The War of Moon and Sun

December 1007 – January 1008

Greg waited a long time to get arrested.

Every day when he came home from working in the disgusting office of Four Stars Transportation Company, he always went to the window and looked out at Manehattan, which stretched for miles around.

The same buildings – residential high-rises and office skyscrapers – still lined the streets and avenues as a few months before; the same wagons, carriages, and fancy automobiles still roared down the streets, and the ponies that populated the city still galloped along the sidewalks. But it felt different now than what Greg was used to.

Even on a sunny day, it still felt like clouds were gathering over Manehattan.

Hopelessness, the gray earth pony thought as he looked out at the city lights in the evening twilight – a far cry from the brightness Greg remembered. That’s what lies over this place. And those who pretend otherwise, who try to convince themselves and others day after day that the new government will bring happiness and prosperity, can’t help but see it.

Or can they?

There was a radio on the dresser, but it was silent now, as it was most of the time: the stallion didn’t really like listening to it. Especially now, when all it played were tinny marches and reports from the fronts about the advancing Equermacht’s offensive on the positions of the Harmonic Army.

But maybe today would be different…?

Greg stretched out his leg and flipped a toggle switch. There was a crackle of static from the receiver, then upbeat, happy music burst through. “…Tomorrow belongs to us…!” – he recognized the lyrics and turned off the radio.

No. Everything as usual. What did he expect? It had only been a short time since they had seceded, and now the main task was to unite the ponies of Eastern Equestria against the “oppressors” with whom they had lived in peace and harmony just the day before.

But songs alone can’t build a nation. At the very least, they’d have to forget their common past.

From the window on the sixth floor, one could clearly see flags flying over many buildings or hanging from windows. Either with the emblem of the New Lunar Republic – abstract wings and a horn on purple, or with the symbol of Luna herself – a thick white crescent moon in a black spot on a blue background. Like a war camp, though many here didn’t want to admit it.

But there is a war. Not here, but out there, to the south and west, it’s still going on. And he, Greg Mellow, can’t change anything by himself.

But somepony else can.

There was no knock – instead, the door was just kicked down and flew inward, clattering to the floor. Greg turned around sharply – and only exhaled in despair.

Ponies in intimidating black uniforms entered the apartment. Each wore a purple legband with a white crescent on the front left shoulder, and their caps had cockades in the shape of a small Luna’s emblem. And almost all of them had a submachine gun belt around their necks.

Except for one, a peach-colored stallion with a brown mane, who came forward, looking at Greg with a gloating grin. The pony had the stylized letters LD on one side of his collar and a square with three four-pointed stars on the other, the labels of the stormhoofer of the Lunar Division[1].

The Gestaponies. Fearless and ruthless guardians of the new order. Who once fell for them, never came back.

“Greg Steelson Mellow,” the stormhoofer said smugly, stretching his words, as he entered the room. “You’re being held on suspicion of possessing Harmonic symbols, which is tantamount to treason under Articles 300 and 111 of the NLR Criminal Code. Start the search,” he tossed to his subordinates, and they scattered across the room.

Greg sighed heavily and closed his eyes. It had to happen one day.

“Zick,” he said tiredly. “Did that old boot denounce me after all? Of course, what wouldn’t she do for an apartment for her favorite nephew in the Fourth Department[2]…?”

“Shut the fuck up, subpony,” Zick Hunter spat out, and walked over to Greg.

He stood there for a moment, looking into Greg’s face, then gave him a sudden hoof kick that sent Greg sprawling, clutching his bruised nose.

Zick leaned down to his ear and said in a whistling whisper, “Say one more word about my aunt and I’ll strangle you in your cell. Understand?”

“Stormhoofer,” one of the Gestaponies turned to the commander. “Look here.”

“Aha!” Hunter grinned triumphantly as the unterhoofer pulled out a pennant with the symbol of Harmony – two alicorns on a blue background forming a circle with a stylized moon and sun inside.

It was a souvenir Greg had brought back from the last Equestria Games in Crystal City. Back then, just over three months ago, no one could have imagined how much things would change.

Zick looked down at Greg again and then kicked him in the stomach, causing him to pull his hooves away from his bloody face and cough.

“Which was to be demonstrated, you bastard,” the stormhoofer said and laughed. Then he turned to the waiting Gestapony, “All right. Pack up this scumbag.” He shoved Greg with his hoof again. “Two of you stay here and do a thorough search. So that this shit –” Zick snatched the pennant from his subordinate, threw it on the floor and wiped his hooves on an expensive soft cloth “– is no longer here. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” answered the unterhoofer and threw up his right front leg. “Praise the Moon!”

Zick nodded and repeated the gesture. Then he looked back at the two Gestaponies who were shackling Greg and headed for the exit. The tails of his black coat fluttered behind him.

They pulled the bit on Greg and dragged him toward the door. He didn’t resist – he had no strength… and no desire, to be honest. It was more important to catch his breath and not vomit his insides on the way out: Zick’s kick had twisted his guts.

Greg realized that he was doomed. What the hay, he was already doomed…! With his views, he had no future under the new government. One way or another, it would get him one day – just like it would get anyone who wasn’t loyal enough.

To chew on… and spit out.

The gray earth pony was pushed out onto the landing. As he lifted his head, he saw the face of his neighbor, the wrinkled old mare who was Stormhoofer Hunter’s own aunt, peering out the other door. She looked at Greg like he was nothing… no, more like a flea that should have been squashed. All Greg could think of was to show the mare his tongue, and he watched with satisfaction as she squirmed.

And then he was led down the stairs and had to concentrate on getting down without tripping over the chains on his legs. Although Zick and the Gestapony escort would probably be happy if he fell down and broke every bone in his body. They could just finish him off and take him to the crematorium.

Finally, the stairs were behind them. The group of ponies stepped out of the entrance into the damp gray evening. A crookedly parked ponice truck with Luna’s crest on the black trim stood in the driveway. Zick got into the cab, and Greg was pushed into a closed body with barred windows in the back and a rectangular door. The car drove off, carrying the new passenger towards his bleak future.

Inside, it was dark and cold, and Greg immediately began to shiver as he was seated on a hard wooden bench and chained to a ring attached to the wall. The gray earth pony wasn’t even allowed to take any clothes with him to put on.

“Sit quietly,” one of the guards muttered, poking the prisoner in the leg with his gun.

Greg tried not to shake, but it didn’t work very well. His teeth chattered treacherously, but the Gestaponies didn’t seem to care, and they didn’t touch him again.

It smelled of gasoline, sweat, and something else Greg preferred not to name. No doubt this truck had transported a lot of ponies in the last month and a half. A lot of ponies.

Sitting in an uncomfortable position at the sight of five submachine guns, Greg pondered his fate. It was like something in his brain responsible for his feelings had shut down and the stallion could only watch what was happening.

