Chapter 1 Order and Disciplin

“AAACH-TUNG!”

The sharp yell was followed by the sound of hundreds of chitin-covered hooves hitting against each other. Like one creature, 864 changelings clicked with the heels of their hooves. The sound echoed throughout the cavernous parade ground and the many connecting corridors.

From the inside, changeling hives had similarities to a cathedral. Huge arching pillars on the edges of the hall supported a vaulted ceiling and big naturally grown stalactites embellished the imposing architecture. On these pillars hung huge black, white and turquoise banners. The dark walls were riddled with holes, all of them constantly changing and shifting their shape. Only the ground and tunnels were still. Hard, cool concrete carried the changelings and caused every step a creature took to be heard across the enitre floor.

Illuminated by dull green light, coming from magical lanterns inbetted into the walls and pillars, drones stood at attention in four blocks, arranged in a “U” like shape. Their posture was as stiff as a blank, heels together and hooftips spread out in an 45° angle. Their left hand pressed flat against the trouser, middle-claw perfectly placed on the seam. With their right hand, each changeling firmly held a rifle. Thumb-claw behind the barrel and index- and middle-claw placed on the shoulder strap. Rifle and bayonet reached all the way up to the armpit of the large drones. With each of them being exactly 1,92 meters tall, the drones towered over most other changelings and ponies. Their helmet with its characteristic metal spike on top even added few extra centimeters of height.

Their faces were staring straight forward, but their turquoise eyes were directed at a single, much smaller, changeling who stood in the main entrance of the parade ground in anticipation.

This changeling, that made the drones stand straight like lampposts, walked towards them until he stood in the centre of the formation. No, walking did not describe his gait at all. He marched into the centre of the formation, like he was on a parade.

Him standing this close to the drones visualized the differences between workers and drones. Drones were tall, robustly build and exorbitantly stoic. The other changeling was nothing like this, however. He was shorter than them and had a rather slender figure. His snout was short and round, and his fangs barely reached past his lips. The horn decorating his forehead was unusually straight and his eyes were more greenish than turquoise or blue.

In total he possessed about every body traits the changelings would associate with a weakling. If changeling society would still be how it used to be, he would be the one standing at attention, if he would get into the military in the first place. But things had changed. Now, an unimpressive changeling like him could posses total authority over a sizable number of changelings that were physically superior to him in every regard. He owed all of his authority to the two shoulder boards that sat neatly atop his shoulders, each of them made of silver cords and bearing two golden stars. These and his sprucely officer uniform were the new symbols of power and authority. Unthinkable in a society build upon the rule of the strongest, but now, a lot of social evolution later, very much possible.

This did not mean that everyling could just become whatever they want, of course. But positions in leadership in goverment, the new factories and the military were no longer solely bound to physical abilities.

When the changeling reached the centre of the formation, a similar looking changeling stepped forward and walked towards the officer. He was, like the other changeling, shorter than the drones and wore the same officer uniform. But instead of two he only had one star on each shoulder. Three steps away from his superior, the other changeling slammed his hooves together and saluted sharply. “Hauptmann Vicis, 8. Batallion complete and ready for inspection,” the changeling practically screamed.

Hauptmann Vicis, who had to slightly tilt his head back to look the bigger changeling in the eyes, returned the salute. “Danke, Herr Oberleutnant”

The Oberleutnant sidestepped to make place for Vicis, who walked past him. In front of the middle block of drones he stopped.

“The 7. Company at full strength of 216 drones, Herr Hauptmann,” the Oberleutnant introduced him.

“I know who they are, Oberleutnant Herus” Vicis hissed, “I was there when they hatched, I even gave them their designations.” Oberleutnant Herus winced before clicked with his hooves again and quickly uttered an apology.

Vicis did a dismissing hand gesture and stepped closer to the soldiers. Mere centimeters away from the drones, his experienced eyes searched for the smallest flaw on the drone’s uniform or equipment. But unsurprisingly, he could not find any. Everything was perfect. The buttons shone and reflected the omnipresent dimly green light of the hive, the leather of the pouches was polished that he could mirror in it and the rifles were in perfect condition. Everything was how it was to be expected.

