EAW - Chronicles of Equus

The Crystal City.

The beating heart of the Crystal Empire has been put under siege.

By early Winter of 1012, the Heersgruppe is wreaking havoc in the empire.

Hivesmarschal Trimmel had orders to capture the City, even in the lethal freeze of winter.

These orders came from the High Queen herself.

The Great War had finally reached a stalemate across all of Equestria.

In the south, the Ponies held the line just outside of Bales, Ponyville, and Las Pegasus.

Despite their best efforts, the changelings could not breach the newly formed “Sentinel” line.

Bloody combat only resulted in pointless casualties, and the changelings soon dug in.

Ergo, the Queen turned her eyes elsewhere—onto more fortuitous horizons.

Battle plans to annex the Crystal Empire was fabricated long before the war began.

Chrysalis argued that if the Crystal Ponies surrendered on schedule, Equestria dies with them;

Consequentially, Stalliongrad would have no hope to save them with their intervention.

It was debated to be a Bold Strategy, one that could overextend the army past its limits.

But still, Chrysalis behests for the order to be given anyway.

She argued that if the Crystal Ponies were to be annihilated first before Equestria,

The latter would also be stretched too thin to properly contain an offensive from the empire.

And with the newfound industrial capabilities from the conquest of the Empire’s Capital City,

She could shift the tide of war to her favor at last—followed by one final push into Canterlot.

After much debate, it was finally agreed upon. Operation: Avalanche was to be prioritized.

Trimmel’s army had since besieged the city from December of 1012, but still the garrison stood;

Being surrounded, in a ruined city, with rations and ammunition running dry, and horrid weather,

The strategic situation of The Crystal City is deteriorating, and troop morale plummets.

Cadence has pleaded to Celestia for reinforcements and equipment to relieve the besieged city.

Until then, the ponies prepare for what ultimately may be their Last Stand.

January 12th—1013—05:47

“Come on. Look sad! You are surrounded, the war is lost for you- don’t look at the camera!”

“Why are we doing this? Can’t we just kill him?”

“Shut up, and get him to look down! Make him look despondent!”

A pony dressed in a drabbed, battle-worn uniform for the Equestrian Army is surrounded by four Changelings, one of which is operating a film camera and the other relaying orders as a propagandist. The latter two flanked the chained pony with their weapons ready, constantly taunting and harming the subject relentlessly.

All of them stood in the middle of a camp situated behind some roughly made trench lines. Tents scattered about, and some campfires were seen. In the distance, the constant sound of thunderous artillery fire continued to hammer away.

The pony, however, showed no sign of defeat nor obedience. He stood defiantly against his oppressors and stared fiercely into the camera.

“Stop staring at the camera! Look down and look sad! The war is over for you!”

The pony lips curled into a faint smirk.

“Why would I be sad? It’s not my problem anymore. You think I wanna stay in that fucking city?”

“If you wanted to leave so badly, then why the hell are you massacring our-”

“I told you! I had nothing to do with them.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Major fucking-what’s-his-face, am I right?” one of the flankers ridiculed.

“Major Quartz!” The pony reiterated.

“Oh yeah sure it was, you fucking piece of filth.” one ling clubbed the pony’s head with a rifle butt.

“Please.” The Cameraling interrupted.“Can we get these last few seconds under control for the Prisoner? And get these shots done with.” Both of the guards sulked.

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Then it’ll be back to popping some pony skulls.'' Both of them answered separately.

The pony snickered and chuckled, and still stood defiantly.

“Heh, ah fucking Changelings. Ah—How many times now have you tried to make it to the Crystal City, huh? Like, four times? And every single time, you failed. You can’t break fucking SHIT!”

The loud repartee earned another rifle butt to the back of the head, causing the pony to fall sloppily to the ground, though still conscious.

“SHUT UP! Just- just stand there with your mouth shut!” the propagandist ordered.

“Yeah, little fucker. Last warning.”

The pony gave another giggle, albeit struggling to stand. He promptly spat on the ground toward the ling that taunted him, getting some dirt out of his mouth.

“You know,” he began after catching his breath. “You sound like one of those pussy recruits, who haven’t seen combat yet. Wh- what is it, is it because your momma drone was never good at loving you, and your changing balls haven’t dropped yet?”

“OKAY, FUCK YOU!”

The Pony earned a swift kick to the face, breaking several of his teeth and his nose. He collapsed onto his back, tasting copper all over his now broken snout.

Upon opening his eyes, he found a rifle barrel staring back at him.

Everyone reacted at once.

“Whoa whoa, wait-”

“Are you-”

BLAM!

One bullet later, and the Pony laid forever still. Bystanders from the camp heckled and cheered at the scene. Others went on about their business without so much as a peep.

The Changeling who promptly delivered the shot cocked the bolt, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“That’s right, fuckface. How do you like that?”

No reply was given.

“... Let’s see what he had on him.”

Eventually, a sigh escaped from the Propagandist’s lips.

“We’ll have to cut that part out.”

“... Figured we would.” The cameraling replied with a nod, switching off the camera. No other words were shared, and the duo eventually wandered off.

As the two former escorts proceed to loot every pocket that is on the pony’s body, they proceed at a slow pace.

“Fucking ponies,” one of them groans to himself. “Why do they have so many pockets?”