He suspected from the beginning that he didn’t fit into the “brave new world” that Princess Luna, or now Nightmare Moon, promised to build under her rule. At the office, Greg was looked at unkindly when he didn’t do the moonlight – the new formal greeting – along with everyone else when meeting with bosses. He didn’t even have a portrait of Immortal Horsecoacher Luna above his desk, nor did he have any accessories with the white moon or the new state emblem that had become very popular lately.

Greg also didn’t like the fact that the formerly peaceful transport company had begun to favor military orders more and more and was now actually sponsored by the new government. It was one thing to transport food and building materials, but quite another to deliver weapons to border towns and the front lines. The more weapons, the more ponies die every day in the relentlessly heated battles – and everyone thinks they’re right.

This can’t be right. It just couldn’t happen…!

But unfortunately, this was the reality. And Greg could only stare out of the grated window at the passing streets, feel the hard seat under his back and the jolts in the curves, and wonder how many days, or perhaps hours, he had left to live.

Any symbol that referred to the days of a united Equestria was punishable by three or even five years in prison under the new laws. The problem was that the investigators always attached treason to such cases, and there were really only three ways out: to heaven, to a work camp until the end of time, or to the front. It was just a matter of figuring out which one was less disgusting.

Hoof on heart, Greg was so crushed now that he would take death as just another inconvenience he wouldn’t even have time to realize. He had no family, no special pony – no one to lose but himself. But something kept the gray earth pony from making a suicidal escape attempt.

He was ready for anything, but not to see the chains of darkness that encircled half of Equestria shrink by the day and his homeland crumble. It was not a fate he wished for it.

But the shackles on his legs and the humiliating harness on his face reminded him who the power was. And it was a power to be reckoned with.

It was about half an hour before the car stopped. One of the guards jumped out while two others unbuckled Greg and the remaining two held him at gunpoint.

Finally, the locks gave way. The gray stallion was dragged from the back of the truck and led to the doors of a huge, wide, blue-and-white stone building. He could see the austere marble columns on either side of the entrance and the familiar purple flags hanging from the roof.

The Lunar Chancellery. Where else could the Gestaponies take him. To their lair, of course.

After passing the two submachine gunners guarding the entrance, the group of ponies went inside. Zick showed his pass at the gate, and they were let through without further ado. The stormhoofer let some of the troops go, leaving the unterhoofer who’d found the pennant and another private with some kind of briefcase, and in this reduced formation they went down the stairs and into the cellars.

If the above-ground part of the Chancellery tried to make an impression of solidity, the other part, hidden from prying eyes, did not care. Greg wondered how it was that the Crystal Empire’s consulate building had turned out to be equipped with such dungeons when it had been captured by the rebels and handed over to the Chancellery after Manehattan’s secession. Though perhaps they had originally been ordinary technical cellars – only found by those who had adapted them for their own purposes.

A grim-faced rottenhoofer unlocked the grated door in front of Zick, and the group of ponies entered the prison block. Rows of cells and offices stretched along both sides of the corridor. It was a little brighter here, but the presence of something evil was felt much stronger. Goosebumps ran down Greg’s back as he began to warm up again.

Zick stopped in front of one of the doors and opened it. The guards led Greg inside, and only then did the stormhoofer enter.

The room turned out to be an interrogation room: bare walls, the stark white light of a lamp, a table with welded-on shackles, and two chairs, one more comfortable than the other. Despite what Greg had imagined, the place was surprisingly clean. Someone must have cleaned up after every interrogation.

The gray earth pony was sat down and chained to the table – and only then was the bridle removed. Greg moved his facial muscles. Ah yes, how nice it felt not to feel… harnessed.

Zick locked the door with a big, heavy bolt. Still grinning victoriously, he walked to the center of the room and sat down across from Greg, his front legs behind his head and his hind legs on the edge of the table. The unterhoofer gestured to the private to guard the door and stood behind him.

“You’ve been caught, you subpony,” Zick said, looking at Greg triumphantly. “Now you’re finished. Are you gonna tell me how you got that stuff, or do you want me to rip your hooves out… for starters?” The stormhoofer’s face broke into an evil smile.

“I brought this pennant from the Equestria Games,” Mellow muttered. He knew he would be forced to say the obvious. “September tenth of this one thousand and seventh…”

“Vendemiaire[3] second of the first year before the NLR!” Zick growled, throwing his legs off the table and stomping on it with his front hoof. “Speak properly, you bastard!”

“It was just a souvenir, symbolizing the unity of all ponies. Cost me a hundred and twenty bits, by the way…”

“And you kept it even after the Lunar Revolution?” The stormhoofer squinted. “What about paragraph 4-b of Decree No. 2 of Frimaire 1st, which demanded that all hostile symbols, including those of Equestria or Stalliongrad, be destroyed or hoofed over to the ponice?”

“I considered it a matter of privacy. I had no intention of showing it to anyone. It was just my business…”

Suddenly Zick reached forward and wrapped his leg around Greg’s neck. He tilted the gray stallion’s head and whispered in his ear, “Remember, scum: you have no privacy here! All you can do is live and die for the Republic!”

At the last words, the stormhoofer pushed Greg’s face hard against the table. Mellow screamed in pain, staining the smooth wood with blood from his nose that had already been smashed twice that evening.

Zick pushed Greg away and wiped his hoof on the edge of his coat.

“You’re even disgusting to touch… I’ll get gloves next time.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” the gray pony muttered, staring at the ground in front of him. “How did she find out…?”

Hunter laughed.

“You look like you don’t give a damn about the Republic! You weren’t even hiding much. And what about the report Mrs. Fishbone gave us about you… well, we have to check any suspicions. And when we arrived,” he grinned again, “it was just luck.”

The peach-colored stallion got up from behind the desk and began to pace the room. The unterhoofer, who had been standing behind Mellow, retreated to the wall so as not to disturb his superior.

“You know what I realized during my time in the Fourth Department?” Zick walked around the desk and stood next to Greg. “That I hate you and those like you. All the trouble comes from you who despise the power of Immortal Horsecoacher. You’d better get out of here under the wing of your bitch Celestia… or just die.”

The stormhoofer returned to his seat, but instead of sitting down, he leaned over the table and glared at the prisoner.

“Ponies like you aren’t worth living. You are a virus, poisoning the essence of the Republic from within. And we –” Zick smiled, circling his hoof around himself and the two Gestaponies “– are the cure.”

Suddenly, as if remembering something, he headed for the door. The private rummaged through the briefcase at his side, pulled something out with his teeth and gave it to Zick.

On the table was a form with the emblem of the Republic on it. Greg’s eyes widened as he recognized it as his ballot from the “general election” in November.

Beneath the graceful black and white portrait of the Princess as Nightmare Moon was printed, “Are you in favor of electing Immortal Horsecoacher Luna as ruler of the New Lunar Republic?” – and two squares signed Yes and No below it.

