The Unbroken Chain

06:00 - 02/10/1010 - Ursagrad, Chiropterra

“Chiropterra has been invaded by a combined force from Aris and Colthage mere hours ago. As of tonight, we are at war.”

When Abdaz switched the workplace radio on, those words froze the blood in his veins solid. He barely made out the rest of the announcement before he shook himself back into the present, forcing himself to listen.

“Martial law has been declared. Premier Auburn Leaf has invoked emergency authority and has postponed the upcoming Commonwealth Congress elections for the foreseeable future. Already, the call has been made out to our loyal troops to begin mobilisation. All citizens and residents of the Commonwealth are expected to follow the orders of military personnel until the enemy has been defeated.”

How had he not noticed something was wrong? How was this the first he’d heard of this? Weren’t there signs? Maybe a moderately increased presence of military vehicles on the street? He wasn’t paying attention at the time, he didn’t know what to look for. All seemed normal, until…

“The Arisian monarch, Queen Novo, recently approved measures to impose military law and suspend parliament. She appointed Crack Lightning, current head of the Arisian military, as Prime Minister and granted him dictatorial powers with which he has used to formally declare a state of war against us. The Colthaginian Sufrit, Zalathel Zarca, issued a simultaneous declaration of war and stated his intent to reclaim and reunify…”

The announcement went into detail regarding what was known. Chiropterran ships sunk in ports by air attacks. Colthaginian artillery shelling the northern border. Seapony marines landing on Chiropterra’s shores. Coastal cities bombed without mercy. The entire country seemed to burst into flames all at once.

Azanit. The foals. Did Azanit know? They had a radio at home, what was she going to do? When was she going to hear about this? What could she do? What if an Arisian bomber squadron was headed to Ursagrad right now? How would they-

“Turn that off.”

Zalid’s voice cut through the thick air, steady but heavy. Abdaz flinched, the static chaos in his mind severed like a taut wire snapping.

“Turn the radio off for me, Abdaz,” Zalid called again, sharper this time, but with a weariness to it. “I need to talk to you all.”

The words raised the hairs across Abdaz’s coat. His hoof trembled as he reached out and silenced the radio. The room seemed to hold its breath. Only the low, monotonous hum of idle machinery lingered.

The workers shuffled closer, drawn toward Zalid like leaves spiralling in an unseen current. Nervous eyes darted about, sweat running from every forehead. Abdaz joined them, his legs feeling leaden.

Zalid exhaled a long, heavy sigh. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “You’ve heard the news.”

“We’re at war.” Spring Break, one of the newest hires, muttered aloud. His quivering words hung in the air for a moment. Then his tone cracked, and the dam broke. “Oh, Nightmare, I’m going to be called up. I’m going to die in a trench. I’ll be shelled to pieces. Or get sick, or starve, or-”

Zalid tried to interrupt. “Calm down, Spring.” To no avail.

“-or get captured!” Spring’s voice cracked, eyes wide with panic. “Tortured! Buried alive, and-”

“Spring.”

Abdaz’s voice cut clean through the rising tide of hysteria. He stepped forward and placed a hoof firmly on Spring’s shoulder. The young stallion froze, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

“Calm down. Let’s hear what Zalid has to say,” Abdaz said, his voice steady. Yet he felt his own heart pounding like a piston in his chest.

Spring stilled. The frantic edge faded from his eyes. Fear still framed him, but the fear was held in check. Oddly, the act of grounding the younger pony steadied Abdaz as well. It was as though he’d been gripping the rail of a storm-tossed ship and he had finally found footing on deck. Yet, they were still on an unavoidable collision course with the looming rocky shore. All eyes turned to Zalid.

Zalid cleared his throat, his voice steady but edged sharply. “As far as I know, nobody here is going to be conscripted to fight. The additives we produce are essential for the tires of army trucks, planes, and much more. That makes you all essential workers. It means your jobs are safe.”

The words didn’t land with the comfort Zalid might have intended. Abdaz already knew he wasn’t going to be called up to fight, he was too old for that. Safety from the draft didn’t matter. The looming shore was still there, vast and inescapable. The room felt like it was bracing for impact, just as he was.

“However,” Zalid continued, his voice darkening, “we’ve been ordered to shift our demands, Army and other forces are our first and only priority now. To meet the military’s demands, we’ll need extended shifts. Twelve-hour nights, no extra compensation. Possibly weekends, too.”

There it was. Impact. Abdaz didn’t flinch outwardly but his chest tightened as though his heart were being squeezed by razor sharp talons. Less time with his family. Less money for his family. Less security for his family when they needed it most. Less everything.

Zalid took a breath, his voice softening to a tone he must have hoped would soothe. “Just work your normal shift for tonight. We’ll see how things go in the week. Keep calm and carry on.”

But no one moved. The room was taut with unease, the workers frozen in their places, unsure of how to proceed.

Finally, Zalid broke the silence with a sigh. “I know you’re all scared and uncertain. But we have to carry on. That’s all we can do.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the group began to disperse, hoofsteps heavy as they shuffled toward their stations.

But Abdaz stood rooted in place, his hooves glued to the cold concrete. His breath hitched in his throat as the enormity of it all bore down on him like a collapsing building. He’d kept calm in front of the others, he’d swallowed the trembling that threatened to spill over. But he couldn’t let it go.

“Zalid, Zalid,” he called, his voice barely above a mutter but loud enough to catch Zalid’s attention.

“Yeah?” Zalid said, tone flat and weary as he turned his head.

“My family,” Abdaz began, his voice cracking. “My newborns at home. I need to know if they’re alright.”

Zalid didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. “I’ve got a family too, Daz, but I’ve also got a job to do.”

Abdaz clenched his teeth, his words trembling on the edge of release. “If something happens, I-”

“If something happened,” Zalid interrupted, his voice harsh and firm now, “we’d be the first to hear about it. You hear planes? You hear bombs? They’re as safe as they can be for time. You want to help your family? Then stay and work. Without capable hooves like yours, the country can’t defend itself.”

Abdaz wanted to argue, wanted to shout that his daughters meant more than any war or tire or truck. But the words died in his throat.

After a long moment, Abdaz nodded, his head heavy, turning back toward his workstation. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if every step weighed him down further. His hooves met the factory floor in uneven rhythms, his body trying to work while his mind churned with thoughts of home.

Barely five minutes had torn his world apart. Now he struggled with the wreckage.