It had become a kind of game between officers and drones to find or avoid flaws. But because the drones had only their duty in mind and life, it was not only unlikely but pretty much impossible to ever find anything that violated the service regulations.

Maybe he would find a flaw in the body hygiene of the drones. Vicis knew that due to all the focus on the equipment, some drones forgot to take proper care of their own bodies. Although, "no proper care," in this case meant, "forgot to trim their mane correctly" or "having collected dust in the holes in their arms and legs." He looked down the rows of identical faces. Walking along the rows of soldiers, his eyes were fixated on their faces. Suddenly he stopped.

The drone in front of him was no different form his brethren, nonetheless Vicis decided to take a closer look. He had a feeling that something was off about this one. Right over the collar of the drone´s uniform, clearly visible, was a white number tattooed into the side of his throat, “SD8749”. Vicis gaze traveled further up. The fangs of the drone were long, sharp, threatening and bright white, while his dark chitin skin looked smooth and well cared for.

Vicis snorted in annoyance. There had to be something, he knew it, he just had to find it. “Helmet off,” he commanded.

SD8749 did as ordered. With his free hand, he removed his helmet and held it in front of his chest. Vicis stretched his neck. The mane of the drone was cut short, combed back and held in place with pomade. Everything was exactly as the service regulations demanded it.

Although his skin looked alright, it did not hurt to double check. Vicis extended an arm to touch the drones chin. With two fingers, he slowly rubbed SD8749´s chin. It looked weird, but there was a reason behind it. If not cared for, the skin of a changeling would become rough and scratchy. But this one's skin was as smooth as polished wood, if not as cold and hard.

He grabbed the drones chin and turned his head gently from left to right, to check the drone’s ears. The dark grey, holey cones were clean, like everything else. But still, Vicis had this feeling that something was off.

“Sleeves up!”

SD8749 put his helmet back on his head and rolled his sleeve up.

Vicis used two of his claw like fingers to swipe across the rim of a large hole in the drone’s forearm. From the shudder of SD8749´s face, Vicis could tell that the drone was uncomfortable with the intimate touch. But it did not matter, this was necessary, this was routine.

Vicis retracted his claws and looked at their tips. No dust.

“Do you have a nickname, drone?” Vicis asked and rose an eyebrow questioning.

“No, Herr Hauptman,” SD8749 responded immediately while he pulled his sleeves back down. His voice was young, and nervosity swung in it, Vicis could sense it.

Not even a nickname? Vicis thought. I can literally smell that something is off about this one. But he ran out of ideas. Maybe the drone was just nervous because he took such a close look?

Like the inspection three 3 hours ago, everything was in perfect condition and ready. He did not expect to find anything on the other drones. Searching would be a waste of time. With a frustrated snort, Vicis turned around. “Dismiss them,” he said to Herus and walked off without further words. The Oberleutnant, bewildered by the action of the Hauptmann, needed a moment before he took action.

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann."

“8. Battalion, wegtreten!” he screamed on top of his lung.

Hours later.

The inspection was long over. In fact, in these few hours, there have been three other inspections. One to inspect the rooms and beds, one to inspect the weapons and one where the entire garrison that was stationed in the hive got inspected by their commanding General von Stechen. Live in the barracks was ruled by order and disciplin, the constant inspections making sure it stayed like that. At least it was a Saturday, so there were no drills or field exercises.

Now the drones of the 8. battalion experienced the rare case of free time. Although free time may not have been the most true name for it. The drones mostly used this time to repair equipment or uniforms, do penalty drill or attending in “voluntary” work in the hive. When they were not doing that, they did things to actually enjoy themselves. Chatting with comrades or to taking a nap were the only things that made the drones actually feel like living and not functioning.

