Colonel Paul Werner and General Aryanne Land have a working, professional relationship, but their dynamic is put to the ultimate test with the threat of global conflict. Paul has a monumental task, and every reason to succeed.
The alliance between Equestria and Alemaneia continues to hold steadfast; Colonel Paul Werner and Generalfeldmarschall Aryanne Land's 'relationship' is at an all-time high... though that does not say much.
Things turn unprecedented, however, when Alemaneia becomes the victim. Actions against the state would never sit lightly with Aryanne, and she vows to unleash the entire military might of her nation against the offending foreign government... even at the threat of multi-state intervention in a to-be conflict. The world pleads with Equestria to rein in the fascist nation or risk a global conflict, and Paul is tasked with talking Aryanne's justified response down.
However, she'll only talk to him on one condition:
He must come to Alemaneia.
All the while, Paul must grapple with some of his biggest demons.
-Reading of 'Parallels' is not explicitly required, though highly encouraged if you want the surrounding details and lead-up. -Awesome base Aryanne art done by Antamoanimisan-m, sourced to derpibooru. (Their tumblr is NSFW)
“There we are, my dear,” came Paul’s thick-accented whisper as he lay Seerose on her bed.
The little one murmured and flailed her hooves towards the air. By muscle memory, she snuggled up to her pillow and lay on her left side. She then brought her front legs up to her chest and curled up with a tranquil smile as Paul covered her with her sheet and comforter… gradient red to match her favorite colors, and especially fuzzy to match the season.
He made sure she was snuggly tucked in for the night, then brushed a few locks of her crimson mane out of her peaceful face. As he expected, she was out like a light the moment she felt the presence of her little sanctuary in their home. She tended to do that after large outings that lasted the entire day; Paul liked to think he knew his adoptive daughter quite well by now.
The German soldier sighed out lovingly, then planted the gentlest of kisses on Seerose’s cheek.
“Gute Nacht, mein Röslein. Ich liebe dich.”
He stood up and reached for the light overlooking her bed, extinguishing the magical flame, and shrouding the filly’s room in darkness.
However, he did well to leave the curtains open just enough to let Luna’s moon peek through. Seerose was still a mite afraid of the dark, after all.
Paul slunk out of her room and softly closed the door behind him. There, he was left to himself within their humble abode: a simple one-story, three-bedroom house. It came equipped with a kitchen (and a fully-stocked fridge and pantry), suitable restrooms, and a living room with a fireplace.
Literally all the man could ask for.
Taking a deep breath, Paul ran his hand over the back of his neck and adjusted his baggy, long-sleeved shirt. Completing his casual, warm ensemble with sweatpants and fuzzy socks of his own, he fixed himself a glass of water and made his way to the living room. He still had some energy about him, so he would expend it before he too retired to bed.
Paul prodded the firewood in the fireplace with the poker, ensuring that the flames continued to cast their illuminating orange glow and warmth throughout the house. Sitting on the small couch, he happened to agree that all was in order.
He smirked, sighing once more at just how perfect everything was so far.
At least, to him.
Paul got to his feet once again and sauntered over to the living room closet, where he brought a plain-looking box down from a shelf. Taking it back to the couch and setting it on the table, he unlocked it with the dial and opened it up, revealing his last treasured possession to survive his sudden displacement:
His MP40 submachine gun.
While he always kept concealed his Luger pistol on him, his primary weapon issued to him as an officer of the Wehrmacht still held a proper place in his heart (though it took him some time to accept it. He preferred rifles). It saved his life on two occasions, but it was not practical to carry around on his new, daily routines.
Plus, it was not like there was plentiful ammunition for it, nor a need to use it. So, it was relegated to a special case, accessible to him and only him when he pleased.
One thing he did like to do was field-strip it and clean it; the whole process calmed his mind and put him into a much more relaxed, trance-like state.
So, he did just that.
Stripping the chassis away piece by piece with the finesse only a skilled soldier could have, Paul let his thoughts wander as they pleased.
As a relatively new father, said thoughts naturally drifted first to the filly fast asleep in her room.
Paul smiled, sighing out pleasantly as he was overcome with a wave of nostalgia. That was, nostalgia at the day he adopted her.
Just the hugest smile she gave him when he and the caretakers told her the news… and how she jumped into his arms squealing for joy while yelling ‘danke!’ over and over again. He would never forget it for as long as he lived, and how amazing he felt as a human being at that very moment. To him, it was one thing to bring a child into the world and raise them to be an upstanding citizen…
…but it was another thing entirely to give a home to a child whom no one wanted, and raise them as your own.
Even so, Paul’s smile faltered. That was not the only reason for his actions.
He wiped away some fingerprints from the top of the barrel of his weapon when the worst memory of his entire life assaulted him. He could remember every painstaking detail of that foggy day in Russia, year 1941. He would be promoted to Colonel a mere six months later, but the rank did not matter. What mattered was when he and his unit were sent to clear a small town of Soviet resistance… he could not even remember, nor pronounce the name of said town.