Greg’s cross was in the No square. The gray earth pony recognized this line drawing. At that time, the pencil in his mouth had almost slipped, and from the pressure, it had slightly sold through the paper.

“And what do you say to this?” Zick asked and put his hoof on the ballot. “What’s this if not treason against the one and only true leader, eh, subpony?”

“Luna wasn’t officially the leader yet,” Mellow objected. “It was only a question of whether her people would accept her in the territory under her control…”

“Shut up!”

Greg’s head jerked from another blow. The gray stallion tried to shield himself, but the chains held tight. Blood splattered on the floor. I wish it would be over already, Greg thought to himself.

“You don't dare question the authority of Immortal Horsecoacher!” Zick said, looming menacingly over him. “She, and she alone, is the rightful ruler of the lands of former Equestria! You’re a traitor who supports a hostile side in the conflict!” The stormhoofer gritted his teeth. “I’d gladly put a bullet in your forehead, you bastard…”

“How…?” Greg exhaled. “I thought the vote was secret…”

“It was,” Zick suddenly smiled disarmingly. “But the ballots were in the box in the order they were cast. And the observers’ lists made it easy to check who was there and when. Y’know?”

“Yes,” Greg lowered his head. “I’m done.”

“Y’know you are. So, you plead guilty to illegal possession of Equestrian symbols and treason against the New Lunar Republic?”

“To the possession, I plead. But to treason, I don’t.”

“No, you do!”

Greg closed his eyes and waited for another blow.

But a second passed, another… and nothing came. With a sigh of relief, Mellow opened his eyes – and was immediately kicked in the teeth.

His mouth exploded with pain and a loud, pitiful groan escaped from his chest. There was a coppery taste on his tongue that made Greg sick.

But he was not allowed to recover.

The blows came at him one after the other, turning his face into a solid lump of pain. Please… don’t… let it end… the gray earth pony begged – but instead of words, only groans came out.

His vision blurred. Seconds blurred into small eternities, each one filled with suffering. At the edge of his ear, he heard the clanking of chains, and then he felt a violent jolt that threw him out of his chair.

The stone floor hit him hard in the back, bringing more tears to his eyes, and his already spasmodic breathing became even harder. Then the hard hoof hit his stomach again. And again. And again…

Zick’s shouts came through the veil that had clouded Greg’s mind.

“I hate you… damn… fucking… subpony…!”

The peach-colored stallion struck with all his might, obviously giving it his all. But no matter how hard Mellow tried, he couldn’t understand why he was so angry and hateful. Was it just that he saw things differently? But that seemed to be enough.

Eventually, the world began to slip away from Greg. He barely remembered how long it took before Zick finally stopped. Nor did he remember being lifted by his legs and dragged away. Then an iron door creaked open, and the half-feeling pony was thrown somewhere.

Then came peace. The pain that had enveloped the personal universe in an impenetrable shell receded slightly, and the fading mind soared, taking advantage of the long-awaited respite.

So good… ran through Greg’s mind.

And the gray earth pony passed out.

But the peaceful oblivion could not last forever.

First the pain returned. It was the same excruciating feeling as if Greg had been twisted in a blender and poured out. Except that his hind legs weren’t hurt as bad: Zick had been beating him mechanically, trying to make him suffer rather than maim him. Which meant there were plans for him after all.

Mellow opened his eyes. There was dim darkness around him, broken by a faint yellowish light coming from somewhere off to the side. There was some kind of floor above him, and Greg lifted his front leg with difficulty and touched it with his hoof.

A bunk. So the interrogation was over and he was taken to a cell. He wondered if there was anypony else in here…?

His leg went down again. Discord, how it hurts…

“Oh, you’re finally up?” a voice came from his right.

Greg turned his head and sat down on a stiff mattress filled with straw.

Opposite him, on the lower level of the same bunk, a unicorn and a pegasus sat in the light of the single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, looking at Mellow curiously. He also stared at them with interest.

The unicorn was yellow with a brown mane, and looked a bit like Zick, though he was much younger and lighter… and perhaps less evil. His expression and posture were resentful, as if he disagreed with why he was here, and his horn had a ring of crystal that blocked magic, which the unicorn was hardly happy about. Greg hoped it wouldn’t be hard to get along with him.

But the beige, short-cropped pegasus with the silvery tail was not so young, but still seemed much stronger than his cellmate. His powerful body suggested that he might have been a good flyer in the past, and his slightly curved left wing also suggested why he had probably come down to the ground. The chain he wore on his body, only over the top of his healthy right wing, looked like an elaborate mockery and taunt.

Greg sighed, realizing that he looked pathetic compared to them.

“What’s your name?” the pegasus asked again, leaning back in his seat. Apparently, he occupied the top bunk.

“Greg Mellow.”

“Stratospheres Dropper,” he pointed at himself. Then he poked the unicorn in the shoulder, “And this is Consy Jacanapes.”

“Consited,” the unicorn corrected, shaking his head. “Gosh, I can’t believe I ended up in the same cell with you…”

“You two know each other?” Greg asked.

“Not that well,” the pegasus waved his hoof. “My nephew, Lazy, invited him to the bar for a drink after work. And then I joined them…”

“Actually, we were supposed to be celebrating you getting demobilized!” Consited snapped at him. “You could not have lied so brazenly about your military exploits…”

“Well, have mercy on me, son,” Dropper waved his front legs deliberately. “It wouldn’t be good if I told you I broke my wing just at the draft board for Pegasenwaffe! Yeah…” he sighed and met Greg’s surprised look. “It couldn’t be worse. There’s like – you can go to the paratroopers, but they only take pegasi, and then you have to pass a lot of tests, and you can go to the aviation, but I’ve only seen an airplane once in my life… But I wanna be cool! So I made up this whole thing with the Wonderbolts… What are you here for?” he asked.

“Possession of symbols,” Mellow confessed.

“Ah, the ponitical…”

Stratospheres snorted scornfully and turned away. Greg realized that he’d made a mistake.

“Article 300?” the unicorn asked interestedly. The gray pony nodded. “Yeah, bad luck for you. Though,” Consited grumbled, “we’re not much better off either…”

“We were right!” the pegasus exclaimed angrily. “What the fuck are those patrols doing? They’d be better off catching guys like that,” he pointed at Mellow, who felt hurt, “than harassing our mares…”

“We’ve got a whole bunch,” the unicorn told Greg. “Hooliganism, assaulting the ponice as an organized group, and… –” he paused before he finished “– …and coltslaughter.”

“What?!” Mellow stared. “You killed a patrol?!”

“He had it coming!” Stratospheres shouted. “Since he couldn’t understand the words… Well, his head was a bit flimsy too…”

“And what about this... Lazy?”