SD8749 was doing neither of that. He was alone in the small quatres of his squad. It was a quite narrow, boringly grey room. On each side of it stood two bunk beds and two lockers. At the end of the room, across the door, was one single bed owned by their squad leader. That was it. They had no table, no chairs. Just their beds and lockers.

SD8749 sat on the edge his bed, helmet laying on his pillow, pondering and looking down onto his hands. They were black like the rest of his body and his fingers were razor sharp claws, like the talons of the griffons. The difference between them and griffons was that the changelings’ claws were sharper and due to their chitin skin not as easily flexible. In his claws he held his field cap. He had finished repairing the cap just minutes ago. Earlier that day, before the first inspection, one of the two cockades had fallen off. Throughout the entirety of the inspections his heart thumped like a machine gun and pumped an unhealthy amount of adrenaline through his body. He had to get it back on before anyling noticed, but he had no time to sew.

But soldiers could improvise. It was their life insurance in battle. So, he “borrowed” some cocoon material from the hatchery and used its sticky consistence to glue the thing on for the time being.

When everything was over, he finally got to sew it back on. Not a particular easy task for a creature with fingers meant to be weapons, not tools. Let alone for a creature with such bad fine motoric skills like a drone. But eventually, after what felt like an eternity of blood, sweat and tears, he had managed to sew the damn thing back on.

SD8749 liked the cap, at least when he was not just performing open heart surgery on it. That was how sewing felt like for him. It was a circular, field gray cap without visor and big enough to cover the ears of the drones and not just the top of their head. The front of it was marked by two small round cockades. One of them resembling their Empire, the other one resembling the hive the drone came from. Each greater hive and its territory had their own color code. In the case of SD8749´s hive, it was black, white, black.

The reason he liked the cap was of pure practical nature. This cap was way more comfortable to wear then their helmet. Their leather helmet was in no way as durable as it looked but in at least just as uncomfortable as it looked. The drones knew that it would never protect them from any shrapnel or similar. Back in the day, it was designed to block attacks from above with its metal spike, but the times of sword, axe and spear were long over. Now it was mostly just a symbol for their military and militarism.

The cap and helmet were part to a new set of uniform the drones received on their first day in basic training. They were the first generation of drones to use fabric uniforms. Before them, drones used armor made of synthetic chitin. But since the invention of firearms rendered armor useless, many nations started to use uniforms of fabric instead of armor and the changelings did what they do best and imitated the others.

The uniform the changelings had come up with was made of thick and durable fabric colored in a simple field gray. The uniform had silver-colored buttons and turquoise piping. Between hoof and leg, the soldiers wore brown leather spats. They protected the end of the pantleg and kept the pant dry, should they have to traverse smaller waters.

There was only one real downside to the uniform. A warm and thick uniform might be nice in autumn, winter and spring, but in the summer, it was way too warm for SD8749´s liking. On hot summer days he felt like he was about to melt.

Their uniform was like a second skin for them. It was their shell, it made them belong somewhere, giving them security and making them feel safe in their bodies and life. What would they be without it? Just a bunch of identical bugs without purpose.

Around the waist, the soldiers had a belt of brown leather, which they always had to wear except when going to sleep. The metal belt buckle had their coat of arms engraved on it, together with the words, “GOTT MIT UNS.”

The god the changelings believed in had nothing to do with the goddesses the ponies believed in. For the changelings, the alicorns were just massive frauds. Their religion taught them to enlighten the world with the torch of truth.

Because SD8749 was distracted by his thoughts and because his hearing ability was slightly damaged due to the noise of grenades, rifles- artillery- and machine gun fire from the exercises, he did not notice the changeling that stood in the always open door and observed him.

“Hey, 49! It´s time for dinner, the others are already waiting.”

SD8749s ears twitched at the sudden sound of a familiar voice calling for him. It was his own voice talking to him.

He looked up from his cap and into the face of SD8750, who leaned with crossed arms against the doorframe of the small room, they and seven other drones called home. SD8749 did not see the tattoo on his brother’s throat, but that wasn’t necessary. He knew it was SD8750. How that was possible though was beyond him. It just worked.

