Equestria 1939 - Weird World War

Equestria 1939 - Weird World War
Dezinformatsiya Denouement

“We desire the utmost friendship with the people of Canada. If their country is ever attacked, our Navy will be defending their seas, our soldiers will fight on their battlefields, our fliers will die in their skies. But have they the right to draw this hemisphere into a European war simply because they prefer the Crown of England to American independence?”
— Colonel Charles Lindbergh, October 13 radio broadcast

The phrase ‘party until the sun comes up’ was Manehattan’s downtown motto. The waterfront was no exception. Distant music and street noises percolated down to the docks, including one rusty steel drydock door with a shabby cab parked nearby. The driver was shabbier than most of the bums at the dock, wearing a tattered cloth bucket hat and a brown blanket to protect his back from the harness. Anypony randomly observing the driver would think he was simply a lazy cabbie taking a smoke break, or perhaps a criminal looking for an easy place to steal merchandise. But an acute observer would note that the laconic expression on the long-haired stallion did not match his piercing eyes, which watched every shadow and movement, be it passers by or stray cats in search of rodents.

Eventually, and very slowly, the rusty steel door of the drydock creaked open just far enough for a pony to pass through, and then a second. Much like the cab, they fit well into the waterfront where the occasional mare and stallion found dark shadows to canoodle in rather than the expense and public display of renting a room by the hour. They leaned against each other, carrying several packages wrapped in crumpled brown paper as if they could not find a trash receptacle in which to place their booze bottles and food wrappers after their midnight rendezvous.

Manehattan was far more tidy than its human analogue. Loose trash in the streets was unheard of, and bottles carried a sizable deposit.

The young couple continued leaning against each other during their short walk, their coats pressed firmly and occasional whispers exchanged, or at least until they neared the cab. The young stallion nodded once, his eyes darted around without moving his head, and he said simply, “Prime.”

“Mane,” responded the shaggy stallion in a low voice that could not be heard more than a pace or two away. His piercing grey eyes changed targets. “Sherbert. Success?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Sherbert in a near-whisper She looked around, far less gracefully than her companions, and added, “Is it safe for you to be here, sir?”

“There are four units of the Night Guard within eyesight,” said Prime. “One of them has a 75mm pack howitzer zeroed in on the German submarine. Concealed behind a screen, of course. When I found out you planned on taking Unit 14 for a joyride—”

“Tinkles,” said Mane. “The guys in the development group won’t call her anything else. And how did you find out? I thought we were being discreet?”

Prime raised one bushy eyebrow. “I do run a branch of the Equestrian intelligence service after all. Allow me to keep some secrets. Besides, you were going to let Mixed State get within grabbing distance of the Germans. Do you know how many secrets he has in his head?”

Sherbert could not respond. She just looked down at the dirty wood of the docks while Prime continued, “Thankfully, we have untraceable assets available. Your brother remained under guard here until your mission returned and your presence verified. His report was rather… short.”

“Hey, Sis.” Mixed State picked his way over to the structure that concealed Tinkles’ conning tower, moving the decorative banners to one side and putting a few leftover bottles into their cases for return to the store. He unlocked the structure’s padlock first, then lifted the wooden box away so he could knock on the hatch. “Sis,” he repeated in a cheerful voice. “Did you get what you wanted?”

He spun the unlocking wheel of the hatch and lifted, only to dart backwards when Sherbert’s yellow magic grabbed the hatch and slammed it back shut, nearly taking off his nose.

“Give us another hour,” filtered Sherbert’s voice from inside. “Maybe two.”

“We are ready to go onto the second phase of our project,” said Sherbert. “I believe we can have the ceremony at the office, with five or six of the other scientists in attendance, although the honeymoon will wait, probably until after the foal is born and weaned.”

Mane very carefully applied his hoof to his forehead and took a deep breath. “The other project, Bert.”

“Oh. Yes.” Sherbert shifted uncomfortably under the packages resting on her back. “That is also ready to go into the second phase. Results will be more unpredictable, though. Mane should be made part of the project at the earliest opportunity. His literary skills should prove valuable in common phrase analysis for a better understanding of the… project’s complexity. However, there is something that needs to be done first.”

She reached into the package with her magic and removed a small slip of paper, which she passed over to Prime. “We shall need to use the resources of the agency to locate Mane’s parents, so that he may reintroduce himself and inform them of their status as prospective grandparents.”

