the explosion.
The officer looked over to the bunker entrance now covered with the unnaturally burning jelly. He heard the screams from the enemy soldiers being burned alive within the concrete walls.
"The only good Kraut's a dead Kraut," he said with a light chuckle.
Shifting in place, his subordinates looked at him earnestly, waiting for their next order.
"Search the perimeter and hold out until the next wave arrives."
No sooner had he said this than a dozen more landing craft touched down on the sand. With a smile on his face, the officer began to casually stroll the area behind the German bunker. It took a minute or two before before he noticed the multitudes of German bodies -- or what was left of them -- lay strewn about the artillery craters.
The sound of movement caught his attention. Turning, he saw one of the in tact German bodies on the ground begin to stir. The officer's expression changed from one of curiosity to one of excitement. Walking over to the recovering soldier, he flipped him over on his back and saw a young German boy no more than fourteen staring him in the face with a look of utter fear. Blithe hoisted the boy into a standing position, holding him by his collar all the while.
"Thought you could get away, huh, ya Kraut son-of-a-bitch?" he asked with a wide grin.
Before the boy could respond, a loud explosion reverberated throughout the surrounding area.
"Counterattack!" screamed Ramirez before he was gunned down by incoming German reinforcements. The Americans finally rose above the hill to meet the incoming threat. The officer shifted his attention back to the cowering boy in front of him.
"The only good Kraut's a dead Kraut," he said as he pointed his sub machine gun at the boy's head. A loud hissing sound interrupted Blithe's concentration.
"Mortars!" yelled one of the Americans.
Suddenly, the ground near the boy and Blithe erupted in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel, sending them both flying back into the concrete walls of the bunker. As his head struck the cold cement, Blithe saw his world slowly but surely fade to black until the only thing he saw or felt was the cold embrace of darkness enveloping his very being.
Blithe felt a cool breeze against his skin. Upon cracking his eyes open, he was greeted by the bright rays of the sun assaulting his vision, causing him to groan. Raising himself into a sitting position and rubbing his forehead, the Lieutenant was now able to open his eyes properly and take in his surroundings. He appeared to be sitting under a tall apple tree; a vast meadow to his left, and a sizable farm to his right. He wasn't perplexed by the fact that he wasn't on the battlefield anymore; what confused him was the look of the new environment. It seemed too...colorful to be Germany, America -- or anywhere on Earth, for that matter.
"Where the hell am I?" he asked to nobody in particular.
A soft rustling sound made him turn to face the source. Also underneath the apple tree was the German boy he had almost killed back on the beach. The boy began to stir, rising to his knees then his feet, groaning with discomfort. Blithe reached for his gun, but realized that it was no longer there.
Time for Plan B, he thought.
Without making a sound, the American furtively grabbed the knife from his boot and sneaked up behind the boy. From under the Lieutenant's foot, a twig snapped, causing the boy to turn around to see the American pounce on him. Blithe attempted to bring the knife down to sink into the German's chest, but the boy slid out from under him and frantically tried to crawl away. The American reached out and grabbed the German's boot before he was out f reach and brought the knife down on his calf.
The boy cried in agony as the blood began to flow from his leg. The officer crawled closer to the German to strike the final blow, but was stopped by a swift kick to the face by the boy. Wiping the blood now dripping from his lower lip, Blithe grabbed the boy's leg again and pulled him closer. Flailing frantically, the German feverishly tried to escape the American's grasp, but to no avail. Blithe climbed onto the boy's chest and slashed across the German youth's midsection, resulting in a deep cut. Blithe raised his knife once more to strike a final blow, but the boy knocked the sharp tool from his hand. The American responded with several swift, powerful punches to the boy's face.
"You little prick! You're dead!" Blithe seethed through clenched teeth. Grabbing the knife from the ground, he raised it above his head once more, knowing that he would sink home this time. "Time to die you worthless Kraut!"
As Blithe swiftly lowered the knife to the boy's chest, his momentum was suddenly stopped when a purple aura surrounded the tool of death.
"What the?" asked the Lieutenant, trying to loosen the knife from the mysterious glowing energy.
The knife was lifted out of his grasp and bent into a circle, rendering it useless. Looking about him, Blithe spotted a lavender colored creature looking back at him with a look of fear and anger.
