You know, there's a saying that is just about as old as the wasteland itself. We all know how it goes. We all know what it had done to our lands and lives. It's like a broken record, the same lyrics looping over and over. While hope and sunlight would be eventually restored to the greater Equestrian Wasteland through the actions of selfless ponies, the same cannot be said for the denizens of Stalliongrad. In a frozen tundra, constantly battered by snow storms, war continues to rage within the blasted ruins of a city that once prided itself on patriotic spirit and industrial might. Because we all know how the saying goes;

War. War Never Changes.

***

Defensive Zone Two, ten miles outside of Stalliongrad. Fifteen years after the Megaspells dropped.

My eye trained on the squirrel through my scope. At least, I hoped it was originally a squirrel. The tail was still lush with bushy fur, but the body was twisted and grotesque with barely any fur on it. The poor critter had spawned extra limbs from places that they should not be, and it had grown in size by at least three times. The head wasn't a pretty sight either. Eyes that were once small and devious were now as large as dinner plates and milky white, looking much like a deep sea fish of sorts. Its mouth hung slack, the lower jaw having split into two separate mandibles that twitched independently of each other as the creature scanned around for something to eat.

Slowly my pencil drew across the papers under me, sketching the horrible squirrel. Next to me, a rifle and combat kit rested against the embankment. Covering me and my kit was my trusty trench coat, acting as a sort of makeshift camouflage to keep myself hidden from the creature.

Studying wildlife was always an interest of mine. Even before the bombs fell, my comrades often joked and jeered about my sketching of ordinary wildlife. It didn't help that I often prevented them from going on hunts for additional 'food' when our allocated rations became too low during the harder points of our service. Warnings of reports and court marshaling often got them to stop and rethink their consumption habits. Even in this blasted hellscape, one could still find interesting creatures to document and study.

With my sketch complete, I sat there a moment and contemplated a good name for it. Just from initial glances, it was obvious that the squirrel was the byproduct of horrible gene mutation via radiation and uncontrolled breeding. Then, a mental lightbulb went off.

"Raduirrel…" I muttered softly. With the name given, I heard the Raduirrel chitter lowly. I looked through the scope again in time to see it launch towards a robin that had perched itself on a fallen log. The Raduirrel clambered and skittered with its extra limbs, the mangled mouth salivating excessively as it closed the distance. I watched with bated breath, excited to see the wasteland at work!

“Dimitri! Get down here!” hissed a voice behind me. The voice startled me from my studies, and I glanced over my shoulder. From the slope behind me, Hans was gesturing for me to crawl back with his hoof, a look of urgency on his face. Knowing better than to object, I scooped up my items and crawled back to the crater Hans and I shared. Slipping down the side, I tossed my sketch papers inside my kit with my pencils, and tossed the kit to the side across from me. Hans watched me for a moment as I secured my scope back onto the rifle.

“What is happening?” I asked as the scope clicked into its mounting, but Hans raised a hoof to his lips and shushed me. The hoof then moved to point out from the crater, telling me to look in the direction he pointed. Beyond us, a large, hilly expanse laid. A mist clung to the semi-melted snow, making it hard to see any movement in the gray. I could just barely make out the shapes of abandoned positions and trenchworks, all of them leading up to blasted pillboxes built into the ground and hillsides.

“A pack is moving eastward.” Hans whispered lowly in my ear. My eyes continued to scan the land, trying to see what he was talking about. I had to squint a bit, but I eventually saw a few dark shapes shambling through the mist. I cast a brief glance at Hans.

“That is hardly a pack out there.” I countered. Hans shook his head as he stared out at the mist, his body hunched over the stock of a drum fed light machine gun.

“Nein. Those are just the stragglers.” he said grimly. "The pack just moved further into the mist." At that moment, a yell of surprise cut through the air, and gunfire erupted with it. The single barks of rifles sounded off, followed by the rapid chattering of a machine gun. Hans and I watched in silence for a moment before I spoke again.