“So he’s the one who snitched on us!” The pegasus kicked the mattress hard. “And got off with a ticket for drunk driving… Oh, I’ll count his bones when I get out…! And yet he calls himself an LD officer…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Consited nodded, noticing the disbelief on Greg’s face, “Lazy and I worked in the commandant’s office before all this. I was in the passport section; he was in statistics… And Dropper himself used to be in the Wonderbolts. Isn’t that right, Uncle?” He turned to Stratospheres.

“What service is there, I beg you… You only train and perform at shows. And sometimes you have to help with the weather. Other than that, it’s all bullshit. Used to be… And now they’re on the front lines, or building fortifications out of clouds…”

“And you wanted to fight against them?” Greg asked. He just couldn’t believe such a “change in the air.” “Against former comrades?”

“That’s right, former!” Dropper turned to him. The pegasus’ eyes glowed with an evil fire. “By supporting the rule of the tyrant Celestia, you betray the very idea of justice! It was Celestia who arrested Luna a week before the referendum on batponies’ rights! And ordered the shooting of rallies in Canterlot under the windows of her palace…!”

“The newspapers said that only one batpony was killed,” Consited objected. “A guard fired accidentally…”

“Well, those newspapers were around even before the Republic! Of course, they’d have written anything to justify the outrage! But then Horsecoacher escaped, and now only she’s worthy to rule Equestria…”

At the word “outrage,” Greg pressed his lips together and remained silent. He remembered the days of rioting in Manehattan after the new regime had been established.

“And you don’t agree, do you?” The pegasus glared at the younger ponies. They lowered their eyes and said nothing. “All right you, it’s clear with you, but… Consy… are you serious? You’re an unterhoofer of the Division, horn in your ear! You swore an oath…!”

“I just applied for a job when the hiring opened!” Consited exploded. “I went to college to be an administrator, and when I graduated, I couldn’t find a decent job for four months! I ran from dawn to dusk as a delivery colt at the Java’s Cup! And when the war started, I really didn’t know what to do! And there was a job in my specialty, and the pay was good! Even with inflation I could live! What else could I do?!”

The unicorn suddenly hunched over and covered his face with his hooves.

“Poor mother… how’s she now… First my father, now me… And all in just two months…!”

There was silence in the cell for a while, broken only by Consited’s stifled sobs. Dropper staggered from such a blow and now remained somberly silent, glancing at the unicorn from time to time.

Greg decided to change the subject a bit.

“Stratospheres,” he said to the pegasus. “But you didn’t end up here because of Celestia, did you? Remember, there were patrols that did this before…?”

“It’s all their fault, not the government’s. Among normal colts, there’s always a certain number of bastards. And it’s just a coincidence that those zebra-griffin mules got in our way…!”

“By the way, two of the five on that patrol were thestrals,” Consited said, almost calming down. “The ones you defend so fiercely.”

“Well, look at ‘em: they’ve only been here a month since they came down from their mountains! And there’s a big city here… and a lot of scum who’re very happy to take the newcomers under their wings… Anyway, let ‘em get used to it… and maybe they’ll understand how to behave…”

Approaching hoofsteps were heard in the hallway, and then something rattled under the cell door. Turning around, Greg saw that it was just food being brought in. On a tray pushed through a small slit in the bottom of the door were three bricks of hay and three cups of what appeared to be heavily diluted tea.

Stratospheres went to fetch the tray, and when he returned, he distributed the food to his cellmates.

The hay was stiff and a little sour – like it had been taken out of the burgers and left to rest a bit longer. The tea (and it really was tea… well, if you let your imagination run a little) was unsweet but still hot. Greg finally felt warm after traveling naked through winter Manehattan.

Dropper nodded at the gray pony’s observation.

“Yeah, I bet it is. They buy burgers cheap, where the hay tastes pretty bad, and give it to the prisoners while they themselves eat buns and everything else…”

“How long you been in here?” Greg asked, taking a sip from his cup.

“About a couple weeks.” The pegasus looked at the unicorn. “Maybe Consy can tell us more exactly.”

“We screwed up on Nivose second by the new calendar,” Consited replied. “That’s December tenth on the old one. The next day we were taken. So… yes, about two weeks.”

“I was arrested on the evening of the twenty-third,” Greg said. “It’s probably the twenty-fourth now.”

“So, happy Hearth’s Warming Eve, then?” Stratospheres raised his cup.

“Happy Hearth’s Warming,” Mellow replied.

The three stallions clinked their cups.

Another thing that’ll be missed under the new regime, Greg thought. Because the holiday refers to times of peace – and that’s something nopony needs right now.

It won’t be an easy winter… but is there any hope that things will get better in the future? Living in a time of change is the worst thing you can think of. No, I don’t wanna talk about it. My life has changed enough already. And I don’t need any more.

But the gray earth pony realized that these were only his dreams. The reality, as it often is, would be much, much worse.

“…Knight g to f6.”

“Queen to d4.”

“Short castling.”

“Gonna castling too…”

“Hey, you haven’t moved the king’s bishop yet!”

“Oh, right… then bishop to g2.”

“Ha, you don’t expect that! Pawn c7-c5.”

“Holy shit…”

Greg tapped his leg and thought about his next move.

The three stallions had tried a lot of mental activities to keep themselves occupied. Yesterday, they’d played word games and Equestrian cities, and when they couldn’t remember, they’d told jokes and life stories.

Stratospheres told a few funny stories from his time in the Wonderbolts. Consited remembered how he cheated on a math test by taping the cheat sheets to the teacher’s croup, and how she couldn’t understand why half the class was giggling all the time. Greg, on the other hand, dug into his past and recounted some amusing moments from his work as a courier.

He was still hesitant to open up too much to these two… at least to the pegasus. Even though the latter no longer insisted on the “unity” and “legitimacy” of the Horsecoacher’s power, it was unlikely that he would put himself in Consited’s horseshoes and at least adopt a neutral point of view. And Mellow didn’t want to be the next to Dropper’s heavy hoof.

Finally, there came Hearth’s Warming Eve, which had been officially canceled in the Lunar Republic. It had been replaced by the Winter Lunar Festival, which had been held two days before Greg’s arrest, but none of the prisoners had said a word about it. But the old customs couldn’t be eradicated so easily, no matter how much the new authorities wanted to.

Now the gray earth pony was playing chess with the unicorn. Since they had neither board nor pieces, they had to keep everything in mind. And for Greg, who never had much interest in such things, it was not an easy task. Consited was playing black, but from the first moves he was definitely beating him.

Stratospheres sat on top and looked at the younger ponies with a relaxed expression. After the breakdown of his faith in his nephew, the pegasus must have reawakened his latent fatherly feelings.

Meanwhile, Greg’s queen was pinned down by two black knights and painfully searching for a way out.

“…take c4.”

“Queen to d5 with check.”

“Knight to c3…” Greg tried to close off somehow.