A noise made their ears flicker. Hoofsteps… a lot of them, heading this way in a hurried fashion. They peered their heads up on reflex and found a large mass of Changelings following the lead behind one, who appeared to be a CO of some kind.

They came from the direction further towards the deeper parts of the camp behind the frontlines and halted the formation right in front of the looting duo. The lone, green-eyed officer stared down with a condescending and disdained expression on his features.

“... I suppose if you are content with just fiddling around in the mud, you wouldn’t mind being helpful enough to point me to your Commanding Officer?”

Both ‘lings looked at each other with an irrepressible sense of indignance on their part.

“What’s it to you?” one of them replies.

“Your life, if you do not obey my authority.” The officer replied.

The soldier rolled his eyes. He’d seen this type of Changeling time and time again, and they never ceased to perturb him. Junior Officers sent straight from the academy who think they know warfare but never experienced it. They usually are replaced quite fast, due to their eagerness. The ones who do survive long enough will know by that point how wrong they were from the start.

But in this situation, the best they could do was begrudgingly follow whatever instructions he would throw at them.

“What do you want, sir?”

“You’re from the Fälschung Company, aren’t you?” The Officer asked.

“That’s us.”

“Okay, where’s your CO?”

“Hauptmann Winter? He’s near the front to the North East, tending to the Massacre.” he casually answered.

This paused the Officer. “... What fucking Massacre?”

“... Just… Head over there. You’ll know it when you see it.” the second escort answered hesitantly, pointing at a small break in a treeline.

That answer didn’t help in the slightest in explaining the situation, causing the officer to facehoof with a raucous sigh.

“Fucking- Alright, 7th Platoon, come on!” The officer bellowed, prompting the formation to pick up the pace once again. They moved in a rigid pack, loosely conglomerated and unorganized as they marched past the duo.

As the platoon disappears, one of the looters stands up with a sigh.

“He’s got nothing.”

—

A teal-eyed changeling, his expression hardened and even, stares at a tree that holds another Changeling hostage. Tied and tethered to the dead trees with barbed wire and covered in mud, the wounds and infections combined deemed them unsavable.

Mud.

Screaming.

Suffering.

They were the last wave to enter Crystal City; or, what was left of them.

The remaining survivors screamed in agony as they had been tied up there for hours. There, tethered between two ruined trees and painted in red ink that many ‘lings assumed was blood, were several crude wooden signs.

They read:

“Welcome to Equestria!”

“Have Fun!”

“This Will be You!”

The Changeling that found himself staring at his helpless comrade was levitating a rifle beside him, fixed with a bayonet. His mind revolted in almost every way that this was wrong and unnecessary, but the small and rational part of him that saved him time and time again also knew that there was no saving them.

And so, he forced his legs to move with as much speed that was necessary, leveling the bayonet to his poor victim. The Ling tethered to the tree stared with wide eyes.

The blade sunk easily into the chitin, having long since been broken. He could feel the vital organs churning and resisting against his blade as he plunged it into the abdomen of his victim.

He’d rather shoot them than be using his bayonet, but he knew better. The strategic situation was too critical to afford using bullets on their own Changelings, even if it is for mercy killing. The fact of the matter is, the previously failed assaults bled their supplies dry, more than they would like. And mercy killing with bullets would only make the logistical situation worse.

“... sorry, brother,” he whispered, as the victim turned limp soon after.

The blade was quickly pulled out, and the lone 'ling turned to the pensive crowd surrounding the screaming trees.

“Alright, let’s hurry it up… They shouldn’t be stuck up here any longer.”

Everyling spurred into action, albeit reluctantly. Some of them had to float up to the trees to reach the higher-stranded ones. All of them proceeded to euthanize them, in the same fashion that the previous ling had accomplished.

The cries for rescue soon turned to cries of anguish. One by one, they were silenced. One by one, Changelings killed their own kind, rather than leaving them to suffer.

Some couldn’t watch. Others did. Some didn’t vomit. Others did.

Suddenly, the same two reporterlings with the camera emerged from further behind the lines and found the gruesome scene before them.

“Oh…” the Propagandist morbidly mumbles. “Uh… don’t shoot any of that,” he asks the cameraling.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The cries ranged fewer and fewer now, with the Azure-eyed leading officer that ordered the killings standing in front of his first victim. The rifle hung around his chitin, his locked eyes onto the milky sockets of the victim that gazed lifelessly at the ground.

“... Never underestimate psychological warfare.” He mutters aloud, mainly to himself.

His body remains still, almost as perfectly still as the corpse in front of him. But he could still feel it, even now; the small quakes in his limbs. He couldn’t forget this if he wanted to. The sight would stick with him for the rest of his days.

If he were to survive by tomorrow, that is.

“Hauptmann Winter?”

The Changeling breaks out of his trance with lightning-quick reflexes, levitating his pistol from his holster and swiveling around to his target.

Only to find another Changeling, who promptly stumbled backward with his forehooves raised. The formation behind him also took a small step back.

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, sir.” the junior officer carefully speaks.

Winter snorted through his nostrils, staring through his iron sight for a few seconds longer until he finally lowered his weapon.

“Oh thank the Queen, reinforcements for the next assault,” Someling called out, returning from the now eerily silent scene, save for the constant thumping of artillery in the background.