"Just what the hay do you think you're doing you...thingy," it asked. Blithe could tell from the voice that it must be female, but he had never seen a creature like this before. The only thing that looked similar was...
"A talking horse?"
The creature looked confused. This change in expression was, brief however, as she quickly returned to her previous attitude.
"Pony, thank you -- and of course I can talk. Everypony talks here in Equestria. The question is: who or what are you, exactly?"
The American looked away, perplexed. "I've gotta lay off the scotch," he muttered, shaking his head. Returning his attention back to the 'pony', he spoke.
"I'm a human. I have no freaking clue where I am right now. All I know is that this kraut bastard isn't gonna escape from what's coming to him."
The pony looked at the trembling boy on the ground, his leg and chest bleeding profusely and his face bruised.
"I guess I'll explain what I think is going on here, but first we need to get that other -- human, is it? -- to the hospital."
Blithe looked back to the boy then back at the pony. "Yeah right. Like I'd help out this scumbag."
With a sigh, the horn on the pony's head began to glow. The next thing the American knew, he was surrounded with the same purple aura that broke his knife. He tried to break free of the energy, but instead he was tossed off the boy like a rag doll. Amazed, the Lieutenant looked at the pony from where he now sat.
"Was that? Are you a? How the?" he sputtered, "that was magic!"
"Yes. I'm a unicorn. Surprised?" she asked in a somewhat more gentle tone as she cantered over to the bleeding boy. By now, the German had lost enough blood to fall unconscious, unaware of the strange scene in front of him.
"Oh, you poor thing. Don't worry! We'll get you to the hospital."
"What do you mean 'we'?" Blithe asked smugly.
The unicorn turned and looked at him with a look that would scare even the hardest of men. With a sigh, Blithe hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and followed the unicorn to the hospital.
"Oh, looky-looky, guys! He's waking up!" a bouncy pink pony exclaimed as she bounced up and down in excitement.
The German slowly opened his eyes to find six colorful creatures staring back at him with excited and concerned eyes and the American who tried to kill him scowling at him from a far corner of the room. At the sight of this, the boy fainted, losing consciousness once again. The colorful equines looked disappointed while the G.I. returned his hateful gaze to the floor.
After another few minutes of waiting for a response, the visitors were finally answered when the scrawny boy regained consciousness, rubbing his head.
"Ow, what happened?" he asked the air around him.
"Well, it sounds like this guy over here was trying to kill you for no good reason," the lavender unicorn said, shooting a look back at the American still staring at the floor. The boy's eyes went wide at the sight and sound of talking colorful horses before the American spoke.
"My ass it wasn't a good reason! That guy's a no-good dirty Kraut! He'd be better off dead," the Lieutenant snarled.
The other ponies turned to glare at him. Contrary to their cuddly-looking exterior, it was no mystery what they thought of him at that time. Not wanting to dig himself further into the trench he was already in, Blithe looked back towards the floor, eyes blazing.
Now, it was the boy's turn.
"Y-y-you can talk? How is that? Where am I? Who are you?" he blurted almost as a single word. Before he could continue, the purple unicorn placed a hoof on his mouth, ending his reel of questions.
"My name is Twilight Sparkle. This is Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity," she said, pointing to each one of them as she said their names.
"What's your name, darling?" Rarity asked.
"Fredrick. Fredrick Laupp." he said, still shaken from the whole 'talking cartoony horse' business.
The ponies looked at each other is amusement.
"That's a funny name," Pinkie said
"While we're on the subject, I never asked your name," Twilight said, directing he attention to the still enraged American.
"Ryan. Ryan Blithe," he seethed.
With a small sigh, Twilight shifted her attention to her friends.
"Well girls, until I can consult Celestia on the matter, it appears that these two will need a place to stay. Any volunteers?"
The room fell silent. The only sound that could be heard was the machine monitoring Fredrick's heartbeat.
Rarity broke the awkward silence.
"I'll house the young one," she said.
Ryan snapped his head to look at the white unicorn in astonishment.
"Are you sure, Rarity? We barely know anything about these 'humans'. What if they're dirty?" Twilight inquired.
Rarity waved a hoof to cease Twilight's ramble.
"It's quite alright, dear. I am the element of generosity, after all."