SD8750 looked at his brother, waiting for a response. He the drone SD8749 had the closest relation to. He was so to say his best friend. Biological speaking, SD8750 was also SD8749's direct younger brother.

“Did you hear me?” Asked SD8750 again, this time a bit louder and slightly more annoyed as SD8749 showed no signs of reacting. “49?”

“Hm?” SD8749 growled.

“Did you hear me, 49?” repeated SD8750, this time abundantly clear and loud.

1. That was the last and most important part of his Identification number: SD8749, which meant written out; Schützendrone – eighth battalion – seventh company – soldier number 49. It was a very common procedure in the changeling army to reduce the drones to the last two digits of their identification number.

49 thought about it for a second and then shook his head, “could you repeat it, please?”

SD8750 rolled his eyes. “I asked if you´re finally coming for dinner. The others are already eating.”

49 nodded, put the cap on his head and jumped of his bed to follow SD8750 to the canteen.

Something bothered 49. He looked over to his brother who walked next to him and said, “By the way, why do you always have call me 49? You know my ID is SD8749. The service regulations-”

SD8750 rolled his eyes again. “Oh please. Even Vicis does it. There is a reason the rules are vague about this topic. SD8749 is way too long. If it helps ease your mind, think of it not as a nickname but as a quicker and more efficient way to adress your brothers.”

“Okay, fifty,” 49 replied while they walked down a long, surprisingly empty hallway.

50 flinched. “But you dont have to call me that. I’m trying to get a real nick name. 50 sounds stupid.”

“And you think forty-nine sounds any better?” 49 asked amused.

50 didn´t answer.

The two drones walked with quick and long steps down the countless corridors in silence. On their way the two drones came by many other drones and officers. The hive was as busy as always. The noise of hoof steps and conversations never ceased, not even at night.

Corridor after corridor, hall after hall, intersection after intersection. Barrack hives were even more confusing than normal hives and cities. There were so many changelings that had to be cramped into a hive of moderate size to house a whole division that they needed an obscene number of halls, corridors and hallways to avoid creating bottlenecks.

The sound of hooves on the cold stone floor echoed off the walls. It was constant noise. Hallways were never truly empty. Hurrying from one place to another, drones, officers and civil employees walked down the hallways. On their way, 49 and 50 heard the barking of an Unteroffizier. “Hinlegen! Auf, marsch marsch! Hinlegen!”

As they got closer, they heard bodies hitting the ground, then hooves running, then the sound of bodies hitting the ground again. And running again. And dropping again. And running again.

“Ich mach euch Feuer, bis euch das Wasser im Arsch kocht!“ a Unteroffizier bellowed. “Faster!”

Immediately, 49 had pictures of himself in mind, how he had to throw himself into the sand just to stand up again, run a few meters, and then dive into the dirt again. Or even worse, doing the same thing in autumn, but outside in the muddy fields. And all the while the Unteroffiziere would yell at them to get going. Whoever had to do this kind of drill on a weekend had to have made a big mistake.

Unteroffizier was the highest rank a drone could reach. Unteroffiziere were drones but with the power to give orders, hated and loved for their strictness, leadership and care. They stood between officers and drones on the hierarchy.

49 pushed memories of their basic training aside.

Suddenly, a sound that didn’t belong to the usual background noise caught their attention. They stopped to listen for a moment. It was a trumpet. Curiosity won over haste. Resuming their quick pace, they followed the sound of the instrument. Just two corridors further they found the source. The divisional band was practicing in one of the bigger multipurpose halls. In front of a large door, an audience of drones had already gathered, blocking half of the corridor.

Despite their hurry, 49 and 50 joined their brothers and listened. They immediately recognized the song the band was playing. It wasn’t really a march, rather a prestige project to prove a band´s worth. The trumpet solo was distinctive. At least just as distinctive were the lyrics the drones had composed to accompany the song. By far not an official song but chanted with just as much and usually even more enthusiasm.