“Not a moment too soon, either.”

“About damn time.”

A crowd soon formed around the newly arrived 7th Platoon, with Winter facing the leading officer of said Platoon. He scanned him, top to bottom thoroughly, keenly noticing his clean uniform and ‘fish-out-of-water’ demeanor. The chitin was clean as well, his face was young and rested.

Hell, he had to be the cleanest officer around here for hundreds of miles.

The group behind him seemed particularly small, and he noticed that there weren’t other groups to be found following.

“... How many are you?” Winter rasped, his voice hoarse and dry.

“About a Platoon, sir.”

“A Platoon?” Winter peered over the shoulder of the CO, gazing at the unorganized mass of Changelings that stood eagerly before him. “... are you serious?”

“Yes, si-”

“I was promised Armored Infantry, who are you?”

“Th-that’s us, sir, I-I’m-” The officer stumbles at his words, forcing him to swallow saliva down his throat. “I’m Unterfeldwebel Strela, sir, I-I’m with the Armored Cavalry Company, and I-”

“And where’s the rest of your Armored Cav Company, Strela?” Winters’ gravelly words were like sandpaper to the chitin.

“W-well, that’s th-the thing sir, we… we…”

The Officer’s eyes drift to the nightmarish scene before him, gazing upon the lifeless bodies of Changelings still tethered to trees. The young Changeling commanded his body to move but the limbs were locked in place.

His eyes locked onto the corpses. Remnants of the previous wave. The reality as to how they died slammed him like a freight train to the gut, and a sinking feeling to his stomach couldn’t be washed away. He had marched to the frontlines with the knowledge that whatever predecessors died like heroes… or so he was told.

He saw no such heroism here. Only agony.

“Hello?... Unterfeldwebel!” Winter barked, causing the young officer to phase back into reality.

“Uh… wh-... what happened was, sir, we- we had a last-minute redeployment from one of the division commanders, a-and over half of our company—about all of the assets apart from the leg infantry—were transferred further south to another location.”

“Oh, son of a bitch.” Winter mumbles to himself, his hoof planted on his face. The crowd that had gathered around the two gazed tentatively at one another, upon hearing the news. A few of them inched closer to the scene. Winter trotted away a couple of steps and swiveled back around towards Strela.

“Fucking fuck… and you said your name was...?”

“Unterfeldwebel Strela, sir.”

“And where’s your CO?”

“Uh… Hauptmann Zera went down with 5th Platoon, along with the HQ Company on landmines, before the redeployment was-”

“Son of a bitch!” Winter kicked a pile of mud towards the trees, startling a few ‘lings to step back—Strela included. Winter reared back around again, more than perturbed.

"... And you're all that's left, is that it?"

"Uh..." Strela wanted to answer, but Winter moved faster than his mind could.

“Tell me, Unterfeldwebel, what exactly am I supposed to do with just a Platoon of Leg Infantry, against the Crystal City’s defenses?”

“You carry out the assault, Hauptmann Winter.”

A new, authoritative voice calls out from the back of the formation, causing every Changeling to turn and make room for whoever spoke up.

And to everybody's surprise, standing on his own bare hooves in the still cold and wet mud of the Northern Equestria among his troops, was Hivesmarschal Trimmel himself.

“... Whatever the costs.” he finishes his sentence, as he trots up to Strela and Winter.

Trimmel had seen better days. He looked exhausted, if the bags under his sagging green eyes were anything to go by. If one were to guess, he had been managing to stay awake off of concentrated Love alone, and had endured many sleepless nights. His coat was worn and wrinkled, cleaned to the best it can be but still had some hard stuck stains from previous events visible. His cap was still on and in a little better condition, but was uneven and not properly aligned with the three-horned crowned pin of the Hives in the center.

But still, he stood, among his infantry—destined to charge headfirst into impending doom no less.

“Hivesmarschal Trimmel?” Winter asked with disbelief. “Excuse me for asking this sir, but, wh-what the fuck are you doing so close to the front?”

Trimmel only stared evenly for a few seconds, but it felt exponentially longer than that. It felt like years.

“... Every Changeling on this side of the line needs to engage in the onslaught Hauptmann. I am no exception.”

“... Well,” Winter adds on, “under these fucked up circumstances, I am right there with you sir.”

Trimmel didn’t have a reply for that, or maybe he didn’t deem one to be necessary. Instead, he trots to a small gap through the treeline they‘ve hunkered in, peering beyond the field.

Further, in the distance, he could see the Crystal Palace’s spire stretch into the sky from just under the horizon. The sun was crowning from underneath said spire, and already the underlayer of the Overcast sky was illuminated in a neutral tangerine glow.

The frontline that separated them and no creature’s land was not too far ahead from where they stood, the line illuminated by the tracers of artillery and howitzer fire. He could see hundreds of shells being launched over to the enemy line.

“They’re fucking insane, those ponies!” One Changeling quickly pipes up, causing a murmur among the crowd. “Every assault we try, they fight like savages! They’ll never give up the city without a fight!”

“And we barely have the capacity for another assault, who knows when we can try again after this—if we can try again!”

“I am aware.” Trimmel replies sternly, turning his head to the crowd. They were silent. “... That is why this assault has to be the one, everyling. Failure today is not an option.”

A murmuring acknowledgment settled over the crowd.