Fredrick looked rather pleased by this. Ryan, however, seemed to be growing redder and redder by the second. It wouldn't surprise anyone of steam spontaneously shot out of his ears at this point.
"Alright. Now who wants to house the mean killer guy?"
Dead silence.
"Oh, alright. I'll do it," said Applejack unhappily.
A slight grin began to cross the Lieutenant's face.
"But he's sleepin' in the barn. I don't want no killer in my house."
The grin disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. With a determined nod, the lavender unicorn looked between her friends, at Fredrick, then at Ryan.
"It's settled then. I'll go talk to Celestia, Rarity will house the young human, and Applejack will house the mean human."
Everyone cheered and smiled, except for Ryan.
"What are you working on, Ms. Rarity?" asked Fredrick, limping on his crutch to get a closer look at the unicorn's current project.
"Oh, I'm just trying to design a dress for an extremely important client of mine. Why? Is there anything I can get for you, dear?"
"No. I was just wondering because I wanted to see if I could help."
The unicorn cocked an eyebrow at the young boy, wondering if his statement was genuine or just some kind of adolescent teasing.
"Truly?" she asked.
"Truly," he replied.
Rarity pondered this for a moment. "But, won't your injuries hinder you?"
"It's no problem. I would feel very guilty if you so graciously allowed me to stay here and all I did was mope around on this crutch," he remarked.
This caught Rarity by surprise. Sweetie Belle would help around the boutique every once in a while, but not even she asked to help.
"Alright, I guess," Rarity stuttered, still confounded, "see if you can resew that button on that ghastly looking vest over there," she said pointing to a nearby table adorned with a dirt-brown vest, a button resting nearby.
The boy hobbled over to the table, sat in the chair, and set to work.
"Now don't feel like you need to -"
"Done!"
The fashonista spun around to stare at the boy, eyes wide with curiosity.
"How in the name of Celestia did you sew that on so fast?" she asked coming closer and staring at the perfectly repaired vest.
"Well, when Papa returned home after the Great War, our country's economy was in shambles. I made barely enough to put food on my family's table. Not only was I lucky enough to find a job at a local tailor, I was also able to use the materials at the shop to make new clothes and repair the old rags we already had. I picked up a few tailoring tricks back in the Fatherland."
Rarity tilted her head to one side, still astonished at the skill possessed by such a young soul. Wherever this boy came from, she considered it a miracle.
"Impressive. Perhaps you wouldn't mind patching up that dashing uniform you were wearing earlier? Maybe you could even repair that other human's clothes. Celestia knows I won't."
"Right away, Ms. Rarity!"
With a slight chuckle, Rarity returned to her work, a smile on her face.
"Stupid rancher pony making me work to earn a place to sleep in her barn," Ryan muttered under his breath. Placing the crate of apples he was carrying by the tree Applejack had instructed him to, the officer brushed the dust and insects from his undershirt and jogged back to meet with his "employer".
Exiting the orchard, he saw the rancher's brother, Big Macintosh, lounging in a lawn chair, daintily sipping a glass of mimosa and enjoying the warm rays of the sun. Applejack emerged from the farmhouse and, upon noticing Ryan, contorted her face into a scowl once more.
"Is the crate by the tree?" she asked.
"Yeah. Can I take a break, now?" the Lieutenant responded.
"Ain't no way yer gettin' a break, already. You just started workin' two hours ago."
"Well maybe if your brother could get off his lazy pansy ass and help me, I wouldn't be asking you, dammit!" Ryan seethed.
Big Macintosh quickly stood from his chair and faced the human. "You wanna start somethin', partner?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Bring it on, redneck! I'm not scared of you!"
For a brief moment, Applejack's expression changed from one of irritation to one of curiosity. Despite the fact that her brother challenged the human she was supposed to be helping to a fight and would most likely pound him into the dirt, AJ couldn't help but be faintly interested by the human's determination and fearlessness.
Big Mac lowered his head and scraped the ground with his hoof, signalling he was about to charge. Ryan got back in a stance of preparation, waiting for the stallion to make his move. With a low grunt, Mac charged the officer, nostrils flared. With cat-like reflexes, Ryan jumped out of the way of the oncoming freight train of muscle, only to end up directly behind the stallion's hind legs. Before he could comprehend his unfortunate position, the red stallion reared up and bucked Ryan in the gut, sending him flying into a nearby pile of hay.