Prime took the paper, looked at it once, and placed it in his saddlebag. Then he reached into his vest and passed Sherbert a similar piece of paper with two names and addresses on it.

Mane looked at the paper and his eyes grew wide. “My parents? You knew about them? My father lives right here in Manehattan. How…”

Prime shrugged. “Remember that I do run an intelligence agency. Besides, I have a certain responsibility to keep track of my brother.”

“Brother?” Mane blinked once. Sherbert merely considered the similarities she had noted between Mane and his uncle, which made far more sense in retrospect.

“Admittedly, my nephew has been considerably more difficult to keep out of trouble,” continued Prime in the resulting silence. “He travels all over the world on the most frivolous of tasks, mostly false, but I have faith that he may eventually settle down and raise a family with a reasonable mare. Somepony who can tolerate him, which I will admit has been a constant concern to me and my wife. No, I did not marry your mother,” he added quickly. “Nanna is a researcher in the Canterlot deep archives. Unwed, as I understand, but she has a daughter born several months after she made it back to Equestria.”

Mane attempted to speak several times, making little starts and stops while Prime stood impassively without further comment. After some time to think and a few deep breaths, she was getting impatient so Sherbert decided to urge the informational release on with a few questions.

“So she was pregnant when she fled?”

Prime nodded.

“Does the father know?” she continued.

“Unfortunately, he did not make it out of Germany.” Prime shifted in discomfort. “Banana Pudding was fairly traumatized by her experience. She raised Peach Pit on her own in Canterlot. Brilliant little filly. Top marks in Celestia’s school. I suspect she knows about Mane and your father but does not want to disturb her mother over things in her past. I’m the head of an intelligence agency, and there are times I don’t know who knows what about who in my own family.”

“So she left me—” started Mane, only to be brought up short by Sherbert.

“Panicked ponies do not think,” she stated calmly. “They run.”

Prime nodded again. “Shame can blind one just as well. Mane, she knows of your presence, but as of our most recent communication, she was still adamant about concealing her relationship to you with the mistaken assumption that she was protecting you. For an intelligent mare, she can be remarkably foolish.”

“I understand completely,” said Sherbert.

“I… think it’s going to take a little more time for me,” said Mane slowly. His eyes narrowed, and he fixed Prime with an intent, serious look. “You knew. You knew about both of them.”

“Yes,” said Prime, although he did not go on, or change topics. He merely remained looking back at his nephew with a stoic expression much like one might look at a wrapped package making a ticking noise.

“You didn’t think I should know too?” asked Mane. “I mean—”

“Neither of them wanted you to know.” Prime took a deep breath. “Do you think we could discuss this later in my office?”

“An attempt to change the environment of this conversation to his advantage,” said Sherbert. “Deny it and continue.”

Mane favored her with a brief glance and looked as if he were going to shout at Prime, but did not say a word for a long time.

“Knowing would not change the past,” said Prime in an uncharacteristic long burst of words. “My brother ran. Took the coward’s way out. Yes, I know. He mentions it every time we dine together. He’s a sous chef at the Flagrant Flamingo now. Has a wife. Four foals, and one on the way. He knows I helped get your mother out. Trying to find you… Well, you have a talent for not being found, after all. We tracked your progress. Made sure Her Highness inducted you into the service. After that, he only really had one of two questions for me every time we met. Is he out? Is he back? And he always asked, is he safe? I think he is comforted by you being an intelligence agent. He doesn’t have to make any motion toward reuniting. Apologizing. Finding out if you ever want him in his life anymore. I think it is high time this changes. It has been long enough. Next Thursday eve when we dine again, I would be greatly pleased to bring along two guests.”

“We accept,” said Sherbert.

“Wait a minute,” said Mane.

“Unless you want me going by myself and telling your father everything. And I mean everything,” continued Sherbert. “Everything.”

“I’ll go, I’ll go.” Mane winced. “I’ve faced terrors beyond description, and that includes being locked in a steel tube with some psychopaths. This is a lot to take in at once.”

“You gained an uncle, two parents, several half-siblings and a spouse in one night,” said Sherbert. “I have in-laws to consider now also. Our lives have gained considerable complexity. Tell me you are not considering flight.”