“Who is over there?” I asked. He merely lowered his head, his hoof coming up to brush a bit of snow off the sights of his weapon.

“Gunter and Anton.” he said with a sigh. “Along with Malkovich and Gangut.” he added, a frown coming across his lips.

“We should help them!” I suggested, beating a hoof against his shoulder to make him snap out of his grim mood. He grunted and shoved me back slightly, his frown changing into a scowl that pursed his withered lips together.

“And do what, exactly?” he hissed, his Germaneic accent coming through with his rising agitation. “We do not know their number out there.” he continued, gesturing to the mist. “There could be hundreds for all we know!” he added, making sure to not make his voice rise.

I merely raised my hooves, telling Hans to calm down. The assault troopers' shoulder rose and sank as he regained his composure. “Always trying to be the hero…” he muttered under his breath before giving a deep sigh. The gunshots continued to sound off, although they were distant now. We could barely hear Malkovich giving orders to whoever may have survived the attack.

“Armor?” I asked simply. Hans shook his head, his hooves resting under his chin as he leaned against his weapon again.

“Nein. All the armor we have is helping to shore up the defenses of the southern valley.” he said flatly. His face had become hard to read from beneath his helmet, his eyes slightly distant as his anger ebbed away.

“Air support?” was my next question. A brief chuckle was my answer.

“You are thinking in the old ways, my friend.” he pointed out, leaning back to rest a hoof on my shoulder. I blinked a moment, realizing my stumble as a sheepish grin crawled across my chapped lips.

“Forgive me, I forgot my place…” I admitted, resting against the crater wall with a sigh as my forelegs wrapped around the body of my rifle.

“There's nothing to apologize for. I sometimes forget that I’m stuck in this place too. It comes with the territory of being a ghoul, I reckon.” Hans admitted with a shrug. He leaned forward, his shoulder resting against the stock of the LMG again. He always had trouble in finding a comfortable position when manning it. Always repositioning and fidgeting with it as it rested against him. “Another storm front is coming in. Want to get a fire ready?” he asked, looking at me.

“Da, you get the tarp up.” I said, rolling over to my side to kneel before a small pit dug out in the wall. Kindling sat within the small burrow, and I took care to make sure smoke didn’t billow out. I could hear Hans messing with the tarp, getting it ready to cover our position.

***

Nestled just north of the farthest north possible, Stalliongrad stood; A city hidden behind snowcapped mountains and valleys, whos' days are marked by the coming and going of constant snowstorms. With Yakyakistan sat to the west, and the Crystal Empire to the east, Stalliongrad proclaimed itself the 'Unreachable Jewel' of the arctic. When the city was just a small frontier outpost in the days of Celestia and Luna, trade and communication thrived. The outpost quickly grew from a collection of tents, to a hamlet opening its first major port for exporting and importing goods.

And for a time, all was well with the city. It grew and grew, claiming more territory and building the first blocks of what would become the city's industrial powerhouse. Science and technology native to the region helped establish the city with an unique identity; Robust hardware and technology that did not know when to give up, even if most of the components and hardware was missing. Stalliongrad was truly on the path to great things.

And then, Celestia banished Luna, now Nightmare Moon, to the moon at the height of their struggle.

No one in the city would have admitted it at the time, but a majority of those early settlers leaned more towards Luna than Celestia. Luna often gave them happier dreams of a bright future in the arctic when times were hard. When she was gone, their dreams went with them. With their favorite princess now banished, attitudes towards Celestia shifted. When Celestia had visited the town to speak with the settlement's leaders, they greeted her with false smiles and lied through their teeth. The mayor at the time, a stallion named Birch Root, promised Celestia that he and his citizens would continue to serve her as loyal subjects under her kind rule.