Despite the powerful assault from the burly equine, Ryan slowly stood up, breathing heavily and holding his stomach.
"That all you got, pansy?" he wheezed.
Mac was about to charge again when AJ stepped in front of his path.
"Hold it there, big brother. There's no need for anypony to get hurt over a silly insult."
Big Mac knew that there was no arguing with his sister. With a huff and a peeved glance at Ryan, the red pony trotted back to the orchard to resume his duties.
"Thanks, Applejack. One more buck from that guy and there would've been some serious damage done."
"Yer welcome. It takes a real strong creature to take a buck from my brother and get up so quickly," she remarked.
"Well, Marine training is certainly a lot more painful than that," Ryan responded, still holding his gut.
The rancher pony adjusted the position of her hat before continuing.
"You've definitely earned my respect, I'll tell ya that much. I may still not completely trust or like you, but you have my respect."
"Thanks again, boss," Ryan said as he walked back toward the orchard.
"Wait you -- I mean, Ryan," the orange pony called, causing the human to turn back and look at her.
"Y'all did a good job today. Plus, on account of yer injury, you'd be more of a hindrance than help. Go take the rest of the day off, I'll take it from here."
The officer's eyes widened. "Honestly?"
"I ain't lying. What I'm sayin' is the truth. Take the day off. I think you've earned it."
With a curious look and a smirk, Ryan departed from the ranch, never once looking away from Applejack.
A lone rock skipped across the surface of the lake; multiple ripples following in it's graceful wake. The human figure in an undershirt, camo pants, and combat boots bent down and plucked another stone from the ground and chucked it towards the water. As it skipped, the reflection of the setting sun distorted into impossible shapes and angles, causing the vibrant lights to shine in different directions until the ripples ceased.
A snapping twig nearby attracted Ryan's attention. Turning around, he saw Fredrick approaching nervously carrying the top part of his uniform. Cocking an eyebrow, Ryan debated whether to ignore the boy or to shoo him away.
"Um, sir. I stitched up your uniform for you."
For a brief moment, a feeling cheerfulness pulsed through him, but was quickly replaced by rage. He had probably stitched it so that it cold no longer be of any use to him.
Typical Kraut, he thought.
He snatched the garment from the boy's hands and slipped it on. To his surprise, it fit just fine. The bullet holes were patched, the loose emblems were resewn, and the previously hard fabric now felt as if the shirt had just been issued.
"Not bad," said Ryan expressionlessly, "for a dirty, no-good Kraut, of course."
"Why do you hate me?!" Fredrick screamed, catching them both by surprise.
Ryan was going to respond, but for some reason, he couldn't. Why did he hate him? Was it because he was German. Was it because they were sworn enemies? Did those same principles apply here in this strange land?
"Because you Germans all want to take over the world," Ryan finally replied.
"You think we want to be at war with the world?" Fredrick asked, moisture pooling in his saddened blue eyes.
"Well, yeah. The general's back in England said your all just a bunch of power-hungry devils."
"Are you kidding? Nobody in the Fatherland likes this! Just because or Fuhrer is a madder than a march hare doesn't mean that every one of us is, too. We didn't want this God-forsaken war! Our Fuhrer did!"
Ryan scoffed.
"Please. You think your country has it bad? Our country just recovered from the worst stock market crisis ever!"
"My country is still in one! Do you know what it's like to not eat for an entire week because both of your parents are jobless, leaving you to provide food for both of them and yourself by getting only cents on the hour?"
"Well, I -" Ryan stuttered.
"Do you know what it's like to work ten hours in a coal mine and then work another six in a tailor shop every day? Perhaps you know what it's like to come home every night knowing that you won't eat and that the only thing you're going to receive is another beating by your drunken father? Or maybe you know what it's like to be forced to join an army you don't want to join because you forced to take part in the Hitler Youth Program and told that you were to live and die for your Fuhrer and your country? Do you?!"
Before he could respond, the waterfalls in the boy's eyes finally erupted into a shower of tears and sobs. Ryan could only watch as Fredrick approached the water's edge, fall to his knees, and bawl pitifully.
