Seven Meetings and a War

The trees rustle as another gust of wind blows past. It is a comforting, familiar noise among the distant explosions and gunfire. The only familiar noise. The locusts and rodents and other wildlife of the forest are silent tonight, as if anticipating the coming bloodshed.

An unseen fire blazes nearby, only indicated by its distinct sound and the rays of red light that filter between the trees. They cast a violent red shade over the otherwise pitch black scene.

Something ignites, and smoke curls into the air.

"Put it out," the Changeling says anxiously. He sits in the little clearing at the edge of the forest, one hoof curled around a medical bag and the other balancing a rifle against the ground. They've been waiting here for hours. "Put it out, please."

The source of his anxiety smirks. "Or what?" Aspen lifts the cigarette to his muzzle and breathes in. Like the Changeling, he wears a sleek black military shirt and pants. A simple cap adorns his head, contrary to the standard steel helmet changeling soldiers wear.

The Changeling adjusts his own cap absentmindedly. A red medical cross is emblazoned on it. He keeps the cap immaculate.

"They might spot the light," the Changeling explains, nodding at the two-storey building visible through the trees. Small silhouettes flick between the windows facing the forest, and the lights clearly reveal long rifles pointed out in vague directions.

The rest of the changelings in the clearing shift uncomfortably, knowing what's coming as Aspen stands up and looms over the Changeling.

"You didn't answer my question, Private. Or what?" he snarls into the Changeling's face.

The Changeling leans back, averting his eyes. "Or nothing, sir. It was just a request."

"Let the little one go, Captain," another soldier- Topaz, a distinctly grey changeling- says with a chuckle that instantly defuses the tension. "He's just trying to help."

Applied to anyling else, 'little one' would be an insult, but the Changeling is quite literally smaller than the rest of the Jaeger squad. To them, it's more of an affectionate nickname.

"He should know better than to 'help' the veterans," grunts Aspen in annoyance, but he sits back down nonetheless, resigning himself to glaring daggers at the Changeling as he puffs on the cigarette.

The Changeling shoots Topaz a grateful look.

He was rushed through training along with hundreds of other drafted changelings to bring the Jaeger divisions up to strength before the invasion. The rest of the squad, well-trained, high-ranking veterans of the wars in Olenia and at home, don't hesitate to remind him of his inexperience. He is anathema to the fiercely loyal, expert infiltrators of the Jaegers.

Topaz winks back.

A plane buzzes directly overhead. None of the squad are concerned, comfortable in their hidden positions right at the edge of the treeline. The Changeling follows their lead and tries to stay calm, fighting a rising panic as the impending mission is brought back to the forefront of his mind.

"That one of ours?" asks a soldier. The Changeling can't tell who's speaking above the faraway bangs.

"Nah, EAF. Their propellers have the, uh, that rattle to them?" replies another. The voice is recognizable as Euchorite's.

The first soldier whistles appreciatively. "Damn, I've never noticed that."

"Quiet!" Aspen orders. At first it seems he's just annoyed by their conversation, but the Changeling realizes he's looking towards the building. A small blue light blinks from one of the upper-storey windows.

"The signal!" he gasps, only to shut his muzzle as everyling glares at him. "Sorry..."

Aspen ignores his outburst. "Remember: eight windows, two 'lings to a window, only one 'ling to each of the edge windows. Check your fire, especially with explosives. The little one stays with Topaz." He throws down the cigarette and crushes it with a hoof. "No prisoners."

The Changeling can feel adrenaline coursing through his body. This is it. He slings his rifle to his side and levitates the medic bag up to his back.

"If all goes well, we should be drinking beer with the spearhead by dawn." Aspen permits himself a small smile. "Move out."

Quiet whispers of 'hoorah' and 'yes, sir' ring out. The Changeling watches as the soldiers slink out from the trees and silently move forwards in formation. With their perfectly black uniforms, and the moon drowned out by approaching storm clouds, they are nearly invisible.

Topaz stops at the edge of the trees. "Keep behind me, and do exactly as I say. Don't panic," he says over his shoulder.

The Changeling nods and follows as they gallop towards the building, his medical equipment and backpack full of various essential supplies both weighing him down. He feels suddenly exposed as they leave the trees, acutely aware of the guns ready to rip them apart in a merciless volley. It seems strange to charge towards their demise.

The building comes into sharp detail as they draw closer. Heavy, worn stone blocks at the base tell of the building's age, with wooden window frames and a sloping roof with a distinct architectural style reminding the changelings they are now in Equestria.