But, as Celestia's solo rule of Equestria continued, Stalliongrad slipped farther and farther from her influence. Years of gradual withdrawal and weather manipulation began to cut the city off, and the port the city once prided itself on, shut its harbor to outside maritime traffic. Why rely on a leader who chooses to banish her problems rather than take them on with courage? Why trade with a nation that continued to kneel before a cowardly ruler? Foolish questions at the time, with many formed with little to no information behind the struggle, outside of what Canterlot and Celestia allowed the public to know. In his final days as acting mayor, Birch Root made it his final act to officially upgrade Stalliongrad from a city, to a full blown nation of the same name, complete with its own boundaries and government. This move effectively separated Birch Root, and all who looked to him for leadership, from Equestria. The necessary paperwork and official declaration sent to Canterlot arrived with a hastily written note attached, saying that no one was to bother the nation and its territories, least they be driven back with force.

Finally, after nearly two and a half decades of cutting ties and stating empty promises to Celestia, Stalliongrad became covered by a shroud of driving winds and stinging cold, determined to thrive on its own without any help from anypony.

Many generations later, and most folk were raised to believe that Stalliongrad was simply founded as a nation, not one that had broken away from a greater country. It didn't help that most government officials went out of their way to have most historical documents and records edited or totally erased in an attempt to abandon any prior connection to Equestria and Celestia. Anyone who learned this fact and tried to speak the truth of the topic were dragged away for re-education, a punishment very few returned from. If word got out that everything the public was fed turned out to be a lie, the system Stalliongrad was built upon would collapse under the social upheaval. Because if the founding of their home was a lie, what else would the citizens begin to question?

And so, with only select officials passing on the truth to those chosen to succeed them, Stalliongrad continued to grow in the years since declaring its independence. As a result of this deception and isolation, the typical naming conventions drifted from the more descriptive nouns and meaningful names used in Equestria. Names became shorter and unique, just as the language and accent had. Societal norms also shifted with the ever turbulent political sphere. Since they were free of the nobility and matriarchy of Equestria, Stalliongrad could hold official elections for new positions of power, although these elections were hardly fair, and most ponies maintained their seats for years and years.

In the days leading up to the war, Stalliongrads' leaders had become proud of the industrial backbone and large resource stockpiles built up over decades of manufacturing and farming. Our leaders constantly reminded us that our work was benefitting all of Stalliongrad, and that we all shared in the fruits of our labor.

***

War arrived rather abruptly to Stalliongrad. The initial attacks were from small, reconnaissance scouts sent to gather information on the territories Equestria held as the war machine began to churn. Local farmers and troops drove them off at first, with some Zebras being taken captive to gather information. The Zebras wouldn't tell their interrogators anything, only to ready themselves for the spear about to strike their heart.

Naturally, when the heads of state were told this, they scoffed and laughed it off, proclaiming that no one could take their fortress city. In turn, the Zebras only laughed as they committed suicide in their interrogation cells, one by one. From that point on, the attacks only grew in ferocity and intensity. Word must have gotten back to the Zebra officers somehow once their recon assets failed to return. An unbreakable defense awaited them in the frozen north. A worthy challenge of such fierce warriors!

What started as small clashes grew into larger scale fronts. Stalliongrad's defenses held, but at great cost. Civilian and military casualties began to stack into the thousands, almost millions. In time, it became apparent that the leaders of the city had to safeguard their assets against the possibility that the defiant city would fall to the striped menace.

In a hope to secure their future, the leaders turned to look at some solutions within their own engineering and scientific circles. When their brightest minds failed to produce anything worthy of a long-term development plan, Stalliongrads' various leaders were left with only one choice; One that would have to be extremely downplayed in the event that anyone got too curious about new ponies showing up in fancy suits and utility barding. If anypony from the public saw officials talking with outside corporations, faith in the system would falter. And in wartime, a society on its own relied on the citizens to continue having faith in the system to keep it strong.