"You are right. I am just a no-good, worthless boy!" Fredrick uttered between gasps.
The boy returned to his feet and turned to face Ryan, removing his shirt so that he only stood in his German issued pants and boots. Slowly, he outstretched his arms and slowed his sobs so that he could be more easily understood.
"Just kill me," he whispered.
"Huh?" Ryan asked.
"I said just kill me already! You wanted me dead from the very beginning and here's your chance! Just kill me, please!" Fredrick cried.
Ryan was baffled. Why would he want to die? It was true that he did want the German by dead, but something didn't feel right about this. The officer slowly reached for his pistol, removing it from it's holster, and aiming it at the boy's head.
Don't do it.
But I have to. He's my enemy.
He's just a boy. Just let him live. He isn't your enemy; the Nazis are. This is just an innocent child.
Ryan hesitated to pull the trigger.
Don't do this.
With a loud grunt, Ryan spun around and threw his gun into the lake, causing the German boy's eyes to snap open and his sobs to cease. Breathing heavily, Ryan turned to face Fredrick.
"No. I'm not going to kill you. You haven't done anything to me. Hell, maybe we could even get along."
The soldier extended his hand to the boy.
"What do ya say? Friends?"
Fredrick hesitated. Maybe this was a cruel trick. Then again, the American had spared his life. The boy reached out and shook the soldier's hand, feeling the deep pits of sorrow rising from within him once more.
"Nobody's ever been my friend, before," he murmured. No sooner had he said this than tears poured from his eyes once more. Sobs and cries even more powerful than the previous one's escaped his throat.
Feeling sympathetic for the boy, Ryan pulled him in and hugged him tight, whispering to him that everything was okay.
As Fredrick's sobs began to hush, the sun dipped below the horizon.
It had been months since Ryan's revelation, and he and Fredrick had become thick as thieves. Though Fredrick still assisted Rarity around her boutique, he always spent as much time as he could with Ryan; helping him around Sweet Apple Acres, playing around, or just talking. Ryan, on the other hand, had earned much respect and liking from Applejack, both as a worker and as a friend. To Ryan's surprise, Fredrick acted like an average teenager back in the States. Perhaps people weren't so different, after all. Today, however, was different.
***
"She said what?" asked Applejack.
"I'm sorry, AJ. Princess Celestia said that they don't belong here. They need to go back to their own world. I've been trying to find anther way around it this entire time, but there's no other option," Twilight said.
The rancher pony looked back at the two humans. It looked like Ryan was teaching Fredrick how to climb a tree. With a somber look, Applejack cantered towards the humans to deliver the news.
"Hello, Applejack," Fredrick said as he hung from a high tree limb.
"Hey, AJ. What's going on? You look kinda depressed," said Ryan.
The rancher pony sighed before she spoke. "Fellas, I'm afraid I got some bad news."
Fredrick dropped from the tree limb and stood next to Ryan, both of them looking at the pony with combined looks for concern and curiosity.
"Y'all have been here for some time, but...but -"
"The Princess says that you have to return to your own world, "Twilight interrupted, "I'm sorry. I really wish there was another way. AJ, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and I will bring you to Canterlot tomorrow where the Princess will send you back. I'm so sorry."
With that, Twilight and Applejack slowly cantered away, leaving the two humans to register the severity of their situation.
"Go back? I don't want to go back," Fredrick said, tears beginning to swell in his eyes, "If we go back, then we'll never see these ponies ever again and you won't be my friend anymore!"
Ryan grasped Fredrick's shoulders and looked at him dead in the eye.
"Don't you say that. Even when we're back on Earth, we'll still be friends. I'll personally see to that," Ryan said, reaching out and ruffling Fredrick's shaggy blonde hair.
"Alright, but I don't think I can say goodbye to this place," Fredrick said, staring out at the vast Equestrian countryside.
"Me neither, Fredrick. Me neither."
The next day, the six mares brought the two humans to the regal city of Canterlot. As they walked past, many of the ponies looked on in confusion at the strange bipedal creatures, while others simply ignored them. Arriving at the entrance of Celestia's throne room, the guard's recognized the group's business and stood aside from the entrance, allowing them in. Upon entering, the group found that the room was oddly empty of of anypony besides the princess, who was standing at the bottom of the steps in front of her throne.