They slow down to a near crawl as they approach. The Changeling instinctively adopts a stalking posture, lowering his barrel to the ground to make himself less visible.

Bang!

Every changeling in the squad flinches as an explosion rumbles close by. Looking around wildly, the Changeling sees ash and debris being thrown up from the forest.

"Stray shell," whispers Topaz. The Changeling nods back, heart pounding against his chest.

The formation slowly begins moving forward again. They keep steadily creeping forward as a series of loud bangs erupts from the upstairs windows.

The Changeling focuses on his breathing, trying to calm down; this is part of the plan. The ace in the hole: two infiltrators embedding themselves in the ponies' defenses, passing detailed information on to the changelings and, now, helping them take the enemy by surprise.

They reach the wall just as the first burst of gunfire ends. The windows are set far above the ground here, probably to deter any wild animals.

It provides the perfect cover for the changelings, who press against the wall just under the windows. A pony would only be able to spot them if they leaned out of the window and look directly down.

Topaz and the Changeling duck under a window, just to the left of Aspen and Cilian. They unsling their rifles.

The electric lights cast a soft glow on Topaz's face. It is cold, determined, focused. It barely seems like it belongs to a living changeling.

The Changeling wonders what his own face looks like, right now. Does his terror show?

They wait as the sound of gunfire ends. The Changeling knows what has to come next. He hates it.

"Topaz." The word is a whisper, barely discernable above the ambience.

Topaz's ear twitches in response. His glowing green eyes flick towards the Changeling.

"Topaz, I don't want to do it."

There is a pause. Topaz thinks, and nods.

"Just stay behind me. You don't have to ki- to use your gun," he whispers back.

The Changeling nods appreciatively. If it was anyling else, he would have been told to shut his muzzle and follow orders like a good soldier. He wouldn't have held it against them, either. This is no time to be modifying plans.

There's some kind of commotion inside. The Changeling strains his ears, trying to filter out the noise as he listens for the signal.

Sure enough, it comes.

"Green!"

"Fire!" orders Aspen. In unison, the changelings stand on their hind legs and point their rifles inside, unleashing a volley of death on any ponies there.

The Changeling doesn't pull the trigger.

As planned, he quickly slings his rifle and helps boost Topaz up through the window, then climbs through himself with buzzing wings. His small form and full saddlebags make it a struggle, but he eventually tumbles through the frame.

It's pure chaos inside the large hall. The gunfire should have broken the ponies and left the changelings with the simple job of cleaning up. Instead, mostly uninjured and ready ponies crawl from behind scattered tables and decorative shelves to brawl with the changelings. They clearly had time to react to the ambush. Something has gone wrong.

The Jaegers may be outnumbered, but they're elite units of a military hardened by war, facing against ponies who have only ever killed straw dummies and wooden targets.

Topaz shoves a pony back from the window and drives a levitated knife into his exposed barrel. The Changeling winces and looks away, trying to process what's happening.

With their backs to the wall, the Jaegers fight at a severe disadvantage, forced to gamble their lives with every step they take backwards. The Changeling realizes he's not helping in the slightest and fumbles for his rifle. He levitates it around wildly as Aspen is thrown to the floor next to him by a pair of ponies.

"No firearms, Private! You'll hit our own 'lings." Aspen spits blood on the floor and gets up, drawing a knife into his mouth from its sheath on his hoof. "Stay wif Topaz," he mumbles around the knife before charging back towards the ponies.

With some relief, the Changeling lets the heavy gun drop to the floor. He isn't sure he'd be able to pull the trigger if pressed with the decision.

A sudden yell makes him spin around. A blue-furred pegasus hurtles past Topaz, charging straight at the Changeling with a raised rifle. The sharp steel bayonet quickly closes in on the Changeling's chest.

He panics and grabs and holds a nearby chair in front of himself. The pony yells as he drives the bayonet into the thick wood, throwing the Changeling to the ground. He struggles to hold up the heavy chair as the pony presses the rifle down.

The chair creaks as a leg snaps off, crushing his barrel between the seat and the floor.

He can't breathe. The floor is so cold. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, lungs desperately trying to draw in air, as he attempts in vain to free himself.

With nowhere else to look, he stares into the pony's eyes. Silently he pleads for mercy.

Horror and disgust looks back at the Changeling. The pony's face flicks rapidly between the two emotions as he soundlessly mutters something. The Changeling can't hear it over the sharp ringing in his ears.

All of a sudden, the weight lifts. The Changeling rolls onto his side, gasping for breath. Through his blurred vision he can see a grey form repeatedly driving a blade into the neck of the pony.

