General Nestor Lunin did not so much wake up, as she was rudely awakened. This had been the case for pretty much every morning she’d had the misfortune of spending in New Ayacachtli, but whereas her usual alarm clocks had been the howling winds of passing monsoons or the distant popping of gunfire, today’s disturbance was far more insidious.
Her troops were singing.
Nay, worse than that; they were caroling.
Lunin was quick to roll out of bed, and got through her morning routine in record time. She showered in two minutes flat, dried her sapphire fur and silver mane with a vigorous rub of the towel, before brushing the latter into some Red Army regulation curls. As she began to dress herself, she hollered for her aide, colonel Makachenko, and heard the polite rapping of her hooves against the bedroom door not ten seconds later.
“You can come in, colonel.” Lunin said aloud, just as she slid herself into her officer’s jacket.
The colonel did let herself in, fully dressed as well, and doing her level best to hide her nerves from her commander. Unfortunately her level best wasn’t very good at all; Makachencko was a short, lithe pegasus with sherbert fur and a burgundy mane, whose shining green eyes couldn’t help but betray her every emotion. She no doubt knew what Lunin was going to ask her about already. “Yes, comrade general?”
The general led her to the window of her bedchamber, so they could observe the disturbance in person. After liberating Chiropterra’s capitol and securing the surrender of their army, the Stalliongrad Expeditionary Force had set up their headquarters in a disused sugar plantation on the outskirts of New Ayacachtli proper. The officers took residence in the manor house, while the enlisted ponies repossessed the quarters of the slaves they had freed, or else made camp in the disused fields.
Lunin’s bedroom just so happened to have a fantastic view of the main camp, from which she and Makachenko could observe an entire brigade’s worth of ponies drinking, dancing, and belting out holiday tunes at the top of their lungs.
“Colonel,” Lunin began, “Can you please explain to me why our ponies are making complete and utter fools of themselves?”
Makachenko swallowed, avoiding eye contact. “Well, comrade general, they appear to be celebrating Hearth’s Warming.”
Lunin gave an instinctual sneer at the mention of that accursed holiday, taking a moment to remind herself what time of year it was. You could hardly tell at a glance in Chiropterra, the weather was always either pouring rain or suffocating humidity.
“Hearth’s Warming, Hearth’s Warming… yes, today would be the day. And are any of our comrades aware that celebrating such an a-historical, superfluous, Equestrian holiday is a total deviation from Marksist doctrine?”
The colonel stammered out some meager excuse. “Well, comrade general, as you know, Secretary-General Wheatin did lift the ban on religious observances a few months ago, a-and of course our allies here in North Zebrica are much more lax about such things—”
Lunin slammed her hoof into the floor, making Makachenko jump. “I couldn’t give a damn about those armchair revolutionaries in the Politburo, or the crypto-Harmonist hippies in Mount Aris we’ve been sent here to bail out! How long is it going to take before we’re ready to sail for Abyssinia, colonel?”
Makachenko chanced a glance at where Lunin’s hoof had struck the floorboards, noticing that they had cracked under the force of her blow. “Fuck, I wish that were me…” she muttered.
“Answer the question, colonel!”
Makachenko jumped, doing just that. “Three weeks, by last estimate, comrade general.”
“Three weeks! When we’re already a month behind schedule! Because it rains six days a week in this shithole, and the Wingbardian Air Force uses the seventh day to bomb every railroad from here to Hippogriffia! The very last thing we need at a time like this is petty distractions.”
Makachenko put her hoof up, as she saw her commander getting increasingly agitated. “I understand what you’re saying, comrade general, it’s just that… this campaign, it’s been hard on everypony, and the other officers and I, we thought the troops could use a day off…”
“Wait a minute, you and the other officers?” Lunin took a few steps closer, getting right in Makachenko’s face. “Are you saying you all knew of this foolishness in advance? And you didn’t bother to tell me?”
Makachenko looked like she desperately wanted to smack herself upside the head for her own slip-up. Instead, she stammered out an excuse. “Well, we uh, we didn’t think it so pressing an issue that you had to concern yourself with it, comrade general…”
Lunin scoffed. “Unbelievable, unbelievable! My own staff, after all we’ve been through, conspiring against me!”