"Greetings, everypony. So these are the humans you were telling me about, Twilight?"
"Yes, Princess. Isn't there another way, though? Why do they have to go back?" the lavender unicorn asked.
"They must return because they have learned their lesson," Celestia said with a grin.
Due to the confounded looks from the others, Celestia further explained herself.
"You see, I brought these two here to teach them the magic of friendship. With both of their pasts being somewhat similar, I found that they would eventually learn that even enemies can get along when under the right conditions."
Ryan and Fredrick looked to each other then back at the princess.
"Wow. I never thought of it that way," Ryan said.
"Nor did I," responded Fredrick.
After a few moments of silence, everyone in the room knew that it was time. Ryan and Fredrick said goodbye to their pony friends until Ryan reached Applejack and Fredrick reached Rarity.
Fredrick was first to speak.
"Ms. Rarity, thank you so much for taking care of me and allowing me a place to rest my head," he said, moisture forming in his eyes.
"You're very welcome darling. It was no trouble at all. Here, take this to remember me by," replied Rarity levitating a small necklace to him. Fredrick took the necklace and examined it; a diamond heart engraved with 'My Little Darling' was strung from a small metal chain. Opening the heart, he found a picture of Rarity looking back at him.
"I love you, dear. Don't ever forget it," Rarity said, steady streams of water escaping her eyes, ruining her makeup. Both crying, the German and the fashonista embraced each other for what they both knew would be the last time.
Ryan was next.
"Thanks for helping me, Applejack. I really appreciate it," he stuttered, trying to hold back his emotion.
"Aw, it weren't nothing," the rancher pony replied, struggling to do the same that Ryan was doing.
Applejack reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a coiled rope. Her hoof quivered as she handed it to Ryan. Upon closer examination, Ryan realized that this was Applejack's prized rope that she always carried with her. Attatched to the rope was a small note in Applejack's writing: 'I'll never forget you'.
"You, uh... you were a good worker. I'm... I'm gonna miss ya."
"AJ, I..." Ryan uttered before his vision became blurred from the great rivers flowing from his eyes. The rancher pony also broke into sobs as she brought the American in for a tight embrace.
By now, everypony was showing some emotion to the tragic yet heartwarming scene in front of them, even Celestia herself was began to shed a few tears.
Once the raw emotion had died down enough to allow conversation, Celestia spoke again.
"Are you ready, you two?" she asked, stifling a sniffle.
Returning to their feet, the two humans wiped the tears from their eyes and looked at the princess, determined.
"We're ready," Ryan said.
Celestia nodded solemnly. Taking a step back, her horn became ignited in a brilliant yellow aura. As they were slowly enveloped by the bright light, the two humans looked to each other and smiled. Soon, the light began to fade as Ryan felt the familiar feeling of darkness swallowing him until he was but a speck upon the vast plane of existence.
The Lieutenant awoke to find himself sitting against the bunker on Omaha Beach, once more. At first, he tried to open his eyes slowly and lazily, then the events that had happened to him came flooding back to him, causing his eyes to shoot open. He frantically started searching the multiple dead bodies, hoping that he would find Fredrick until a thought occurred to him.
Was it all just a dream?
No. It couldn't be. Could it?
Panicking, the officer rummaged through his pockets until he felt a large series of coils rubbing against his fingers. Upon pulling it out, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. In his hand was a rope. Attached to the rope was a scrawled message with the name 'Applejack' signed at the bottom.
Well, I guess it wasn't a dream, he thought. Quickly, after this realization, he continued his search among the bodies for Fredrick until he spotted a body only five paces away wearing a unique necklace; a diamond heart. Moving as quick as he could, Ryan scrambled over to the body and tried to shake the figure awake. At first, there was no response, but soon, two blue eyes were looking back at him. The boy smiled and placed his hand on Ryan's arm.
"Ryan?" he asked in a low whisper.
"Yeah, kid. It's me," he responded.
The Lieutenant stood to his feet and helped the boy on the ground to his, as well. Surprisingly, they were both in full uniform, helmet and all. Ryan looked past to see the American's at least two hundred yards ahead, fending off the German counterattack.