One telling look of one of the drones was enough. They were all thinking the same. They waited with anticipation for the trumpet to finish its solo. As soon as the trumpeter stopped, and the rest of the musicians joined in again the drones began to chant.

“So leben wir, so leben wir. So leben wir alle Tage. Bei der allerschönsten Saufkompanie.

So leben wir, so leben wir. So leben wir alle Tage. Bei der allerschönsten Saufkompanie.

Des Morgens bei dem klaren Wein. Des Mittags dann beim Bier. Vor Morgengrauen gehen wir nicht Ins Nachtquartier

Des Morgens bei dem klaren Wein. Des Mittags dann beim Bier. Vor Morgengrauen gehen wir nicht Ins Nachtquartier.“

The conductor, a short changeling of convex stature, turned his head as soon as he heard the uninvited chorus accompanying his´s bands play. His upper lip twitched, his eyes were fixated on the mob of drones and his right ear flicked nervous.

The only effect his furious glare had however was that the drones began to laugh.

“Disrespectful pack,” he scolded and continued mumbling, “We have not bred you to mutilate our art and culture.”

The group of drones quickly disbanded. Not all officers were good to them. While all the drones liked to have their fun as a change from their dreary everyday life, none of them actually wanted to risk getting into trouble. The band began playing something else and 49 and 50 continued their way to the canteen.

49 and 50 turned another corner and reached the mess hall.

The mess was one of the biggest halls in this hive and undoubtedly the busiest one. Inside the mess hall it was always extremely lively, no matter the time. Hundreds if not thousands of changelings from all different unites either sat on long tables or waited in an even longer queue for their daily rations of food and conserved emotions. Hearing loud chatter was always a sign that you were near the mess hall.

From the walls hung giant banners bearing the flag of their country. Black, white and turquoise. Between two of the many massive pillars supporting the ceiling hung a large white cloth with the writing “Whether night or day, through storm and rain, we will end the pony reign!”

There were no windows. Nowhere in the hive were windows. The only source of the dimly green light were primitive magic powered lamps that were embedded into the walls or pillars. Electricity was thing, but that technology was so new that a barrack hive near the border to Equestria had no hope of acquiring it.

Today the canteen was even busier than usual. The line of waiting changelings reached all the way out on the hallway.

49 and 50 lined up at the end of the queue and took out their ration cards. After a solid 20 minutes of waiting , they finally reached the head of the line. After they got their rations, the drone responsible for dishing out the rations put a halfhearted stamp on their card and said, “Next.”

They had never received more than three barely satisfying and most of the time cold meals a day. 49 growled as he looked at the food he carried.

All of this because the ponies drove them away from the fertile lands and banished them into the far west so long ago. The ponies hated them, because they were not like them. And they feared their might. Stabile food and emotions supply was never given. The ponies, especially the alicorns wanted them all to starve to secure their own rule.

These thoughts brought him to boil and could have been enough to spoil his appetite, but they did not. His hunger was too great. As it was always.

With their rations on a metal tray: a raw looking piece of meat, a small piece of a loath of bread on a plate, a glass of water and a metal bottle-like container filled with emotions, the two drones went to look for the rest of their unit. They found them at the end of one of the long tables. The other drones of their platoon, SD8701 - SD8772, were eating or already done doing so.

49 and 50 sat to their brothers and quietly began eating as suddenly, another drone came to their end of the table. This drone looked diffrent in comparison to the others, although he had the same face, he was less tall but more muscular. He definitely did not belong to their platoon. He did not even look like an infantry drone.

“Good evening,” the drone said in a happy and friendly tone. Too happy and friendly. 49 knew who he was, there was no need to look at his ID. He did so anyways when the newcomer turned his head to look for something. The designation of the drone in question was KD4520. (KD4520= Kanonier Drone 4. artillery battalion – 5. battery – cannoneer number 20)

Artillerists. 49Thought . Always so cheerful.