Unlike most of Equestria, Stalliongrad did not have any Stables built to safeguard pony life leading up to the grimmer days of the war. The reasoning for this was because Stable-Tec officials determined that the nation, and its surrounding lands, were simply too far to safely ship the more unique building materials and equipment. Not to mention the fact that the land itself was mostly hard ice and snow, with very little retail space to actually construct on. Any land worth while was buried deep beneath the snow and difficult to reach.

"It's a miracle that Stalliongrad even managed to be established, let alone flourish!" remarked a Stable-Tec engineer as they examined the land survey results. "If there was more land that was easily accessible, we might be able to work something out." One city official offered the mountains as potential building sites, but the idea was shot down, with the Stable-Tec engineers saying that the intense cold and altitude would make the steel brittle and weak. In turn, this would make any potential Stables built in the mountains prone to structural failure.

Maybe that’s why the Zebras were so hellbent on making Stalliongrad fall; They knew we had nowhere to run in the case of total defeat. At the height of the conflict, we repeatedly broke their charges with a wall of steel. Tanks, armored infantry, and robust close air support drove the Zebras back wave after wave. A double-edged sword assisted us as well; Nature herself. In the downtime between clashes, Nature took her turn and thinned out the weak on both sides. The wounded succumbed to severe frostbite and infection, while the sick simply went to sleep and never woke up. The Zebras came from a dry and humid climate, surrounded by savannahs and fields of grass or wheat. When it came to the constant, harsh winter, we almost had them beat. The city was built on the backs of strong ponies, and those ponies were going to defend it with everything they had.

Then, two years before everything changed, General Zhutrotsky and Mayor Birch Branch broke the truth to their citizens during a mandatory gathering at the city hall. It was becoming ever clearer that Stalliongrad was on her last legs and in dire need of assistance. At the start of the prior year, they had sent a representative outside of the territory to find anyone who could lend additional assistance. The public was confused, many asking the question of "Why are you asking for help?" and "Who would bother sending help to us?", with most declaring that Stalliongrad didn't need outside help. Those who said such things were in denial of the grim truth, riding on the hope that the city's defenders would pull out a last round knock out to the enemy. After the crowd had calmed down, Zhutrotsky and Birch Branch were free to explain what they had done.

Their courier first tried their closest neighbors, Yakyakistan. On a whole, Yakyakistan refused to enter the fight, saying that it was a "stupid pony war" and that "stupid ponies should do their own fighting". The Crystal Empire was next, but they were too busy taking care of their own issues, and could not afford to take on the burden of assisting Stalliongrad. Town after town, city after city, no one could lend assistance. The courier even tried to reach out to Griffinstone, but they didn't even so much as accept his phone call.

Summer gave way to fall, and fall rolled into winter.

But in the spring, one nation from across the ocean did extend a helping hoof after hearing of Stalliongrad's troubles. After receiving word, the courier returned to Stalliongrad as fast as they could. The citizens and troops didn't know it yet, but a convoy of fresh troops and armor was sailing across the northern seas to pull them back from the brink of defeat.

While Zhutrotsky and Birch Branch explained themselves to the public, an aide approached them with news. A moment later, they asked for everyone to look at the port. When they gave the order, the doors to the port section of the city opened, and fresh troops from Germane parade marched into the city. The exhausted soldiers and citizens of Stalliongrad, while initially off put by their arrival, welcomed them with a shimmer of hope in their eyes and a renewed resolve. The crowd soon cheered as more and more troops arrived in the city. Anypony who had given up hope began to openly weep, as their children looked upon the newly arrived reinforcements, as if they were angels sent to save them. They marched in unison, waving and greeting the battered troops and citizens. Tanks rumbled and growled their way along behind the infantry, while artillery pieces pulled by tractors were wheeled into strategic positions. Provisions arrived at the tail end, giving food and medicine to anyone who was in dire need of it.

For once, ever since the start of the conflict, hope was restored to the downtrodden forces of Stalliongrad.

And this renewed hope couldn't have arrived at a better time.