Blood sprays into the Changeling's face. He shakily climbs to his hooves and reaches for his cap. He scrunches it up and tries to smear off the bright red ichor as best he can.

"Are you alright?" Topaz stands over the lifeless form of the pony. He's drenched in sticky, scarlet blood, marring his grey and black surface and uniform. He blinks at the Changeling, as if confused by the stare he's receiving.

"Little one? Do you-?"

The Changeling stumbles to the window and leans out, retching. Nothing comes out. He simply stands there gulping down as much air as he can, forehooves and head resting on the windowsill. The grim scene of storm clouds steadily creeping closer only makes his chest feel tighter.

As the nausea passes, he becomes aware of the commotion fading. He risks a glance back into the room, avoiding looking at the body of the pony.

Rifles, ammunition, uniforms, bandages, letters, and other personal belongings litter the floor of the bar-like room. It's a strange mix of warzone and temporary living quarters. Jaegers move around the overturned tables and corpses. They check bodies and ruthlessly execute anyone unlucky enough to be left alive. No prisoners.

A series of bangs suddenly erupts throughout the room. The Changeling dives away from the window and finds himself taking cover behind a table with Topaz, near the door.

Waiting for a gap in the gunfire, the Changeling risks a peek over the table. A rifle pokes through the shattered glass of one of the windows in the front of the building, just besides the shut door. Scattered volleys tear through tables and walls, keeping the changelings cowering behind cover.

"There's three or four ponies right outside," Cilian shouts above the noise.

"I saw six," Aspen corrects. "We'll take them down. Check ammo and guns first. Is anyling injured?"

"Scarlet, Crista, and Taxon are down, sir."

"Down? Dead?"

Cilian's voice cracks. "Dead, sir."

"I see."

"Euchorite's gone too," another changeling reports. "The bastards shot him before he had a chance to fight back."

The Changeling winces. That's nearly a quarter of the squad, wiped out in just a couple of minutes. He doesn't recognize the name of Scarlet. He guesses it was one of the infiltrators.

"Captain, I'm closest to the door. I'm going for it. Grenade through the window. Little one, you're with me," orders Topaz.

"Roger that. The rest of you, move up as soon as that damn gun stops firing," Aspen shouts back.

Topaz glances over his shoulder. "You're OK, little one?"

"Yeah- yeah..." mumbles the Changeling. He's surprised to find his rifle still in his hooves. He doesn't recall picking it up.

"Hey- don't worry." Topaz looks back, smiling at him. With his blood-drenched muzzle and cold, pale eyes, it's not very convincing. "We'll get through this."

He suddenly drops the warm manner for a more matter-of-fact one. "We'll hug the wall till we reach the door, and I'll chuck 'em a grenade. The moment you hear the explosion, we're going through. Kill on sight."

The Changeling's breathing speeds up. "I don't want to-"

"Grow the fuck up, then," Topaz snaps in a suddenly harsh tone. "Four good 'lings are already dead. You want to be next?"

The Changeling flinches. "No- no, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Everything alright, Topaz?" Aspen shouts over.

"Yes, Captain. We're going- NOW!"

Topaz bounds out of cover and rushes for the door. Hesitating for only a moment, the Changeling gets up and follows, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his flanks.

He keeps going even as the rifle continues firing- the enemy soldier can't see them at this angle, thanks to how close they are to the wall. They reach the door safely.

After checking the Changeling is behind him, Topaz levitates up a grenade and pulls the pin with his mouth. He smoothly tosses it out the window.

Four seconds of hushed calm. Then the storm.

The entire front of the building rattles with the tremendous force of the explosion. Coughing out dust and wooden debris, the Changeling throws open the door and rushes out into the dark.

"Wait!" Topaz shouts. The Changeling stops in his tracks, unable to see anything through the dark. There's a loud creaking sound all around him. Feeling uneasy, he starts backing up.

The creaking intensifies above him. He looks up just as the roof of the porch caves in. Heavy pieces of wood and brick rain down, threatening to crush him under their weight.

Topaz leaps out the door and covers the Changeling with his body, shielding him as the last bits of the roof and front wall collapse.

The roaring noise subsides. Dust slowly settles on the Changeling's face. He blinks the soot out of his eyes. A heavy weight lies still over him.

"Topaz?" he chokes out.

The weight shifts. Debris tumbles to the ground as Topaz stands up, bruised and even more bloody.

He silently helps the Changeling to his hooves. They stand among the rubble, catching their breath and listening to the pained moans of a surviving pony.