At that moment hoofsteps could be heard again from the corridor. And then the sound of keys unlocking the cell.

The door opened with a nasty creak, and a young unterhoofer unicorn peered into the room, followed by two machine-gunners, just in case. The same one who had been present at Greg’s interrogation.

“Jacanapes, Dropper, Mellow, out,” he said, stepping aside to clear the way.

The three prisoners looked at each other and took turns leaving the cell.

The silent, armed earth ponies led them down the same long corridor, but further away, not back. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg noticed that another double escort had joined the unterhoofer, heading for the next cell.

Are they being sent somewhere? All at once?

Greg felt a slight sickness in the pit of his stomach. The three possible outcomes he’d thought about earlier were looming in front of him. And it was not at all clear which of them awaited him.

There was fear on Consited’s and Dropper’s faces as well. But while the pegasus seemed to be stoically enduring everything, the unicorn had a hard time hiding his panic.

And it was understandable: it wasn’t every day that someone else decided whether they should live or die. Although, Greg thought, it might really be every day now.

They were led through another grate and forced up a stone staircase to the doors leading outside. The doors were wide open, and a cold winter wind blew into the dungeon. The Gestaponies guarding the exit wore warm coats, but even so, they were shivering from the cold.

When the three prisoners stepped out of the door, they found themselves in a large space surrounded by a razor-wire fence. This was obviously the backyard of the Lunar Chancellery. There were already quite a few ponies here, mostly stallions, but there were also some mares and even young colts. Not a single thestral in sight. The unicorns were all wearing magic blockers, and the pegasi were in chains that bound their wings. Many had marks from beatings on their bodies and faces, some had whip scars on their backs. And, of course, no one was wearing warm clothing. Even though there was a breeze, the smell of unwashed bodies and blood lingered in the air. This yard must have been soaked a mile deep with it in the last few months.

Behind the fence opposite the door was a cinderblock platform upon which stood an LD officer surrounded by a squad of machine-gunners (more than half of them were batponies). With no surprise, Greg recognized him as Zick. The peach-colored stallion with his chin raised was not looking at the prisoners who kept coming and coming, but somewhere above their heads and the Chancellery building itself, seemingly into the future, hidden by the lead-gray clouds that filled the sky and the swirling snow in the air.

Zick’s black coat fluttered in the wind like King Sombra’s mantle. Suddenly, Greg saw the shadow villain from the Crystal Empire instead of the haughty Gestapony – and immediately shook his head, chasing the vision away.

Ugh, fuck it. Nightmare Moon alone was enough to bring half the country to its knees. What would happen if someone else came…?

In the fence to the right was a locked, one-pony wide gate, also heavily guarded. Behind it was a line of trucks with the emblem of the Republic. No doubt somepony’s being taken away from here. The question is where… and whether they’ll be taken alive or dead.

“I don’t like it,” Consited muttered, looking warily at the machine guns.

“Me neither,” Dropper replied, flapping his broken wing lightly, and winced as the wind scorched his uncovered side. “But now we can only await our fate.”

Greg had to agree with them mentally.

Soon the last group of prisoners was led into the backyard, and the doors of the building closed. The clamor of the crowd began to die down. More and more eyes turned to Zick, and the chatter grew quieter. Everyone feared for their fate and did not want to attract the Gestaponies’ attention any further.

After waiting for complete silence, Zick stepped forward and spoke in a clear, well-pitched voice.

“The dregs of society! Pieces of kirin shit, unworthy to even lie on the ground you trample with your hooves! You have all committed crimes against the law and the citizens of the Republic – and by that same law, you should be given the punishment you deserve!

“However, the stars have decreed otherwise. Immortal Horsecoacher Luna, in honor of this past Winter Moonlit Day, gives you a chance to atone for your sins before Her people and grants you all amnesty!”

At these words, a whisper went through the crowd, and the stormhoofer yelled, “Silence!!! So… and grants you all amnesty – in exchange for the right to join the ranks of the blessed Equermacht and serve bravely in defense of the lands of the Republic! You’ll have to fulfill your civic duty in the battles at the front, and in one year you’ll be guaranteed a full pardon. For those who distinguish themselves in battle and prove their loyalty, even sooner!

“Those who agree to dedicate the next year of their worthless lives to the service of the Republic will leave here now!” Zick pointed his hoof at the trucks outside the yard. “Then you’ll go through a three-week training course and join the fighting units! If you’re willing to make that trade, line up one by one, facing the gate!”

There was a quiet grumble among the ponies. But in a few moments, a line began to form at the gate.

Greg and his cellmates followed. But someone’s loud, shrill question made them stop.

“And what if there are those who disagree?! Who don’t want to give their lives for a rotten to the core regime of separatists and usurpers?!”

“Who said that?!” Zick jumped up, looking around at the frozen crowd.

The ponies, frozen in horror, shrank under the stormhoofer’s glare and lowered their eyes. But no one was willing to step forward and take the blame.

Greg looked at Zick with a fainting heart. Goosebumps ran up and down the gray stallion’s back. Knowing Hunter, he could tell that something bad was about to happen.

And Mellow’s hunch was right.

“Well, if no one’s confessing…” the stormhoofer said and reached for the holster hanging at his side.

Slowly he drew his pistol and twirled it on his hoof. All the prisoners watched him in silence.

After waiting a moment, Zick suddenly grinned and pointed his gun at the crowd. A startled gasp ran through the rows of ponies.

He’s really going to shoot?! Greg thought stunned.

Zick swept his weapon to one side, then the other, as if picking a target. Everyone froze, shrinking back in fear. The stormhoofer glanced over the crowd, absorbing the general emotion, and abruptly jerked his leg with the gun and said, “Bang!”

Muffled screams sounded. Some ponies emptied their bowels. Some of them fainted.

The psychological effect had been achieved.

Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Still, Zick wasn’t such a moral freak that…

With a wince, Hunter stepped back and ordered, “FIRE!!!”

Heavy bursts struck the crowd. Fountains of blood spurted upward. The ponies scrambled in terror, but there was no escape.

Someone swooped down on Greg and threw him to the frozen ground. Darkness blinded his eyes, and the smell of long-uncleaned feathers filled his nostrils. Something sharp poked him in the side – it seemed to be Consited’s horn.

Just as abruptly, the guns fell silent. For a while, an echo rang in his ears. Then it was cut off by groans and cries of pain. Many seemed to have just been really unlucky.

Greg jerked and struggled to get out from under the one who had crushed him and Consited with his body. Then he yelped, “Stratospheres!”