“... No more fucking around with these Ponies!” Trimmel barked loudly. “All of you, every Changeling around the Crystal City will begin their final assault today. They will be in full 360-degree combat in all directions. The Crystal City is destined to fall today! And I mean today!”

The murmurs grew more invigorated and confident, a few “yes sirs” and “jawohls” piping up.

Trimmel turns toward the junior officer, who by now was more than intimidated in the presence of the Hivesmarschal. Strela felt his body physically contort against his will as he performed a salute for Trimmel. Upon inspecting his sleeve patch, Trimmel asked accordingly.

“Unterfeldwebel.”

“Ja?”

“You and your Schutze of…”

“Cav Company-”

“Cavalry Company—will advance along with the Fälschung Company to the Crystal City. Time to get your hooves wet.”

“Jawohl.”

Trimmel then locked eyes with Winter, who didn’t bother with the same formalities that Strela did.

“I’ve dispatched survivors from Uptrich’s ‘Stahler’ Armored Division from Ponytown to join you today. They should be at the front now providing support fire. You will also be attached with Stigler’s Jaeger Company to ensure you get past those Pillboxes. Will that work?”

As Trimmel listed off the assets, more and more Changelings from the rear line began to form up around the Hivesmarschal. More reinforcements.

“... I can work with anything at this point, sir.” Winter’s fatigue was infectious with that reply.

“Good answer.”

“Uh, Hivesmarschal?” a voice calls out from the rear edge of the treeline, a Changeling with a radio backpack levitating a radio phone onto his ear. “Oberst Hendall wants us to get the ball rolling.”

Another prolonged sigh escaped Winter’s lips. Strela could see it in Winter’s eyes, a spark of some kind of animosity with that name. Then that spark was replaced with ambition. As Trimmel was cantering back towards the rear, Winter spoke up from behind him.

“Hivesmarschal Trimmel, if I may speak freely just this once?” Winter asked with humility, prompting Trimmel to swivel around with a raised brow. After a brief moment of contemplation, he nodded curtly.

“About Oberst Hendall…” Winter paused, trying so delicately to find the right words for him. “He has been responsible for every failed assault that we have suffered and endured so far, and…” He paused, once again dancing around eggshells. “Being the Queen’s Guard that he is, I’m sure you know that he is a damn sadist, sir!”

This caused a small chuckle to escape Trimmel’s lips. Not condescending, yet not mirthful. It was a sort of cathartic laugh.

“Well, with these ponies; we need to fight crazy with a little bit of crazy of our own.”

It wasn’t the answer Winter had hoped for, nor expected. He decided to double down.

“... Sir, with all due respect I give to you, I sincerely request that you put me in charge of this assault.”

This request promptly caused every Changeling, even ones who weren’t actively tuning in to the conversation, to gaze in their direction. All eyes were on Trimmel and Winter, the two of them staring sternly at one another, but with deep-rooted respect.

“... There’s no time for last-minute reorganizations, I’m afraid. If there is nothing else Hauptmann, that would be all.”

Strela was staring from the side. He couldn’t see it on Winter’s face, whatever he was feeling. He couldn’t get a read on him, as much as he wished he could.

For Winter, he knew that the fate of most of these Changelings was now sealed. A lot would not return. And there was no point in arguing against it now.

“Alright then,” Trimmel announced with fatigued but stern optimism, eyes locked on Winter. “Now get out there, and do the Changeling Nation proud!”

Winter could do nothing but obey. “... Yes sir.”

A tense few moments of silence. Until it was shattered by a series of even louder artillery barrages coming from the frontlines. It shook the ground beneath the troops to their core, ever so slightly.

“Looks like they’re still waiting on us.” Winter swivels around to the growing formation of infantry behind him. “Let’s move out!”

The convoy of troops responded in yet another choir of agreement.

“Unterfeldwebel Strela?” Winter asked with authority.

“Ja?”

“You and your 'lings are with me now,” he ordered decisively. "Try to keep your head down."

“... Jawohl. 7th Platoon, on me!”

The narrow column of infantry began marching loosely to the front, striding at a quick pace to get there. Various ‘click-clacks’ of rifles reloading could be heard as the convoy moved onward. Other Changelings barked at one another to pick up the pace in an orderly fashion.

Trimmel stood unmoving, gazing at his pocket watch. It read 6:02; Two minutes late. Hendall would have to make do with it.

He tucked the watch away, sternly watching the convoy as the inspired infantry moved onward for what would be their final assault.

For good or ill.

—

Tchoom!
Tchoom! Tchoom!
Tchoom!
Tchoom! Tchoom! Tchoom!

Artillery, field gun, and tank cannon fire incessantly lunged from the Changeling Line across No Creature’s Land; Shell after shell, after shell, after shell. Some were launched higher at an arc, some were shot like a straight arrow over the marred landscape.

The guns themselves were hunkered down in various dugouts and enclosed positions, emplaced behind a long stretching trench system teeming with Changeling life. Many moved up and about the lines, getting into their various positions as they were still on schedule. The crewlings of the gun batteries worked tirelessly to continue firing away at the Guns, some of them moving boxes of ammunition to and fro the lines to ensure they wouldn’t run out.