"Lieutenant!" comes a shout from behind the collapsed wall. "Private! Anyling alive?"

"We're here, Captain." Topaz sorts through the debris with labored movements and extracts a rifle. He passes it to the Changeling. "We're alright."

"What were you thinking, Topaz? Anti-tank grenades? It's a hundred-year-old building, dammit, half the ceiling came down on us," Aspen shouts, his voice muffled. There's a distinct tremor to it the Changeling has never heard before. "Thank the Queen, we've only got minor injuries in here. We'll be with you in a minute."

Topaz ignores him, still searching through the rubble. The Changeling peers out into the dark as his vision readjusts to the poor light.

"Hey- hey, there's some ponies out there. I think they're running away." He can see two forms rushing down a trail away from the building, towards a small shed. He doesn't make a move. He's exhausted, barely able to balance on his hind legs.

"What?" Topaz looks up, following the Changeling's gaze. His expression sharpens. "Give me the gun. We can't let them escape."

The Changeling pauses, glancing down at his rifle, and back up. Topaz holds out a hoof.

Behind him, a pony soldier rises to his hooves. The soldier raises a bayoneted rifle over his head.

"Hey-"

Topaz is already dodging to the side. He grabs the pony by the front hoof and they both tumble into the rubble, fighting for control of the rifle.

"Take them out!" Topaz yells. "Don't worry about me, little one!"

The Changeling nods even though Topaz can't see him. He rises up on his hind legs and looks down the sight of the gun, carefully selecting a target. The white-furred soldier is easy to see even in the dark, bright blue mane visibly poking out from beneath his helmet.

The gun sways gently with his breathing, the sights lining up with the pony's mane. He can do it. He can pull the trigger now, and death will meet this pony.

It won't hurt. It won't take very long.

He puts his hoof on the trigger.

It'll just take a little tap.

There's a shout as, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Topaz ruthlessly driving the bayonet into the soldier. A single drop of blood streaks across the air and lands on the Changeling's muzzle.

It won't hurt.

The pony turns, as if alerted by some higher force. Their eyes lock as the pony freezes.

A deer in the headlights of a tank.

He pulls the trigger. The rifle jumps in his hooves as a bullet screams towards the enemy...

...only to impact a suddenly materializing forcefield. It grows in size, forming a protective arc around the ponies.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Shoot it again!" Topaz raises his rifle and fires off a series of shots. They impact the shield with immense force, sending cracks through it like lightning, but still the shield holds.

The Changeling unsteadily fires his own rifle. It feels somewhat cathartic to shoot at the inanimate shield. No hard choices to make here.

"Don't stop," orders Topaz. He fishes around the debris for a magazine to fit his Equestrian gun.

The Changeling complies, squeezing the trigger again, and again, and again, till the hammer clicks empty. He ejects the magazine and clumsily loads a second one as the rest of the Jaegers join them, having shifted apart the rubble enough to escape the building.

"Lieutenant, what's going on?" Aspen pulls off his cap and shakes the dust out. His fin twitches irritably.

"Captain, the little one-" Topaz hesitates and looks over to the Changeling. "I saw two ponies trying to escape, Captain. I tried to shoot them but missed," he says dully before letting off another few rounds.

"Right..." Aspen nods at the shield. Even at this distance, it casts a soft blue glow over his face. "What are they trying to achieve? There's nowhere to escape to. The moment we destroy that shield..."

The rest of the Jaegers take his implied order and spread out, slowly advancing on the shield. Like a well-oiled machine they slowly break it down with a constant volley of coordinated fire.

A single raindrop falls on the Changeling's muzzle. He looks up. The storm is upon them.

"You too, Private," says Aspen drily from behind him. "The faster we take down that shield, the faster we can move on."

"Oh- yes, sir." He levitates the rifle alongside himself as he joins the formation. With such a huge target there's no need for the accuracy and stability that comes with physically holding the gun.

The cracks in the shield rapidly spread in a web pattern, heavily distorting the light given off by the magical construct. Red, green, violet rays shine in every direction, cutting straight through the darkness. The rays only seem to grow in brightness as the soldiers continue firing.

"That pony's suicidal," gasps one of the Jaegers. There can't be any other explanation. The amount of magic expended would have irreversibly damaged all but the best sorcerers. Unicorns are innately better at magic than changelings, yes, but this... this is unnatural.

The Changeling goes through one, two, three magazines. Still, the light gets brighter, consuming the Changeling's vision till he is firing blindly. There is nothing left in his world but a show of light and sound and rain.

And, just as suddenly, it ceases. There is darkness.

The Changeling pulls the trigger one last time.