The pegasus sat on his rump, clutching his even more crooked left wing. Blood dripped through his hooves onto the snow.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Two holes… Heh, who’d have thought that a wing could really deflect the bullets… Both went away… Now flying… is postponed again…”

“Dropper!” Consited jumped up to the pegasus – and fell to the ground when he saw the blood. “Oh, Celestia…”

“Don’t mention that slut to me!” Dropper shouted, struggling to get up. Red drops were falling down from his feathers. “I’m all right. As they say, bone intact…”

“You’ll all be dead soon!” Zick yelled across the yard. He was standing on his platform, laughing his head off. “You are all dead already! I can do whatever I want to you and nopony will do anything to me! Because I’m the authority here! I am the law! And I can do whatever I want! And you… and you…” He laughed again, more softly this time. “All right, survivors and those who can move, line up one by one, facing the gate!”

Now the line was fast and silent. No more prisoners wanted to die from their own or others’ stupidity.

At the sight of a dozen soldiers, the ponies came through the gate and were loaded into the back of the nearest car. When there was no more room, one of the Gestaponies waved to the driver and the truck pulled away from the gate and the next one rolled up in its place.

Soon it was Greg and his cellmates’ turn. Getting the first of the three into the truck, the gray earth pony said, looking at the soldiers standing outside, “Somepony get him a healing potion.”

Stratospheres followed, dragging his shot wing and leaving a thin trail of blood behind him.

The Gestaponies clearly hesitated. They could easily have ignored Greg’s request or shot the wounded pegasus and thrown him out of the way. But one of the soldiers rummaged through the pouch at his side and pulled out a small bottle, then hoofed it to Dropper.

The pegasus looked at the Gestapony in surprise, then at Greg, and grabbed the potion with his healthy wing. Mellow suddenly broke into a sweat as he imagined Dropper driving the bottle into the private’s eye and snatching the submachine gun from him… and a new massacre begins, even more senseless and cruel.

But Stratospheres didn’t seem ready to die that foolishly. Evidently, his loyalty to the Republic still remained within him. He nodded gratefully, swallowed the purple liquid in one gulp, and tossed the empty bottle under his hooves. Then he climbed into the back of the truck and sat down on the bench next to Greg.

“Thank you,” the pegasus muttered.

Greg just tilted his head in response.

On the other side of Dropper was Consited. The three ponies sat and watched indifferently as the truck was filled with others as miserable as themselves.

A little time passed, and all the benches along the walls were filled. One of the Gestaponies slammed the back doors shut, and the car moved off with a roaring engine.

Into the unknown again, Greg thought as he looked out the window at the snow-covered streets he had known since foalhood.

He remembered how, just the day before yesterday, he had been on his way through the city at night, with no idea what would happen to him in the future. But at least he was alive, and that gave him a shaky hope.

His thoughts drifted from the ride to the Gestaponies who had accompanied him, and from them to Zick and the mini-shooting in the backyard of the Chancellery.

Greg couldn't imagine how it had come to that. Was it really so bad that such scumbags had taken over the power?! What did all those ponies do to deserve to die?! Yeah, maybe some were imprisoned for a reason… but to kill?! How could anyone even think of that?!

And the foals? What are they in for? They’re usually caught stealing a hayburger from a tray or spray-painting a penis on the wall… Is that a reason for them to die?!

And even not everyone was against Nightmare Moon. After November, the youth especially liked to wear purple leg bands, yelling “Praise the Moon!” and moonlighting with every step. Like they were for every new trend, and it was cool in general!

And now they’re being killed by their own kind – just because someone gave the order. And they don’t even have a thought to question it.

And those who survived go to the front to play the lottery one more time. Play it again and again. Every. Fucking. Day.

How many more lives will be lost before the ponies realize that everything they’ve done has been a mistake? How long will it be…? What will be left of Equestria, which should never have been – indeed, never have dreamed of being divided?!

But nothing could be changed alone. Greg understood that – probably better than anyone else.

All I can do is survive. And even that… just as long as I can.

The pounding of the wheels was drowsier than any lullaby. But Greg tried not to give in to the lulling rhythm and stared silently out of the window at the snow-covered forests and fields outside. He spent most of his time on the road that way: it calmed him down quite well.

The carriage was packed with nearly a hundred ponies. The ex-convicts, stripped of their blocking rings and chains, either lay on the floor or sat on narrow benches, depending on how lucky they were to board. But there was no fighting for seats, as armed Lunar Division soldiers were on duty in the vestibule at both ends of the carriage.

At least he’d been given warm clothes before departure. Greg touched the soft gray fabric of his winter field uniform. Yes, much better than before. But still, it was hardly a real concern for the latest enemies of the Republic, but rather a simple effort to keep them from dying prematurely.

The train took them all to Hollow Shades, the sparsely populated forest province where the training camp was located. As Greg remembered from his route sheets from work, it was two days by train, then a few hours by car on the local bad roads. The perfect place to hide a large group of soldiers and let them brush up on their skills.

Greg sighed and turned away from the shifting landscape. There wasn’t much to do in such a crowd and with such a silent clamor. There was nothing to do but think.

Although…

“Greg,” Consited asked quietly, sitting next to him, “did you have a… special pony?”

The gray stallion was surprised, but then shook his head.

“Nah. I’ve always been too self-sufficient, too independent to need anyone else. And –” Greg grinned wryly “– too inconspicuous to attract attention. That only seemed to work with the Gestaponies.”

The unicorn also chuckled at this obviously forced joke.

“And why did you bring it up?” Mellow asked.

“Just something I remembered…” Consited sadly looked up at the ceiling and the wall across the carriage. “That filly Dropper and I rescued from the patrols could have been my marefriend if… if things had turned out differently. It’s like a typical movie plot: first I went to see her in the glass shop that had opened in the place of the former pizzeria, and looked at the crystal… No, can you believe it – three hundred and forty bits for a plate! We pay less for utilities… paid… And this new money! Can you imagine, the bits are paper? I’ve never seen anything like that before.

“And then we met again, but under different circumstances. Lazy drove her home, the next day she invited us all for tea… and the very next day Dropper and I were arrested! Why?!” He lifted his head and clutched his eyes, holding back sobs. “It’s not fair…!”

“Oh, just don't whine here about injustice,” the pegasus’ voice came from the side, and both young ponies turned to look at Stratospheres. He was sitting with his forelegs crossed over his chest, watching some of his fellow travelers playing a game of self-made cards. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s had a bad time in life, Consy. The others had a lot to tell about their pasts, too.”

“Do you have a story as well?” Greg asked. “You know, with a special pony?”

“Oh, you bet I did,” he snorted. “Mine was Captain Spitfire herself.”

“You’re just feeding us crap again,” Consited spat on the floor. “Well, who’s she and who are you…”

“Well, it wasn’t now, but a long time ago, when I was in the main squadron of the Wonderbolts and she was a little fart who’d just graduated from the Academy. I was a great flyer back then, and of course I couldn’t refuse former Captain Fair Wings’ order to take a promising filly under my wing, so to speak.