“Uh… Briefly,” admitted Mane.

“You are not your father,” said Prime. “And the rest of this will wait until we reach my office tomorrow.”

“Next week,” said Sherbert.

“Tomorrow,” insisted Prime. “A semblance of regular order is essential to maintain the illusion of normality. Get into the cab and I will take you to one of your apartments. Leave the package behind in the cab when we arrive. I will see it to the institute and your laboratory, where you may delve into its mysteries behind closed doors.”

“Acceptable,” said Sherbert. “But this will affect your tip.”

Two days later, in Prime’s office, Sherbert was feeling just a little like a child who had just been denied a cookie. With Herman on one side and Mane on the other, she was sandwiched from retreat, but not sheltered from Prime’s discouraging glare.

“Before you start with apologies or excuses, we have been monitoring the Germans’ behavior over the last two days, and do not think your little stunt has been detected. Officially, this never happened. Unofficially, if my current nephew and future niece in law decide on such a rash course of action in the future, a note would be appropriate at the bare minimum.”

“Understood,” said Sherbert.

“No, I do not think you understand,” continued Prime without missing a beat. “It is not only that I value my nieces and nephews, and various humans I have developed friendships with during my term in this office—” Prime nodded at Herman without a pause “—but had this scheme gone sideways, I would be the one explaining things to Her Highness. How my nephew and his friends complicated Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s diplomatic trip to Europe, putting her and the whole country in danger, and while every effort we can spare is being used to evacuate our citizens quietly from the ongoing war.”

“It’s all my fault—”

As much as Agent Mane was trying to cover for Herman, that was Sherbert’s responsibility, and she forced her excuse over the top of her… whatever Mane was becoming.

“No. This is all mine. Herman tried to stay out of this. I dragged him in. Mane did not want to go into the submarine, but I convinced him using my feminine wiles.”

“Wiles.” Prime fixed her with his most impassive stare.

“I have wiles,” protested Sherbert, suddenly feeling as if the ground were shifting under her hooves. “And they’re feminine.”

“It’s true, Uncle Prime,” said Mane with a look of absolute sincerity. “She captured my heart and led me into this lunatic scheme like a puppy on a leash. I was helpless in the face of her unleashed desire, absolutely helpless. She’s a dangerous mare. Perhaps you should recruit her for fieldwork.”

Herman stifled a brief chuckle. Prime was not amused.

“If you call me Uncle Prime one more time, I will take you back to Unit 14 and weld you inside. And you.” The shaggy stallion shifted his gaze back to Sherbert. “Once you have made another copy of the device and notes for somepony to deliver to Her Highness, I will assign a linguistics expert to your project. It will not help. The only official reports coming out of your laboratory will be how difficult the task is and how you are not making any progress.”

Mane shifted in place and cleared his throat. “I presume a spy might be in the laboratory, and might keep Her Highness up to date on actual events. Oh, and I shall need a few days off every month to visit my sainted elderly mother in Canterlot. We have not seen each other in ages, and I have some catching up to do.”

“Granted.” Prime nodded. “Take the sketches your marefriend made of the U-49 internal layout since you will have no further use for them, in any regard. And you.”

Prime shifted his attention to Mister Guttman, who did not look as if he were looking forward to the dressing-down. Quite unexpectedly, Prime’s stern visage turned softer, and he lowered his voice to a polite register. “Herman, I trusted you to keep Sherbert out of trouble. Instead, you let her run wild with my nephew.”

“I know.” The big human sighed and spread his thick fingers out in front of him. “Kids. Miss Voltage would not have appreciated me getting out of the way when her daughter headed into trouble.”

“Madame Vernier encouraged this,” snapped Prime. “The only consolation I have is that when their children join the service, I will be retired and gone. To the Shetland islands, perhaps. Or the Falklands.”

“And I should be buried next to my wife in Poland. Provided the Germans do not control both places by then. With that—” Herr Guttmann got up and stretched. “We should get back to work. I’m presuming the linguistic specialist you are sending is a young stallion, perhaps handsome enough that I should keep a close eye on his interactions with Sherbert.”

“Yes,” said Prime curtly, obviously not seeing the humor in the situation. “You are dismissed. And you two will be prepared to go to dinner on Thursday. No excuses.”

“No excuses,” echoed Mane.