Not that he had a problem with his brethren from the artillery, but their job and officers were as different from the infantry as it gets. The drones of the artillery had a whole different view on almost all sorts of things. Schützendronen knew their life would be cut short by their duty, that influenced their way of thinking greatly. SD8749 lived his life knowing that every day could be his last.

This difference made their priorities and expectations of live hard to understand for the others. Serving and fulfilling their duty stood above all else for 49 and his brothers. Artillerists on the other hand, in relative safety behind the frontline and a lot more liberal officers had interests in things an Infantry drone would only see as a huge waste of time.

This caused tension between them from time to time, but nothing serious. They were brothers after all. They had the same blood flowing through their veins, fought for the same queen, had the same foe. 49 had never even thought about fighting, taunting, bullying or humiliating his brother because of such unimportances.

Taking a sip from his water, his thoughts drifted off.

He had heard stories about the queen's guard. How they treated eachother. The guard was like detached from progress. Their internal structures had not changed sinced the days of the great swarms. Internal rivalries, selfish behaviour, superiority complexs, survival of the fittest and no camaraderie. Everything as it was in the past. 49 knew of only one competition between guard and army. It had been a simulated battle with two phases. Each side had to attack and defend once. The drones had humiliated the guards in front of the entire nation, winning in both phases. The guards, offspring of the queen herself, defeated by presumed cannon fodder. There had not been a single joint action between the army and the guard since.

KD4520, who ate almost every day with them, was looking for a free seat. He belonged to one of the heavy artillery units of their regiment. He was a good friend of 49's platoon leader, at least that´s what he always claimed. Although none of the drones of 49´s platoon knew how and why KD4520 and their Zugführer got friends, they never bothered to ask. SD8701 had never said anything contradicting KD4520´s story. Thus, why bothering?

“Good evening,” 49 replied halfheartedly with a full mouth, while KD4520 sat next to him, looking for SD8701. All the while he continued talking about stuff 49 decided to not be worth listening too. It was only the chatter of an artillerist after all, but it amazed 49 time and time again with how many irrelevant things an artillerist could spend his time with. For example, yesterday KD4520 enthusiastically told them about a pony mare, that unknowingly wandered to far westward, he and his comrades had spotted.

49 could not understand how a soldier, a drone no less, could be so excited about such trifles. And then also a pony. A pony of all beings. 49 guessed it was just because it was something new for them. He had never met or even seen a real pony, he had only heard the stories.

Ignoring the babbling of KD4520, 49 turned his attention back to his plate with meat and bread. He took the loaf of bread and tore out a big piece with his sharp fangs. It tasted the same as every day, extremely dry and bland. The bread was so dry in fact that 49 struggled to swallow it. He had to take a sip from his water to force it down his throat. The meat on the other hand was like old leather and 49 couldn´t make out what animal it was from.

49 grabbed his emotion ration. Yes, emotions, not love. He hesitated. He was hungry, but not for food. It felt like there was a large hole in his chest, which threatened to consume his very soul. Nothing could close this hole, 49 thought, while looking at the metal container. It was always there, trying to consume him from within. First it took his strengh, then it would take his life. 49 took the metal bottle and bit on the underside of the bottleneck what caused a build in mechanism to open the bottle and release its content.

A warm, slimy stream of energy left the bottle and snaked down the changeling’s throat. From the outside, one could see the energy glowing in a flurry of colors through his skin. The energy was a weird mixture of all sorts of different happy emotions that came close enough to love. It served as a temporary plug for the hole inside his chest. As long as foreign emotions were sucked into the hole, his own energy would persevere.

The energy flooded his body and 49 felt his strength returning. It was a good feeling. The taste was indescribable, though. Not because it was so bad or so good, but because it were so many emotions, so many flavors mixed together that it was impossible to describe. Sometimes, 49 wondered if real love tasted and felt anything like what they had consume. But drones would never had the luck to experience the taste of real love.