“Well, Spitfire turned out to be a good student, and most importantly, she tried so hard that after a while I began to wonder if she’d soon beat me as well. But I didn’t much care: it was just nice to see someone making such progress with my help.

“Gradually, we got a bit closer. She even let me into her barn… if y’know what I mean. Uh, I was as happy as a colt then…” the pegasus lowered his head, “and didn’t think at all about where things would go in the future.

“By then we were almost on the same level and performed in the same team at all the shows. But as time went by, I felt that my youth was about to go away along with my speed. Fair Wings was also getting older. And one day… she decided to retire.

“The question was, who’d be the new Captain of the Wonderbolts? I counted on Spitfire’s support, and in return, I’d soon step down myself and make her my successor. I had hoped that what we had between us would be more important to her than the rest, but –” Stratospheres laughed bitterly and shook his head “– how fucking wrong I was.

“According to the rules, each of the Wonderbolts had to support a particular candidate. I chose her, of course, thinking that she’d convince the others to vote for me. But… she had become so influential by then that she decided to make herself the main candidate.” Dropper grinned. “And she succeeded. After everypony had voted, Fair Wings announced the results at the general meeting. Oh, I remember how angry I was then… And Spitfire told me that the Wonderbolts should be led by the best flyer – which, alas, I no longer was. And when that bitch Celestia confirmed her as the Captain, Spitfire kicked me the fuck out. All I got in return for all I’d done for her was a record of being fired for physical reasons. I gave it all up and moved to Manehattan. Out of sight. The Weather Bureau was just very interested in my services.”

Dropper looked up and turned to Consited.

“So don’t talk, kid, about how lousy things are for you. The others may have lost something too.”

Greg thought about his life in Manehattan. Cushy nine-to-five paperwork, a two-room apartment in a nice area for four hundred bits a month… No, it certainly didn’t compare.

Many found themselves after the revolution, he thought, remembering Zick. But many more ponies had to give up something. Freedom, family… life. It couldn’t be avoided. Just wasn’t possible.

But… the gray earth pony closed his eyes, there’s something that everyone can keep for themselves until the end. It’s himself, his identity, his beliefs and ideals. What he believes in… and who he is.

And I – he turned back to the window – will remain myself, too. And survive. Not for my own sake, but for the sake of those who’ve been deprived of it.

A cloudy winter day. In some places, the snowdrifts in the forest are up to the neck, but in the camp itself, the snow has been thoroughly cleared away. The trees crackle with frost – but much louder is the sound of rifle shots above the forest.

A shooting range. Actually, just a big clearing with plywood targets: some of them are shapeless figures, some are in the shape of ponies. Many of them look like a sieve with broken edges, but they are replaced from time to time. As hard as it’s been, the supply trains have been arriving on schedule.

Greg and a dozen other earth ponies are standing behind a low mound of earth, carefully aiming at the targets that the instructor is telekinetically dragging around from time to time. Unicorns are practicing separately on the other side of the clearing; they don’t need support for their weapons, so they’re trained more intensively – but also allowed to shoot with their hooves to recharge their levitation. Pegasi have their own training program – at least Greg and Consited rarely crossed paths with Stratospheres during the day.

The daily routine is strict: getting up, exercise, breakfast, snow removal, a five-mile cross-country run through the woods, then lunch, weapons training until evening, dinner, ideological processing (well, what else can you call propaganda speeches by batpony commissars and out-of-context clips from the frontline newsreel?), and only a little free time before bed. But Greg doesn’t complain, and in the evenings, he reads newspapers and books – old and new: first, to finally understand why it was necessary to make the lives of millions of ponies a living hell; and second, to better figure out his place in the world and in this sad history. So far, that’s not working out well; nothing comes to mind except the thought that everything should go back to the way it was, and that he just shouldn’t die. But Mellow doesn’t give up trying. He believes there are answers out there, and he just has to find them.

The instructor’s loud voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Whatcha aimin’ at, duffer?! Can’t ya see where the target’s movin’?!

Greg doesn’t know if this is meant for him, but just in case, he makes an extremely concentrated expression and carefully points the gun at the most distant piece of plywood.

In his hooves is a simple Lily rifle, breechloader with sliding bolt. Almost everyone here has one, and those who have distinguished themselves can be recognized by the magazine type Lavender. Both had been put into service last year, along with much more expensive submachine guns for the Gestaponies; all weapons were designed so that even the earth ponies could insert and remove parts properly, and most importantly, reload quickly. The trigger is large – just under the size of a hoof – and the trigger guard even allows the weapon to be carried by literally putting it on the leg. But this wouldn’t work with pistols: there are models for tooth grip as well as for magical levitation. Well, or for a griffin’s paws.

It seems useless information, but it gives a good idea of what is needed and why.

Indeed – working on killing tools brings out a special ingenuity in the mind.

Greg learns the science of death. Not because he likes it, or because he thinks he should use it sooner, no; but just to be able to defend himself. Even from those who are now on the same side of the front line.

“Remember: every accurate shot ya fire brings the Republic closer to its imminent victory, every miss pushes it further away!” says the instructor, walking behind their backs. “If you hit the enemy in the leg, it limits his mobility, but that’s all. If ya hit him in the side, it distracts him from the fight and makes him focus on savin’ his life! And only an accurate hit to the chest or head should give ya the confidence that he won’t get up again!

“O’ course, all of this only works if he hasn’t decided to sacrifice himself to take more of us to the grave! They call this heroism in their Harmonic Army – we call it stupidity! We can’t afford heavy casualties, so we will crush them with tactics and equipment. And we will crush them… only if ya dumb asses start hittin’ properly!!!”

And Greg is shooting.

Again… and again.

The trench was quite narrow. Jumping into the reinforced planked cavity, the earth pony was struck for the first time by how little space there was. As a resident of Manehattan with its gigantomania, Greg had never been claustrophobic, but now he felt the slight claws of fear tickling his brain.

But there was no fear of death, exactly. Not yet.

Greg pulled himself up and craned his neck to peer out of the trench, trying to make out the enemy’s position. There seemed to be some reinforcements in sight, but they were at least a quarter of a mile away…

Good thing they’re not advancing right now, the earth pony thought, wrapping himself more tightly in his overcoat. It’s cold as hell. He looked up to the sky. Looks like almost all pegasi from the weather service were drafted here as well. As long as we don’t get an unscheduled blizzard…

In the distance, shrouded in a haze of snowy mist, Canterlot Peak loomed, and as he looked closer, he could make out the outline of a castle on its slope. The same castle from which the remaining Equestria controlled by Harmony was still ruled. Reports from the Ministry of Information said that Celestia had cowardly fled Canterlot, leaving her subjects to defend the half-empty capital, but Greg didn’t believe it. He’d never been there or seen the Solar Princess in person, but he couldn’t imagine one of the two rulers of formerly united Equestria turning out to be a “bunker runt,” as they called her.