The colonel swallowed again. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it in such harsh terms—”
Lunin stomped her hoof again. “Shut up! I’ll deal with disciplining you later, colonel. For now, you’re coming with me; we are going down there and putting a stop to this idiocy before it can further sully the honor of the Red Army.”
Makachenko let out a miserable little whine, before falling in line with her raging commander as she stomped out of the bedchamber.
The manor was sprawling, but the general’s bedroom adjoined the main staircase, which in turn led directly towards the foyer and the front door. As such, Lunin hardly had to trot five steps before she laid eyes upon the very last creature she wanted to see in that instant, chatting with a couple more of her officers at the bottom of the stairs.
Princess Skystar was looking as chipper as ever, even if her regal aura was muted somewhat by her Revolutionary Worker’s Party uniform. That outfit was the only thing that reminded Lunin to correct herself; this little noble had renounced the title of Princess when she had sided with the Hippogriff communists during the revolution, and began her little love affair with their leader, Posada. The very thought of it made Nestor sneer; once a pig, always a pig, that was her view on the matter.
The Hippogriff looked up at her with a with a smile, waving her wing up at her by way of greeting. “Ah, comrade Lunin, glad to see you’re finally awake!”
Nestor had made it to the bottom of stairs by the time she replied. “Skystar. Did you have something to do with all that lunacy going on outside?”
The ex-Princess shook her head. “Oh no, that was all the colonel’s idea. We don’t even celebrate Hearth’s Warming in Hippogriffia; no need to beat back the cold when it’s sunny all year round!”
Those words made the general growl, shooting a quick, fiery gaze towards the terrified colonel, before rounding back on the chipper young hippogriff. “Right, but you still made time to come here and join in on the festivities, instead of doing your job coordinating our naval forces for the liberation of Abyssinia.”
Skystar shrugged. “The destroyers we need won’t be here for another week at least; I figured a day off couldn’t hurt. It’s done wonders for morale so far, we even got some of the locals joining in!”
This news just made Lunin all the more irate. “The troops have been cavorting with the locals? Those reactionary settler-colonial theocrats?”
“Oh come now general, they’re not all like that; our mission here is to liberate Chiropterra, not raze it to the ground.”
Now it was Skystar’s turn to have Nestor get all up in her mug. “My mission, princess, is to win this clusterfuck of a war you’ve gotten yourselves embroiled in, so that my troops and I can go home. I can hardly accomplish that mission if you insist on conspiring with my staff to annihilate the cohesion of both our forces with this stupid holiday party!”
Skystar was unphased by the general’s shouting. “Are you alright, general? You’re sweating.”
Nestor looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel. “Nevermind if I’m alright or not! I am putting a stop to this Hearth’s Warming nonsense right this instant!”
Before Skystar or Makachenko could stop her, Lunin was bursting out the front door of the manor house, into the sprawl of ponies and tents that was the Expeditionary Force camp.
Naturally, it was utter chaos; ponies were drinking, dancing, singing, and generally making merry in a disorderly mass as far as the eye could see. The usual ranks seemed to have evaporated overnight; majors and captains were prancing about with the lowliest of privates, while NCOs dispensed fresh eggnog from oversized wooden kegs.
Of course, everybody in the Expeditionary Force recognized their general at a glance, and it wasn’t long before she was damn near surrounded by her jolly troops, who began barraging her with an onslaught of season’s greetings.
“Happy Hearth’s Warming, general!”
“Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
“Have you tried the eggnog, general? It’s delicious.”
“Here, have a glass!”
“And these cookies! We got them from a local bakery, I dunno how they turned out this good with the rationing.”
“Happy Hearth’s Warming, comrade!”
The cheeriness was overwhelming, and to Nestor, downright insulting. Here these ponies were, spitting on the sacrifice of their fallen comrades, jeopardizing the progress they’d made since arriving in North Zebrica, all in the name of eggy booze and biscuits! She was half a second short of snatching a mug of eggnog out of the nearest troop’s hoof and beating them over the head with it, when she felt a set of talons rest upon her shoulder.