Infantry stood huddled together shoulder to shoulder on their hind legs, separated into two rows inside the already narrow trenches. One row stood entirely on the firing steps, giving them a proper sightline of No Creature’s Land ahead of them; They had their weapons ready and mounted against the walls, ready to go over the top. The second row stood on hind legs with their back against the rear walls, waiting for the ‘lings in front to go over before they can mount the firing steps and follow their predecessors.

And sitting in one open hatch of a Panzer IV at the rear formation of Panzers, observing through his binoculars, was Oberst Hendall. Donned in a highly decorated uniform with the Queen’s Guard insignia on his sleeves, the impatient ‘ling tapped incessantly on his tank with an idle hoof as he watched the bombardment with boredom.

The scene had been like this for hours: Infantry huddled tightly together in the trenches waiting for the inevitable order to charge, while the guns continued to fire away. And nothing had changed for over 12 hours.

It especially annoyed Hendall when he was told by his superiors the assault was supposed to happen yesterday, but was delayed due to weather.

“‘Delayed due to weather.’ It’s always bad weather here, they have fucking Pegasi!” the Oberst mumbles to himself in acrid frustration.

He stowed away the binos and instead reached for his pocket with a hoof. Towing out a pocket watch, he flipped it open and it read 6:07.

He stifled a groan.

“Late... again.” he mutters once more with indignation.

“Sir!” a Changeling calls out from behind with impeccable timing. Hendall swiftly turns around with vigor, and sees a column of infantry advancing toward him with pace. He allowed a small, unnoticeable smirk to form on his lips. Two of them were leading the large formation, one of them clearly more experienced than the other from whet Hendall observed.

“Hauptmann Winter of the Fälschung Company, reporting!”

Strela stumbles on his words soon after.

“J-Jawohl, I-I am also Strela of th-”

“About time you got your horns out of your asses.” Hendall barks curtly.

Before Winter could reply, a tank cannon from behind fires without warning, causing both him and Strela to jump. Winter quickly recovers.

“Sir, we’ve only got one shot at this, and we-”

“Listen up, Armor!” Hendall yells through his radio phone, ignoring Winter. “Today is the day, and now is the time! We are pushing forward! I don’t care what happens out there, when we go over this line we do not stop for anything, we push through those lines and kill every last one of those colorful cowards on the other side. Today is the day, and now is the time!”

Strela overheard Winter sigh heavily next to him over the sound of cannon fire.

“Understood?” Hendall orders. No reply came, to which Hendall yelled once more. “Understood?!”

A single tinny voice replies. “... Ja. Understood.”

Hendall forcefully hung the line up without another word after the confirmation, continuing instead to observe the bombardment one last time.

Winter hangs his head ever so slightly. “Here we go again.” he groans to himself.

“Huh…” Strela half-sighed, half-laughed. “He’s quite the character, isn’t he?”

“He’s a fucking moron.” Winter grimly replies. Taking a quick glance around between his infantry behind the tanks and Hendall, he quietly adds, “Every attack we have tried has been done with suicidal bulldozer tactics. How many times is it going to take before the dumbshit realizes he’s a dumbshit?”

Both take a tentative glance back at Hendall, oblivious to the conversation.

“... We’re never going to take the enemy lines head-on at this rate.” Winter morbidly mumbles, his eyes fixed on No Creature’s Land.

“Well, why is that?” Strela asks dumbly. Winter pretended to think that it wasn’t a stupid question and answered him anyway.

“Well, because the Crystal Ponies have their defenses the strongest on this side, and we can’t charge head-on in the open without cover. So we use armored pushes. But this is the only direction of attack where the terrain isn’t too marred for the tanks to traverse, so everything they got for Anti-Tank purposes is focused on this line. The only other options for cover are traversing across the shell holes, and that is easier said than done.

“It’s a bloodbath every time, but they can’t keep up for long.” Winter grimly finishes.

“Why not?” Strela asked. Another stupid question.

“Because we have them completely surrounded; they’re low on ammo, and their industry is in ruins. They’ve been slowly running out over time. All it takes is one breakthrough to shatter their resolve, and they don’t want you to get even close.”

“Well, how close have you gotten?”

For once, not a stupid question.

“Close enough to touch their line. And fuck, that’s when those ponies get really mad.”

“Hauptmann!” Hendall barked over his tank firing the cannon. Winter—ever so slightly—flinched at the sound of his name, reluctantly turning to the Panzer next to him. “Get your ‘lings in gear! It’s just about time to push forward!”

“... Sigh.”

Hendall grabbed hold of the radio phone with his levitation, holding it to his mouth. “All guns, cease fire!”

Orders were barked from officer to officer down the line. Soon, the guns started to silent themselves one by one. The constant ‘thumping’ of artillery fire soon turned sporadic. The final salvos were launched into their targets.

Winter and Strela watched as the trench line was now buzzing with activity; soldiers readied their kits and gear, said their final prayers and hopeful wishes, fixed bayonets, and formed a neat line facing No Creature’s Land.

“Winter! You and Fälschung Company will be behind me every step of the way from here on out. Understood?”

“... Jawohl,” Winter replied evenly, just loud enough for Hendall to hear.

Amidst the commotion, Strela found himself entranced with the sight of No Creature’s Land being bathed in Morning Glory. He watched the last few tracers of tanks shells fly toward their targets, exploding faintly in the distance upon impact. The sun was now beginning to hide its body behind the endless veil of clouds.