One day after the troops from Germane arrived, the Zebras launched an aggressive spearhead in the hopes to shatter the city once and for all. If we hadn't gained those reinforcements, Stalliongrad may well have fallen. But with our newly added allies, our resolve stood firm; Those striped bastards would not take Stalliongrad! A rallying cry was soon formed, a declaration cried out by anyone able to make their voice pierce the snowy heavens; "Oni slomayutsya o nashi shchity!", "They shall break against our shields!"

However, as the last couple years of the war ticked down, the fighting became a bloody brawl. All sense of self-preservation gave way to brutal hoof-to-hoof combat in the fields and trenches, with each combatant using anything and everything they could get a hoof around. The war that started out with defined frontlines had devolved into a war of attrition, with the Zebras throwing everything they had at us. They crashed against our defenses like a tide, throwing body after body at our guns and armor. With every charge, our ammo supply was stretched thinner. With every suicide bomb, a tank was blasted beyond repair, and a brave crew was lost. For every dragon brought in to sow chaos and discord in our ranks, the skies became filled with smoldering pegasai and charred aircraft.

And just when it seemed like everything was about to degrade even further, a hellish, green fire swept across the blood stained snow. Life as we knew it simply stopped, turned to dust and echoes on the arctic wind.

***

No one could quite remember when everything started to come back to the Tundra. What we did learn, was that we were brought back with a combination of ambient magics and radiation. It didn’t help that no one quite kept records in the early days of the Tundra, so most major information was lost before it became widely known. No one knew who survived or who died in the blasts. In terms of military and economical power, the numbers were unknown, but many figured out quite quickly that things weren't promising.

Individually, ponies and some zebras could remember when and where they woke up. I myself woke up buried in a collapsed bunker and found my way out three days later. I reunited with Hans just a few days after, having seen him in line at a triage center. To this day, ponies and zebras continue to crop up in the most random of places and times.

Unfortunately, barely anyone from the early days of the Tundra remain. The rational thinking part of their minds had degraded to almost nothing, due to the radiation and borderline necromantic magics running rampant in their system. What was left behind was an unstable and violent body that attacked anyone who came across it. Survivors going mad became a new problem for other survivors to deal with. In the case that someone began to show signs of losing their minds, they were captured and thrown to the Tundra to join the rest of those in the same condition.

The hope was that the Tundra would take care of them, burying them in an icy grave. But, more often than not, they returned; And in larger numbers. Years became decades, and those who were fighting to stay alive slowly whittled away and joined the ranks of the ever growing hunger. It became clearer to those of us who could keep our minds intact, that we needed to band together and put aside the past. It wasn't easy at first, working along side someone who was once your enemy. Now, both ponies and zebras planned and fought together to keep the hungering menace within the borders of Stalliongrad.

Because if we failed to keep the threat locked here in the Tundra, the wider Equestrian Wasteland was doomed.

***

And it was at that moment, as the smokeless fire crackled happily within its burrow beside me, that I realized we had exchanged one war for another. Hans kept his eyes down the length of his light machine gun, watching the ground ahead of us as the oncoming snow storm began to bear down on us. Our tarp flapped and fluttered in the rising winds, and I could feel the cold seeping in, despite the crackling warmth nearby. My eyes eventually wandered to the fire, my mind drifting away as I pondered what laid in store for us in the years to come.

Tetravault presents:

Fallout: Equestria
The Tundra

Author's Note

Hey all! Thank you for reading the prologue of what I hope is a project I can be proud of!
This story has been bubbling in my subconscious for a few years now, even when I had stepped away from MLP as a whole.
There has always been a story to tell, and I finally said screw it, let's do it.
I did do some quick checking to see if others had written about Stalliongrad in FO:E. And while others have, I hope you all like my take on the region. There is a lot to uncover and build in this snowy region.
Constructive feedback is appreciated, and I hope to see you in the next chapter!