It was Skystar, the ex-Princess shooing some of Nestor’s troops away with her wings. “Come on now, everypony, is that how greet your commander at a time like this? Why, we wouldn’t even be having this little celebration if it wasn’t for her! Let’s hear it for General Lunin!”
A Lieutenant in the back raised his mug in a toast, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the assembled troops followed suit. “To the general!”
“Hooray!”
Another pony, a sergeant, repeated the gesture. “To Comrade Skystar!”
“Hooray!”
“To the Red Army!”
“Hooray!”
“To Caramel Marks!”
“Hooray!”
“To the Revolution!”
“Hooray!”
That last cheer nearly rang Nestor’s ears, at which point the assembled troops took their leave, dispersing back into the wider festivities. The general was totally caught off-guard, too embarrassed to even try and halt her ponies as they returned to making merry.
She did, however, have the wherewithal to round on Skystar, who was looking unquestionably pleased with herself as she sipped on a mug of fresh eggnog. “You sneaky little monarchist, you have no right to manipulate my—”
The hippogriff pressed one talon to Nestor’s lips, shutting her up in an instant. “Lunin, buddy, do us both a favor; shut the fuck up and have some eggnog.”
She proceeded to shove her mug into Nestor’s face, bidding her to take a drink. Nestor herself didn’t quite know what possessed her to take that first sip; maybe it was that sweet smell, maybe it was Skystar and Makachenko’s stares, or maybe it was just her being exhausted from having spent her whole morning yelling at people.
Either way, that first taste was a transformative experience. She couldn’t recall ever actually having tried eggnog, except perhaps as a little filly, and the sensation as it hit her tastebuds made her eyes visibly widen.
Skystar had an awfully smug look on her face as Nestor swallowed the first sip. “So, how is it?”
Nestor had no doubt that her expression was priceless to Skystar, and Makachenko, the latter pony looking downright ecstatic at her commander’s change of tone. Still, the general did her level best to disguise her own sense of defeat. “It’s… good.”
The revelry continued all throughout the day. Drunkenness was the rule, not the exception; eggnog flowed in great rivers down the Expeditionary Force’s collective gullet, joined by copious volumes of vodka, rum, moonshine, and a sort of spiked, spiced hot chocolate native to Chiropterra.
Bereft of the conifers that might usually serve as Hearth’s Warming trees, the troops instead used the palm trees of the surrounding jungle, coating them in red ribbons and lengths of improvised tinsel made from bands of scrap metal. Beneath these foreign boughs, the ponies of the Red Army held secret gift exchanges, organized on a platoon or regimental level, swapping cartons of cigarettes, bottles of rum, and tchotchkes purchased from the locals.
And there was singing, endless singing. Sometimes it was grandiose, an entire platoon organized into a chorus, belting out a set routine. But more often it was entirely spontaneous, one soldier belting out a tune he remembered from his childhood, only to be joined by a few, then a few dozen, of his drunken comrades. Old Hearth’s Warming staples dominated the selection, but there was a good deal of marching tunes and patriotic hymns thrown in for good measure; Nestor must have heard the International fifty times that day.
For her part, the general was on her seventh glass of eggnog when she turned back to Makachenko, a warm smile on her face. “If we’d been organizing the damn landings as well as we had this party, we’d be in Abyssinia already!”
The colonel, who’d had plenty to drink herself, could only laugh out loud. “Do you ever think about anything else besides work, general?”
Nestor suddenly found herself looking into Makachenko’s big emerald eyes. She draped herself over the shorter mare, her eyes lidded in a sultry, drunken manner. “Well right now I’m thinking about you, colonel.”
The poor colonel was totally caught off guard by that statement, blushing far more profusely than she had been when Nestor was yelling at her earlier.
Luckily for her, Skystar had been right behind the both of them, watching their antics with a bemused expression. The cheery young hippogriff gave Nestor a playful push, which nonetheless managed to break up their embrace. “Get a room, you two!”
Nestor stuck her tongue out at Skystar, only for Makachenko, who’d suddenly found her nerves, to nuzzle right up beside her. “She has a point; we’re pretty close to getting back to the manor. We can have a white Hearth’s Warming in the privacy of your quarters.”