Luckily for them, they did not need real love to try to fill the bottomless void. Their genetics got modified so that their body could use every kind of emotions to function. Handy in the midst of battle. The soldiers could just feed of the hate, anger and fear of the enemy forces. It would not taste great, by no means, but it would at least keep them alive.

49 did not understand the biology behind it, but he felt the exhaustion that came up whenever he did not regularly consume emotions. Consuming other beings emotions was like drinking or eating for them. Sometimes 49 felt like one of those Vampires from the pony books, KD4520 told him about.

“Hey 49, Are you Okay?”

49 raised his head to see where the voice was coming from all of the sudden. He had ignored all the chatter going on around him, but the sound of his number had caught his attention immediately. 49 looked at 50, who looked questioning back at him.

“What do you mean?” 49 asked, slightly confused.

“You look so absent,” Explained 50. The tone of worry was subtle, almost unnoticeable and overshadowed by the sound of confusion, in the voice of 49's brother.

“Yes, I´m fine. I was just thinking,” said 49 dull. He swallowed at the thought that some officers and other changelings would probably start laughing about this statement.

“We are arguing about what´s the best way to kill an alicorn,” said 50. “What do you think?”

49 thought about it for a moment. The topic was tasteless and blunt. “Bullet to the head of course, or split their skull with a shovel.”

50 smilled and nodded agreeing, but KD4520 was outraged. “How? How do you even plan on getting close to them? blow them to kingdom come once we know their location is way more effective!” he said.

“But what is your plan to get to know their location? You think the ponies will just tell us?!” SD8748 intervened.

"Well, our infiltrators-"

49 just nodded it off and began losing himself in his thoughts again while 50, who now got supported by 48, continued to argue with KD4520. The quiet was pleasant. Though the hundreds upon hundreds of changelings around them all chattered and laughed, it was calmingly quiet. No officers shouting at them, no orders and for once no regulations. Although he couldn’t live without these things, a break from them every once in a while, was pleasant.

But this blessed silence did not last long. Suddenly, a magically amplified voice interrupted the monotone noises of the mess hall. "GEFECHTSALARM"

Can´t I get a moment of peace? 49 thought to himself as the voice was followed by a loud steam whistle, creating a long and continuous sound.

Without a moment of hesitation every changeling, from soldier to officer, stopped with whatever they were doing and immediately ran out of the mess to their stations or quarters. What looked like utter chaos was in fact a well-planned procedure.

Through set and trained routs, the changelings navigated through the narrow tunnels and corridors which were now even fuller than normal. The entire population of the hive was on the move. Streams of soldiers rushed up and down the hallways.

49 and his comrades ran out of the mess and followed the flow of other soldiers to their quarters.

There. he grabbed his already with ammunition filled pouches, his canteen, bread bag, shovel and bayonet Frosch. He attached everything to his belt and put on his Sturmgepäck with Zeltbahn. This backpack held the various other things a soldier would need in the battlefield: food, medical supplies and basic tools. While running out again, 49 just put his helmet over his cap.

With their equipment, the drones left their quatres again and rushed for the armory. Around the armory was a massive crowd. The changelings in the armory worked with amazing speed as they streamlined handed out rifles.

Out in the long main hallways of the hive again, 49 and the others integrated into the mass of changelings that rushed out of the hive onto the large surrounding plains. There, over twenty-one thousand changelings came together. The entire 1. Infanterie Division that was stationed here gathered and was waiting for further instructions.

Rather quickly they were told that it was just an exercise and that they should return to their quatres, yet they were not given an all-clear.

Confused and slightly nervous, the soldiers entered the hive again, a lot slower than they had left it.

Back in their room, 49 and his brothers sat on their beds. Their rifles were standing in a corner of the small room and their backpacks laid packed next to their beds. They had not even taken of their helmets.

49 sat on the edge of his bed, restlessly swinging his legs. What is going on? he wondered. Ever since their officers left them alone, rumors about a pony invasion were spreading. These did not particularly help to ease 49's mind. If the ponies really attacked, he thought, why are we still here? Shouldn't we be the first to be send to the front? I mean, we are the closest to the border in this area.