A unicorn falls to the ground.

He rushes forward, throwing his gun aside in his haste. Thunder booms and crashes as lightning burns distorted photographs of the world.

The unicorn lays limp in the dirt. For a horrible second, the Changeling thinks he- no, she- is dead, but as he draws closer he can see her barrel rising up and down with shallow breaths. A pool of something dark- blood- soaks into the ground.

The Changeling knows. He did this. He shot this pony. Did he do this? Did he shoot a pony?

The shouting of his fellow Jaegers barely reaches his ears. They rush past, ignoring the Changeling and the stranger.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You'll be alright," the Changeling whispers in Equestrian language as he crouches down and sets his medical bag on the ground. He doesn't know if he said that to comfort himself, or the pony.

He opens the bag and clumsily sorts through his carefully packed and organized supplies. He doesn't remember where anything is.

The storm intensifies. Water drips down his muzzle and onto the pony's fur.

The pony gurgles weakly, blood trickling down her muzzle. The Changeling finally locates the entry wound near the unicorn's neck; it's barely visible through her fur. He did this.

It's bad. He cuts a bandage and lays it on the wound, pressing down. The bleeding barely slows.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it," he whispers.

The unicorn's eyes open. Pale, pain-stricken pupils flick in his direction. Judgmental. He did this.

"I didn't mean it," he cries more loudly. The blood soaks through the bandage, mixing with the rainwater till he can't tell what is water and what is life.

Two sets of hooves near. The Changeling looks back. Aspen and Topaz are slowly approaching him.

"Help me!" he begs. "She's in pain!"

Topaz looks crestfallen. "Little one, it wasn't your fault. There's-"

"Go round up the soldiers, Lieutenant." Aspen's cold, crisp voice cuts through. "Have them bury the bodies."

"But, Captain-"

"Go, Lieutenant," Aspen orders, more sternly. Topaz nods and gallops off down the path.

"Help me..." The unicorn's time is running out.

Aspen stares down at the Changeling.

"Two of the ponies escaped. In a truck. We can't attack the town. We'll wait here for the spearhead to arrive."

A pause.

"What do you think about people, Private?"

The question is so bizarre, so disconnected from reality, that the Changeling almost finds it... funny.

"People? How is that-?"

Aspen interrupts him, nodding at the unicorn. "This person killed a changeling. Your comrade. Shot her from behind without a thought."

There's silence. The only noise is the rain pattering down and the quiet gurgles of the dying unicorn.

Aspen fishes out a box of cigarettes from his uniform and carefully levitates one up.

He attempts to light it despite the rain as he continues speaking. "And now this person has been shot herself, and all's right with the world, some would say."

The Changeling tenses up, preparing a response.

"It doesn't feel right, though," Aspen proceeds. "None of this feels right. It feels horrible."

"...is this some kind of horrible psychology lesson to you? This pony is going to die," the Changeling gasps out. He's feeling increasingly disgusted with the aloof Captain.

Aspen ignores him. "And I think that's because, if the two of you met in any other place? Two strangers, visiting a bar, or bumping into each other on the street? You might have been friends." He tries once again to light the cigarette in vain.

"You wouldn't have shot her. Here... you simply acted under pressure."

"That's not an excuse. I've killed her." The Changeling realizes he's not applying any pressure on the gushing wound. It doesn't matter anyways. He can't save her. He did this. A sob tears from his throat. "I've killed her..."

Aspen shakes his head. "No, that's not it... that's not it at all. The calm is here, the pressure is gone, and you're trying to save this wretched pony."

"Which do you think is the real person, Private?" He lights the cigarette a final time. "The one that acts in calm? Or the one that acts under pressure? Which is the real you? The real me? The real Topaz?"

It stays lit. With a satisfied puff, Aspen begins to trot away.

"Sir?" The voice is barely discernable above the storm.

He stops, ear twitching in response.

The Changeling runs a hoof along the pony's fur. Her eyes are closed again. "Does it get easier?"

Aspen understands.

"For some people."

"I don't think I'm one of those people, sir." Another sob wells up. He doesn't feel disgusted anymore. Just exhausted. "God, I'm..." he trails off, unable to find the words.

Aspen turns back. "Why are you still holding her, Private?" he asks gently. "She's dead."

The Changeling thinks. "No. She's dying. Wouldn't you like someone to keep you warm as you die?"

A beat.

"...I think I would, Private." Aspen turns to go, inhaling another lungful of tobacco. "I think I would."

A changeling sits alone in the storm, hooves and uniform bloodied, clutching a corpse.