Now it was finally Nestor’s turn to blush, Skystar chuckling as she got ahead of the both of them. They made their way through a few more rows of tents, receiving occasional greetings and salutes from any soldiers who noticed them, but mostly passing without incident. Briefly, Nestor looked up at the sky, watching as stars began to come into view against the purplish backdrop. They’d been out all day, and it was already twilight; had time really flown so fast? And why did she wish that this day could last even longer?
Her musings were cut short when they arrived at the front lawn of the manor house. The scene they came across was unlike anything they’d seen before; hundreds of ponies, perhaps even a thousand, crowded around a wooden stage the troops had put up while they were away. As Nestor drew closer, she was able to see what was on that stage: the closing scene of a play recounting the Tale of Hearth’s Warming, the story of the three pony tribes banding together to drive out the Windigos and found Equestria.
Naturally, Nestor’s troops had made some edits to the more mainstream texts; these ponies were founding Severnaya, not Equestria, and they’d even gotten a volunteer from New Ayacachtli to portray the Thestrals, the fourth pony tribe. Of course, the closing carol was mostly unchanged, save for its translation into Severnayan so the rest of the crowd could belt it out with them. Nestor turned to see Makachenko and Skystar singing along, and despite herself, she too was muttering the last few verses with everyone else.
Once they were done, the performers took a bow, earning a standing ovation from the assembled crowd. Once the cheering had begun to die down, one of the soldiers-turned-thespians, a stocky earth pony of middling age, scanned the crowd for a moment before he noticed Nestor standing in the back.
Of course, he pointed right at her. “Say, it’s the general!”
That led all the troops to turn, and offer her their uncoordinated salutes. Another one of the performers, a lanky unicorn stallion, spoke up next. “What did you think of the play, general?”
Nestor, quite unprepared for this question, took a moment to respond. “Oh, I only caught the last bit of it, but… it was a good show. Commendations all around.”
That earned her a bow of thanks from the assembled thespians, and another round of cheering. Lunin would have been more than happy to take her leave then, but the ever-devious Skystar had other plans.
The hippogriff flapped her wings a couple times and took to the air, hovering a few feet off the ground so she could address the assembled ponies. “If you lot won’t mind, I’m sure the general would love to give you all a Hearth’s Warming address!”
As the performers and audience considered this statement, Nestor panicked, tugging on Skystar’s leg and shout-whispering up at her. “Skystar. Skystar, I cannot do this right now. I am drunk, Skystar!”
It was then that Nestor felt the brush of a wing against her flank, just as the performers began leaving the stage for their commander. It was Makachenko, coming to her side to give her a pat on the head… and a little peck on the cheek.
“You’ll do fine, you’re great at thinking on your feet. It’s what makes you a good general.”
Nestor turned over to her subordinate/possible lover, looking at those big beautiful eyes staring up at her with the utmost confidence. It was all the encouragement she needed.
She followed Skystar’s lead in taking flight, flapping herself right over to the stage and landing with a heavy thud, miraculously still on all four hooves. She turned to face the crowd, all her soldiers looking up at her, and took a couple seconds to find her beginning.
“I’d just like to start off,” she began, “by having a moment of silence, for all the good ponies we’ve lost on this campaign so far.”
She bowed her head in reverence, doffing her officer’s cap with her hoof. The rest of her ponies followed suit, their silence near absolute, a far contrast to the musical festivities that had taken up the rest of the day so far.
After what felt like a respectable amount of time, Nestor raised her head. “I’ll be honest, comrades… It took a lot of convincing to get me to sign off on this celebration.” She looked over at Skystar and Makachenko, both mares grinning knowingly at her remarks. “We still have a lot to do to prepare for the next stage of this campaign, and of course, the superstitious and consumerist undertones of this distinctly Equestrian holiday… well, it’s not exactly in line with Marksist orthodoxy.”
That earned a few chuckles from the crowd. Most of her ponies had learned a lot from their Hippogriff allies; Skystar herself was proof positive that the phrase ‘Marksist orthodoxy’ was a contradiction in terms.
Nestor was aware of this as she continued. “However, the more time I spent with you all today, the more I came to understand how much we all needed a day like this. And I’m not just talking about a day off work, though I’m sure you all appreciated that as much as I did. Nor am I referring to all this delicious eggnog, which we can all agree, is to die for.”