And so they waited, unsure about what would happen and what had happened. 49 expected them to be ordered out of the hive again any moment, but nothing happened. They just sat there and talked until the order to go to sleep was given.

As 49 pulled his thin blanket all the way up to his chin, he still felt uneasy. He wanted action, he wanted to fight the ponies but most importantly he wanted to know what was happening and if they were under attack. But of course, noling came to tell the drones what was going on.

It was a restless night. Not only for 49 but for all the changelings in the hive. The next morning, Vicis sent them out of the hive again. Their Hauptman looked like he had not gotten any sleep at all last night. While they walked past Vicis, 49 could not help but feel like he knew more than them. 49 was sure that Vicis must had an idea of what would happen.

They were not the only ones leaving the hive again. Like the day before, the whole population was leaving the hive. Something was different this time, though. This time they were not just gathering as units, however, this time they were set up in parade formation. At this point 49 stopped trying to make a sens out of it all. He just followed his orders and waited to see what happened.

Finally, after several minutes of waiting something happened. To their surprise, their division's commander showed up. It had to be something really important then. General von Stechen climbed on a pile of boxes to stand over the crowd. He held a piece of paper in his hands and began to speak, “Drones, officers, listen! Your Queen has spoken to the people and i am now reading what she has to say."

His voice, amplified by a simple spell, roared over the soldier's heads and got thrown back by the outer walls of the hive, creating an ominous echo.

"To the changeling people. Since the founding of our Empire, it was due to many years of my and my ancestor’s rule, but of course, also due to your work, my beloved changeling people, that peace persisted, and our nation blossomed. But the enemy envies the success of our hard work and fears that our might would one day overpower his.

“We have endured all of the obvious and quiet hostilities from Equestria and her puppets, conscious of our responsibility and power. But now they want to humiliate us once more. They demand that we stand with crossed arms and watch, how our enemies arm up for a treacherous attack. They won’t allow us that we stand in determined loyalty with all of our hives, which fight for their right to be part of our empire against equestrian aggression, and with whose humiliation, our own power and honor will be lost too.

“It must be the sword that decides. In the midst of peace, the enemy attacks us to impose their as harmony disguised slavery on us. So, stand up, to arms. Every hesitation would be treason on the fatherland. It is about the be or not to be of the empire, which our ancestors founded. About the be or not to be of changeling might and changeling nature.”

While he spoke, there was complete silent around him. The crowd listened like spellbound. 49 could not believe what he was hearing. Would they finally get their chance to fight for the fatherland like their ancestors? Would they get to defeat the ponies and bring eternal glory to their race?

“We will fight back to the last breath of drone, worker and queen. And we will survive and persist this fight even against a world of foes. Never before were the changelings beaten when they were united.

Forward with God, who will be with us, like he was with our ancestors.”

Von Stechen lowered the paper and fell silent and the only sound that persisted was the echo of his voice and the wind that blew over their heads.

“Our orders are simple,” Von Stechen spoke up again after a short break. “Mere hours ago, the OHL ordered total mobilization. We, the 1. Infantry Division “Treue” have the orders to immediately cross the Equestrian border and be the spearhead of the first army. We will lead the invasion. This preemptive strike must be quick and final.

“The ponies crossed the line. And not just the metaphorical line, but our borders in bellicose intent. Finally, after all these years of starvation and humiliation and denial, we have the chance to avenge all our race unworthy cruelties done to us by the ponies. Today marks the beginning of a new era. Your generation has the indescribable luck of fighting this most important war for the fatherland. You will purge this world of harmony and the scum that is the Equestrian royalty!” von Stechen shouted.

The crowd erupted in rejoice.

Author's Note

This chapter is a lot longer than the previous chapter. This is length i am aiming for with the following chapters. Also, here is a concept drawing i did of the drones to show how i imagined their looks. Can you guess which country their uniforms are inspired by?