Soon, the tracers stopped. No fire was exchanged from either side. The air around them seemed palpable, dense, and hot. The quagmire landscape, for once, seemed tranquil and still.

Strela knew the stillness was only a brief respite of what was to come.

The calm before the storm.

—

Smoke and dust billow upward harmlessly, as a deathly quiet takes hold over the Equestrian Line. Crude wooden stakes; mangled barbed wire; concrete pyramids, acting as tank obstacles; damaged pillboxes, with inner rebar haphazardly poking out like metal spaghetti.

The bombardment seemed to have finally stopped… for now, anyway.

A singular head pokes from behind sandbags stacked atop frozen dirt, peering out beyond No Creature’s Land; a charcoal-coated Earth Pony, ruby tinted eyes. Her Crystal Army Uniform has long since been ruined due to wear and tear. The white pigment on her uniform was degraded and weathered down to an ugly grayish-white. The violet, crystal snowflake painted in the center of her Brodie helmet was the only thing left hinting at her allegiance.

“Everypony alright?!” a male voice calls from within the line. One by one, more voices answer her.

“I’m okay!”

“Still alive!”

“We’re good!”

The charcoal pony peers higher beyond the sandbags. The guns have definitely gone silent now, and they didn’t seem hellbent on firing anymore.

This meant one of two things: Either the enemy had to cease fire to conserve ammo, or so that they would attack.

The latter seemed much more likely compared to the former.

“Agh! Fuck, it hurts!” a pained voice off to the side grabs the charcoal pony’s attention, and she quickly scrambles to aid whoever was hurt.

Her rifle clanging her side from the sling, she gallops toward a shell hole near a still occupied pillbox.

The shell had narrowly missed a hunkered down Timberwolf, one of the few surviving units of Tanks leased by the Equestrians. Three ponies hunkered in said shell hole, with one of them bloodied up pretty badly from shrapnel in the leg.

“Got any potions left?”

“No, I used my last one hours ago.”

“Dammit!”

The charcoal pony scans the grisly scene with a sigh before hastily trotting past them.

“Settle him in the Triage as quickly as you can.”

“Sarge, the Triage Tent is already at max capacity-”

“Then make room!” she behests, moving past them towards the hunkered down Timberwolf. The pony in the hatch was busy tossing out empty shells from within.

“How many shots do you have left?” the Sergeant asked the Tanker.

“Uh… ‘bout thirteen? All AP?” he sounded uncertain.

“... make them count.” She simply orders, before trotting off again.

“Uh, sarge, I don’t think that’ll make much of a difference!”

Further ahead past the pillbox near the Timberwolf, a series of discombobulated sandbag walls were planted over a small depression from another shell hole. They were placed where the frontline trench used to be before being blown apart. A decent-sized group of ponies huddled behind it, weapons ready. A number of said ponies were busy inspecting several military crates made of wood a little ways behind.

Some ponies laid still on the ground beside them all, with a few being tended to by some ponies with the green medical cross on their helmets. The few that survived the bombardment and were being tended to writhe in pain in the stiff dirt. Overlapping voices barked over one another, competing in a sea of sound from all directions in order to have their message heard.

“Pear Tree, I got one more box of twelve-milimeter with your name on it!”

“Bring it! Better than nothing!”

“Fucking shit! Where’s the Blood Plasma? Do we have any left?”

“Stay with me buddy, it’s fine! You’ll be fine soon!”

“Vanguard, to the front! Guns forward!”

“Do we get medals for this?”

Noise. Uncertainty. Chaos. It seeped and festered onto the troops, thick like pus from a wound; Clinging onto everything and threatened to send it all astray.

But the charcoal pony’s features boast a stern yet the unfettered expression on her face. She knew how to quell and disperse uncertainty if possible.

“Everypony, I want rifles facing out the line ASAP! Get whatever you need and move your asses! Stay vigilant!”

A murmured choir of acknowledgment answered her. The effects of her instructions were seen almost immediately, as ponies began to pick up the pace in their activities. The chatter died down somewhat; only a few cries of pain from the wounded could be heard, along with the ‘Click-Clacks!’ of weapons being reloaded.

She trotted through the partially dispersed crowd of pony soldiers trying to regroup onto the line, which had been deducted to hastily assembled sandbag fighting positions stacked between pillboxes, either behind trenches or shell holes landed on what used to be trenches.

The charcoal pony wearily trots her way toward one of these said sandbag positions, harboring a small squad of ponies from various walks of life. One of them happened to be an Equestrian Soldier, leftover from what remained of their reinforcements from months ago. One of the distinct few who happened to survive the entirety of the siege.

“Everypony good here?” She asked softly.

“Yeah.” one of the Crystal Soldiers replies flatly.

The charcoal pony notices that the one who answered was struggling to maintain their composure. If the wide-eyed expression, shaking limbs, poorly aimed firearm were anything to suggest, the poor pony was barely keeping it together.

She took a moment to carefully inspect their clothing, scanning for a rank and a name… there. On the left forearm

“Corporal Syrup?” She inquired softly once more. “You sure you're alright—”

“Yes, Sergeant!” she barks curtly, refusing to look at her. “I-” She paused, for only a moment. “I… I just want this to be done already.”