"Well, looks like we're winning," Ryan said with a chuckle.
"Yes. How am I going to get out of here, though? I can't just waltz into an American camp in this," Fredrick said, looking down at his uniform.
"Don't worry. I've got a plan. All you need to do is take a uniform from one of the dead American's here and you'll be able to get out of here, I promise."
Over the distant sound of gunfire, a louder noise broke throughout the air. Ryan quickly realized that the sound was a gun that went off nearby. Turning back to Fredrick, he found the boy's eyes wide as he was gripping his chest. Upon removing his hand, Ryan was horrified to find blood flowing from a fresh wound in Fredrick's chest. Ryan staggered back, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The German boy fell to his knees, looked up at Ryan, and smiled.
"Thank you...friend," he stammered. With this, Fredrick fell to the ground. Dead.
The Lieutenant continued to stare at his departed friend, rage slowly forming inside him.
"I got him, sir!" shouted a voice from nearby.
Ryan turned his head to see Leeper jumping for joy, rifle in hand.
"You," seethed Ryan as he darted to meet the celebrating soldier. Upon reaching Leeper, Ryan proceed to grab him by the collar and look at him with a glare that would soften even the strongest of men.
"Hey, take it easy, sir. The only good Kraut's a dead Kraut, remember?"
The officer summoned all of his strength and slammed his fist across Leeper's face, knocking him unconscious. Ryan pounced on the passed out Private, repeatedly punching him across his face, sending blood splattering everywhere. After he had knocked a few of the soldier's teeth out and broke his nose, Ryan heard a loud crack as a sharp pain shot through the back of his head. As the world slowly began to fade to black, only one thought was passing through Ryan's mine: I'm sorry Fredrick.
Opening his eyes, Ryan found himself on a hospital bed. Looking over, he found that he was hooked up to an I.V. of morphine. A nurse walked by and he lazily signaled for her to come closer.
"Where am I?" Ryan slurred.
"You're in England, sir. You took quite the blow to your head back on the beach. Sounds as though you were beating up on one of your own squad and one of your subordinates decided to take matters into his own hands and stop you."
As the memory rushed back to him, Ryan reached out and grabbed the nurse's arm.
"Where the hell is Fredrick?" he asked.
"Sorry, mate. I don't know who Fredrick is, but you boys sure gave Jerry a good thrashing in Normandy, you did. I'm afraid you've been discharged due to your injury and almost killing one of your own boys. Is there anything else ya need?" she asked.
"No. No that'll be it. Thanks."
As the nurse walked away, Ryan shifted his gaze to the ceiling and sighed, tears slowly forming.
"I'm sorry, Fredrick. I'm so sorry."
Epilogue
"Mommy, what's Grandpa doing in this cemetery?" asked the little girl standing next to her mother.
The brown haired woman crouched to her daughter's level and kissed her on the cheek.
"Grandpa's just taking care of some business," she said, " he won't be much longer."
A gray-haired, wrinkly old man stood in front of a tombstone, staring at it through his glasses intently. He read the text over and over to himself.
Here lies Fredrick Laupp
March 14, 1930 - June 6, 1944
He will be missed
The old man removed something from his sweater pocket and placed two objects in front of the headstone: a small figurine of a stylish fashonista pony and a necklace with a heart-shaped diamond pendant. Standing back up, the elder brought his hand to his head and saluted. Lowering his hand, he walked back towards his daughter and granddaughter.
"Ready to go, Grandpa Ryan?" asked the girl energetically.
"You bet, hun," said the man, extending a shaky arm to ruffle the girl's long curly hair.
As the women climbed into their minivan, the man removed something else from his pocket: a coiled rope. He smiled. The man had wondered if he would ever cross paths with the ponies again, but there was one thing he knew for sure: they had taught him that friendship truly is...magic.
A/N: Please note that the battle scenes were not entirely historically accurate, but the landings on the beaches of Normandy did really happen. Before anyone gets all flustered and says:
"The fight scenes weren't historically accurate! I'm down voting this fic for that one reason alone!"
I would like to let you know that I still had a blast writing this and will have an even bigger blast seeing how people like it! I would like to give a huge thanks to Syn3rgy for helping with the description, title, and for 'understanding and supporting'. You are a true friend and, for that, I thank you.