They probably write about Luna the same way over there…

“Get down, you idiot!” a familiar voice hissed, and someone’s strong hooves dragged Greg back into the trench from the embankment.

The earth pony slumped heavily on the planks and rose to his legs, rubbing the bruised spot.

In front of him stood Stratospheres Dropper, a non-commissioned officer of the Equermacht infantry, looking down at him menacingly.

“Didn’t they tell you that even in a lull at the front you should be triple careful?!” he growled. “I need you alive, rookie. I – and the Republic, which is counting on all of us.”

But do we need such the Republic?

Fortunately, Greg had the wisdom to keep his mouth shut.

The other soldiers of the squad, led by Consited, approached them. Actually, the unicorn just went first – and the leader among them was Dusty Night, a batpony soldier trailing the group. He hadn’t trained with them in Hollow Shades, but had been assigned to be Stratospheres’ assistant by an outside order. And was clearly not happy about it.

Everypony was armed with Lilies, and only the pegasus and the thestral had Lavenders. The rifles had bayonets bolted to their barrels, and the soldiers’ heads were covered by black helmets with the emblem of Luna. At the side of each pony hung a cartridge case, tightly packed with ammunition and a few grenades. Who knows how long the battle will last… when it begins.

“Line up!” Dropper commanded.

The troops quickly formed a straight line.

“Well, soldiers, listen to the order,” began the pegasus, walking along them. “In a few hours the main forces will arrive here, and the deployment of the existing artillery will be completed. The enemy also has a respite after yesterday’s fighting, but we don’t know how long it’ll last. Our task is to hold our positions in case the enemy attacks first and then we go on the offensive. The main thing is to wait for artillery support and not to take any risks. That’s clear?”

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers answered in unison.

“Praise the Moon!”

And Stratospheres threw up his right front leg.

Most of the troops immediately did the same, and Dusty Night especially eagerly. Greg hesitated for a moment before lifting his hoof with the rest of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Consited didn’t make a moonlight right away, either.

The pegasus didn’t seem to notice that.

“Then rifles to battle. All in position…” he ordered.

And then there was a rumble from the enemy trenches. And next – a deafening whistle that didn’t bode well for the Equermacht.

“Get down!!!” Dropper shouted, and everyone immediately pressed against the planking.

Greg’s ears hurt from the close blasts. Fountains of earth and snow exploded nearby. None of the group was injured, though. Unfortunately, only for now.

A pair of cannons to the right answered the volley. The shells plowed the ground near the enemy positions, and it took some time before the artillery fire resumed.

On both sides machine guns rattled. And, peering cautiously from behind the barrier, Greg saw the Equestrians coming out of the trenches. In small groups, they began crawling toward the Republic lines.

“Here we go,” Dropper muttered, crouching down to aim his rifle.

Greg also prepared to fire. His hoof dug into the ammunition pouch and grabbed a round. The bolt had already been pulled, opening the breech, and the cartridge case slid smoothly into the recess. Mellow snapped the bolt back and pulled the trigger. Then he squinted, looking for enemy soldiers.

He didn’t want to shoot, but he had no choice. Well, he had a choice, because as everyone knows, there’s always a choice… but the gray stallion liked the alternative even less.

When the troops of the Harmonic Army came within two hundred meters, Greg fired. Missed, of course, at that distance. But there was no time to think. The earth pony reloaded and took aim again.

One by one, the soldiers in pale green uniforms began to fall. But more of them kept coming, crouching before the bullets and shells that ripped everywhere.

And soon they would come closer. And Greg would have to shoot straight at them. And they’d shoot at him, too.

At that moment, the guns behind them struck harder, and smoke and snowdust from the explosions covered the battlefield. The organized offensive of the Equestrians was in disarray, but after a short time, supported by the fire of their cannons, they continued towards the defensive line of the Lunar Army.

Greg fired again and again, trying both not to miss too badly and not to be deadly accurate. There was a vague, almost unrealistic hope that the close hits would scare the soldiers away and they would retreat to avoid being targeted…

Except that Celestia’s soldiers seemed to know that as well. And so they went forward anyway… to push back the enemy at the cost of their lives and to defend their lands.

“Take this, you bastards!” Dropper’s voice came from the side.

Greg turned his head to see the pegasus throw a couple of grenades at the enemy and then return to the butt of his rifle.

Two explosions went off, scattering steel shards and what appeared to be body parts. The earth pony stifled the nausea caused by the vision. Of course, he knew that war was a dirty business, but to see it in person was doubly unpleasant.

And even more so to be a part of it.

Out of the clouds of smoke, about thirty meters in front of Greg, a soldier of the Harmonic Army suddenly ran out – a light blue unicorn in a green uniform and a helmet with a hole for a horn. The camouflage coloring was far more useless against the winter backdrop than the dark gray overcoats of the Equermacht. Mellow glanced at his epaulettes, but it was hard to see anything from this distance. Most likely the guy was a private like himself – thrown into this war by someone at random.

The unicorn slowed down and stopped, realizing that he was right in front of the enemy trenches.

And then he saw Greg.

For a split second, the two didn’t move, looking at each other.

Maybe he doesn’t understand why, for what reason he’s here, either? Mellow thought.

But a moment, frozen like an ice crust, passed – and the shaky hope of understanding faded.

The unicorn unbuckled one of the grenades from his belt and brought it to his mouth to pull the pin with his teeth…

And at that moment, Greg pulled the trigger. Just a hoof twitched mechanically.

The shot rang out and he felt the recoil in his shoulder. The unicorn’s chest exploded with bloody splashes, and he fell to the snow before he could throw the grenade.

Which already seemed to be missing its linchpin.

The explosion covered the soldier’s body from Mellow’s view, causing the earth pony to hide behind the embankment for a moment.

I’m the murderer, Greg thought distantly. Then he shifted his gaze to the others, diligently showering the enemy with a rain of lead and steel. We all are murderers.

[1] The Lunar Division is special forces created by Horsecoacher Luna's decree of Frimaire 1st, 1 NLR (November 8, 1007 Harmony Era). Rank system: private/hoofer, rottenhoofer (soldiers); unterhoofer, stormhoofer (junior officers); grosshoofer, standartenhoofer, oberhoofer (senior officers); brigadenhoofer, gruppenhoofer (top officers). Have special powers and are used as an instrument of ponitical investigation and suppression.

[2] The Fourth Department of the Lunar Chancellery is the secret ponice (Gestapony). Included in the Lunar Division.

[3] After the separation from Equestria, the NLR established a new calendar of twelve months. To cover the entire year, five of them: the first (Frimaire), third (Pluviose), sixth (Floreal), ninth (Thermidor), and twelfth (Brumaire) include 31 days, the others 30 each. In a leap year, the 31st day is added to the fourth month (Ventose). The years are counted from November 8, 1007 HE.