I can relate, the charcoal pony thought to herself. She struggled to find any form of catharsis or reassurance that could be said in this situation.

So instead, she spoke the simple truth.

“We all do Corporal. Just keep fighting. That is all you have to do. Just keep fighting.”

The shaken pony visibly stilled herself upon hearing those words. She had taken the advice to heart.

“Y… Y-yes, Sergeant!” She answered with grit, cocking the bolt of her rifle back partially to check her ammo. She bolted with a satisfying click, fully loaded.

The sergeant, meanwhile, could only sigh. It was a sigh of pure exhaustion. Moments like these never stopped coming, and the situation only continued to deteriorate. With the light of morning finally bright enough for her to see, she took a moment to take in the sight of the crude defensive line that had been formed here—a decrepit shell of what it used to be before the siege:

Frozen puddles of mud pooling in the bottom of shell holes.

Tangled barbed wire, posing more of a nuisance to the defenders than a threat to the attackers.

The endless graveyard of bodies from both sides stretching out from the line all the way to No Creature’s Land.

The smoldering remains of large gun emplacements, now a husk in of its former selves.

The few remaining wooden bunkers, and machine gun turrets were fixed atop of concrete pillboxes.

The dwindling number of defenders that only continued to drop by the hour.

The closest that she could compare this to was the equivalent of a lucid nightmare. One that had manifested itself into reality. One where there is no escape by waking up.

One where sleep doesn’t reward pleasant dreams in the night anymore. All that sleep is reduced to now is a blank void of nothing.

Tartarus on earth.

It was immensely difficult to focus on something else that wasn’t dwelling on the despair of it all; the hopelessness and the loss. The near impossibility of the rescue mission from the Equestrians only fueled that despair.

For the Sergeant, she knew her fate was sealed since the Siege began. She would live here; She would fight here; And she would most likely die here.

And she fought against that fate, even if it was suicidally impossible.

“Sergeant! Sergeant Shamrock!” a pony seizes her attention with her name; somepony with a radio backpack, the phone held aloft with a wing. The wielder looked apologetic and empathetic.

And based on the incessant and incoherent yelling and griping that Shamrock could hear, she knew exactly who that was. And she felt her stomach fall into a pit.

“Uh, sorry ma'am, but uh… Major Quartz wants reports...?” he asked sheepishly.

A raucous sigh escaped Shamrock’s lips.

“Fucking hell.” she groaned. As she did so, her eyes were glued to the small, and very distant treeline that she could just beyond No Creature’s Land where the bombardment had been firing from. Her eyes never left that spot.

Hesitantly, she grabbed the phone with a free hoof and, slowly, eased the phone into her ear.

“... Major Quartz?” She spoke with caution.

"SHAMROCK!" The voice screams with unbridled fury, causing her to flinch instinctively. “Those Fucking Bugs are going to roll in from all sides! They’re about to attack at any minute!”

“I am aware Major, I’m looking at them right now!” she barked back

“Don’t get cute with me, Sergeant! This may be our last chance to repel an assault before reinforcements arrive tomorrow!”

“Again, I-... wait, tomorrow?!” Shamrock nearly cracked her voice as she raised her volume. “You never informed me that reinforcements were arriving tomorrow!”

“That’s because we weren’t aware they would be here by tomorrow, until just today! The telegram reports they are in combat with the eastern flank, and we may be able to make a breakthrough if all the defensive Bulwarks can just hold the line!”

The major never ceased to yell when speaking through the intercom, much to the annoyance and displeasure of Shamrock.

“Major, we’ve barely been able to hold the line so far because we had the ammunition to do so. I-I don’t think we have enough for this time! You never sent us that Logistical Delivery like I specifically requested!”

“Those supplies have better use elsewhere!” Major Quartz nearly screamed back. “We’re close to making a breakthrough on the Eastern Flank to open up the Equestrian supply lines! J-Just hold the line! When the Equestrians finally help us break through, then we can get you the supplies!”

Shamrock felt her eye twitch involuntarily, and the nerves in her body were tingling with warm, manic energy. It felt like her blood was boiling.

“You… You sent our Lifeline away to try and attack?Major, have you lost your mind?!”

“NO I HAVEN’T!” Quartz yelled back with defiance. And despite his unhinged tone, he still sounded so sure of himself. “We are so close, Sergeant! Once we break through, then we can give you assistance!”

“We won’t be here by then, Major! We will lose the position, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time! We can’t hold the line forever!”

“We don’t need forever! We just need to repel one more assault!”

Shamrock wanted to scream. She felt her vision blur with a red haze. It felt like she was nearing a tipping point.

But before she could explode or release, a voice screamed from the side of where she was standing.

“HERE THEY COME!”

—

Strela’s eyes never left the sight of No Creature’s Land beyond the Treeline. He could have sworn that there was movement further beyond that looked like equine figures running around, but that may have been his brain fooling him for staring at one spot for so long.

The sight of the rugged shell craters riddled with metal carcasses of tanks and corpses of Changeling soldiers never ceased to discomfort him, which in of itself was a massive understatement. He continued to think at how much potential each of those lives had; how they could have made a difference in the outcome of this battle had they just made one slightly different decision at some point to potentially rescue them.

Instead, their fate had already been sealed. They’ve been dead for a long time now. Ended up as a statistic.