That last bit earned a cheer of agreement, which Nestor paused for before continuing. “No, in watching you all conduct yourselves today, sharing your music and dance and drink, giving each other gifts with no expectation of reciprocation, I came to view this little holiday as something… greater, than a consumerist shopping spree or a fairy tale about the founding of Equestria. The generosity I saw, the love, the support, and the unconditional camraderie… To me, this is the closest any society has come to achieving real working communism.
“We needed Hearth’s Warming, not as a mere distraction, but as a reminder. A reminder of what we are fighting for, a reminder of what the Revolution is all about. We’ve spent the better part of a year here in Zebrica, sweating our flanks off in this accursed jungle, fighting tooth and nail against the fascists and reactionaries, for what? Not for wealth or honor or the glory of some despotic king or warlord, but for our comrades in Hippogriffia. For the peoples of this land, who’ve been so long oppressed and terrorized by the Chiropterran elite. And most of all, for the world we communists seek to create: a world free from the tyranny of kings and capitalists, a world where all the sapient creatures of the world might greet each other, not as strangers in a murderous market economy, but as siblings and comrades. A world based on generosity, equality, shared burdens and shared wealth, where everything is held in common, and all the creatures of the world might be free to become the best versions of themselves.
“That is why we are here, and that is why I am proud to call myself your general, as I know that every one of you would lay down your lives for this world that has yet to be born. And so comrades, I wish you all a happy Hearth’s Warming, and a hundred more Hearth’s Warmings to come!”
As Makachenko flew over to the stage to tackle her general into a kiss, the assembled crowd responded to the general’s speech with a single, unified cry: “Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
For the next six weeks, the weather in New Ayacachtli was unseasonably sunny. The Hippogriffs managed to send a couple wings of fighters to watch the skies for Wingbardian air power, while the destroyers arrived precisely on schedule, along with an entire division of Seapony marines.
The best news, however, came from across the channel; the Abyssinian Liberation Army, the main guerilla movement fighting the Wingbardian occupation, managed to capture the northern tip of the country, along with several port cities. This made it so the SEF didn’t have to chance a dangerous naval invasion, and could instead disembark at a friendly port and get right to work pushing the fascist Griffons out of the rest of the country.
Of course, they were on a time crunch to exploit that opening; the Wingbardians were hammering the ALA positions hard, and their front could collapse at any moment. Luckily, the ponies of the Stalliongrad Expeditionary Force were ready in record time, loading their armor and equipment onto their newly arrived transports, and getting ready for the next leg of their journey.
As General Nestor Lunin stood on the bow of her own destroyer, watching their great red fleet sail out from New Ayacachtli, she felt a familiar hoof wrap around her shoulder.
“I told you the troops needed a day off.” Makachenko said with a smirk.
Nestor chuckled, returning her embrace. “I suppose I’ll have to concede your point; the effect on morale was nothing short of miraculous.”
“Not just for them, but for you, too; you’ve been downright cheery since the holiday.”
Nestor nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry for how abrasive I was earlier. I was stressing too much about the delays, thinking of how everything could go wrong.”
“You don’t have to apologize, general; anyone would be stressed in your position.” The colonel nuzzled herself into the crook of Nestor’s neck, a maneuver the general had never ceased to find absolutely adorable. “Here’s hoping we’ll be back in Stalliongrad for next Hearth’s Warming.”
Nestor turned to watch the fleet again, and the great wide sea beyond it, the rays of the sun shimmering against the azure waves. She hadn’t the slightest clue what the future held for her, or her troops, or the war as a whole. But for a reason she couldn’t quite place, she was feeling optimistic.
“Here’s hoping.”
Author's Note
Y'all have no idea how badly I wanted to name this "Christmas in Chiropterra," but sadly Jesus does not exist in Equestria so I am denied my alliteration. Anyway, hope you all enjoy my first published foray into writing for EAW.
Also Makachenko is an OC purely of my own making, looooooooosely based on my gal Gwendolyn. Nestor meanwhile is Stalliongrad's actual field marshall in the mod, having been demoted to merely a general here. Apologies in advance if this portrayal of her is OOC.