Everyling was on edge and anxious to hear the order to go over the top. The tanks churned their engines idly, stagnant and waiting for the order to move. Everyone was like a coiled spring, waiting to be unleashed and sprung in all its fury.

All that they waited for was one word: ‘Attack!’

Strela felt his limbs shaking as he struggled to calm himself through breathing exercises.

Winter, as usual, was stern and stoic. Unmoving and unwavering. Strela gazed at him through the corner of his eyes with respect and envy.

He cleared his throat after a quick, deep breath to speak.

“So, uh… If you don’t mind me asking, Hauptmann…”

Winter turned his head around with piqued interest, his eyes locked onto Strela’s. As if he was scanning deep in his soul for any hint of deception.

“Uh… What’s it like out there? Have you- have you ever- have you been able to see them?” he asked quickly.

Winter turned his body around, still gazing at Strela but this time with a raised brow.

“... Well, haven’t you been in combat?” Winter asked curiously, scanning the officer once more. But he couldn’t shake this feeling in his stomach that there was something about Strela he should have known.

Something he should have known way sooner than now.

“Uh, no- no sir, I-I… I just got off the transport vehicle about an hour ago.”

That’s when the bit dropped in Winter’s mind.

“You’ve- You’ve never… oh fucking hell.” He groans with a hoof to the face, turning away from Strela.

The latter of which did not feel better about his circumstances, given Winter’s answer, in the slightest.

“Alright look, just—f-follow my lead, keep your head down, and keep track of your ‘lings, okay?”

“Right, right. Of course.” Strela anxiously complies. It wasn’t lost to Winter that the fear of what was to come was just now starting to get to Strela—If the hitched breathing was anything to do by.

This was going to be complicated.

“S-so, these ponies,” Strela asked softly so that his subordinates wouldn’t hear. “T-they’re real fucking monsters, aren’t they?”

No reply was immediately given. Winter kept his eyes glued on the soporose landscape ahead of him for what felt like years.

“... Looks can be deceiving.” He finally answered back. “They look colorful and soft on the outside, but when cornered… They fight like savage, feral animals.”

Winter’s face turned enough for Strela to see only his right eye glaring back at him.

“You’ve seen what happened to the last wave at the massacre behind us.”

“... Yeah. I did... And I don’t plan on joining them,” he answered with calm vigor, finding his cool for just a moment. Cocked the bolt back slightly to check his ammo, and locked it back with confidence.

For a moment, only the sound of heavy engines constantly churning flooded the soundscape. Everything seemed comatose, like a moment frozen in time. The sun had dipped behind the cloud curtains entirely, revealing only a gray haze of morning overcast with a faint luminosity to guide the way.

It almost would have one believe that an attack was not coming.

Almost.

“Line Infantry! Fix Bayonets!” A voice from the trench lines bellowed. A slight commotion ensued that quickly dispersed, followed by another episode of stillness from the line.

“I want your blades dripping with pony blood by the end of the day!” the same voice bellowed out once more. “Oberst Hendall, we await your order! It’s on you!”

Winter quickly tapped Strela’s Whither to get his attention before it was too late, having his gaze fixed on the troops of Fälschung Company and the survivors of Strela’s Company.

“Alright, here we go! Stick together behind the tanks and stay glued to cover! The only way we are going to win this is if-”

“Death to the Ponies!” An unsettling yell from Hendall interrupted Winter, causing his heart to stop and his stomach to drop. He saw that Hendall’s whistle and radio phone was levitated near his mouth as he continued to yell

“For the Queen!

“For the Hives!

“For the Changeling Race!

“ATAAAAAAAACK!”

The Whistle was blown.

All across the line, a cacophony of screams, engines, rumbling treads, and thunderous hoofsteps invaded Winter and Strela’s ears. He saw the frontline infantry charge out of the line, most certainly to their doom. Soon, the treads of Panzers and Assault Batteries trudged along with the quagmire of No Creature’s Land.

Winter gazed back at Strela and his soldiers, all of them staring anxiously for their directive. He could only sigh in defeat.

“Follow my lead!” he bellows one last time.

The spring was finally unleashed.

—

Shamrock felt her heart stop for a few beats.

She didn’t need to see the army approaching, she could feel it in her bones. The earth itself was rumbling.

Panzers. They are charging into the breach once more with everything they’ve got.

“We are the Strongest Defensive Sector that is protecting the Crystal City! Sergeant Shamrock, we are NOT GIVING UP!”

Shamrock steadied herself with a deep breath.

“... I’ll see what I can do, Major, OUT!” She finishes with a shout.

And to emphasize the point, she practically shoved the poor radio pony to the ground when she slammed the receiver into the slot on their backpack with a scream.

“USELESS FUCKING WANKER!”

“I see them!” another voice calls out from behind. Shamrock hurriedly rushed to one of the sandbag walls, readying her weapon upon it as soon as she was nice and seated.

Far off in the distance, she could see them. The unmistakable silhouettes of tanks charging their lines. And Infantry rushing ahead of them.

“Weapons Ready! I want all heavy guns fixed on those panzers!” Shamrock bellows with ferocity, causing a stir up and down the line.

She aimed down her sight, for what must have felt like the thousandth time down this same range by now, and had one wayward thought before all of Tartarus was let loose.

How much more of this?