But Paul did remember, however, when a little Russian boy—not even pubescent—snuck up on him with a pistol.
He had no idea of knowing when that first, missed shot rang out behind him on that cold, unforgiving morning. All he knew was his training, and he could recall the precise muscle movements that entailed him swiveling around and gunning down that child with his Mauser issued to him at the time. He could see the bullet pierce his chest and exit out, the body thrown on its back like a ragdoll by the sheer force of the round… and all the blood, the scream.
And that fearful expression forever etched on that snuffed-out life’s face.
Paul had killed two Polish soldiers during that first invasion in 1939. He killed seventeen Russians as well.
And as much as he loathed to come to terms with it, he had killed a child.
His right fist was balled up tightly, knuckles white.
Paul never openly wept that day, nor ever, even as he painfully reminisced… but that moment forever changed him as a man. While he had always been critical of the leaders he served, his duty was to his country and his men. Though since that one mission, his questioning of what ‘all this’ was for came in unstoppable waves. The final straw was when he wasn’t supposed to learn about a type of ‘camp.’
From then on, he considered it his mission to see himself and more importantly, his troops out of the meaningless war alive.
Easier said than done.
That ferocious bombardment the Soviets unleashed on his position in 1943 was also something he took with him. He could hear the screams of his men as they tried to get to cover, or their cries as they were blown apart. That very strike was (well, he figured) what brought him to Equestria and gave him a second chance at life.
Even so, it pained him not knowing what happened to those who would rather follow him to their deaths than follow the Führer.
He could only hope that some had survived. Especially Joachim; he had five children and a gorgeous wife waiting for him at home.
Paul had always wanted a little girl to raise, love, cherish, and spoil to his heart’s content… though perhaps those feelings intensified upon that brutal day in Russia. Paul conceded that maybe a small part of him wanted to make up for that one life he took.
But one look towards Seerose’s room was all that was necessary for him to discredit that completely. She was not replacement value.
She was his daughter. And he loved her so much. He would do anything for her, and as divine intervention gave him another chance at a life he wished to live, he would swear on it that Seerose would never be without a parent ever again.
Which, of course, drew the German’s thoughts in another direction:
A mother.
Paul refitted all the pieces of his gun together and pulled the charging handle, completing the ensemble. He then set it on the table as he flopped his back against the back of the couch. His face became much more pensive.
Seerose never asked about a mother figure, nor any ‘Dad, where’s mom?’ types of questions. She was quite aware of her standing and position in life. The only thing she inquired about was, verbatim, “Papa, why don’t you have a special somepony?”
And that was a hurdle he had yet to cross.
Paul was not blind; a soldier develops keen eyesight and body-language reading skills. He lost count of the number of mares that had overtly flirted with him and hinted at less-than reputable activities.
Hell, even Lieutenant Sabre of the Lunar Guard outright asked him once “Oi, what else can those ‘fingers’ do, mate?”
Looking back on it, he probably would’ve accepted a date with her based on how hard he laughed… a laugh he needed.
But as he had admitted to himself many times, there would be a time when he would be ready to pursue that for himself. Right now, however, was just not the time.
That's when his thoughts shifted to a much more pressing subject in his life, namely his ‘partner in crime’ as it were.
Aryanne and he had a tenuous understanding thus far, and neither really discussed anything personal since that night of the first joint exercises. They wrote to each other regularly, as evident by the small stack of letters written in perfect German Script, each signed ‘Gfm A. S. Land,’ but nothing really out of the ordinary.
Their writings to each other were stoic and professional, mirroring their kindred yet wildly different personalities. Their words commonly tread the lines of battle plans, upcoming exercises, military movement questions, and the like. Only at the beginnings and ends of their business-oriented dealings did they exchange simple pleasantries; Aryanne would always ask how Seerose was doing, which Paul found oddly quaint.
He jumped in his seat at the sound of four hefty, metallic knocks at his door. All miscellaneous mental ramblings were killed at an instant.
His eyes shot suspiciously towards the clock hanging above the fireplace. Ten at night. Who in their right mind would be knocking at this hour? They were lucky they didn’t wake Seerose up.
Paul had half a mind to brandish that MP40.
Opening the door, however, changed his attitude entirely.
Standing in the open doorway, his eyes widened and he recoiled slightly.
“C-Celestia?!”
Indeed, there stood the regal alicorn with a detachment of four Guards behind her in the darkened street. Her posture was rigid and her face was more than a little disconcerted. Her flowing, ethereal mane flickered in the light the fireplace emitted, giving her a fierce, imposing presence.
“Paul,” she spoke solemnly, stepping into the foyer. “Something’s happened.”
Her tone brooked absolutely no argument, and within moments Paul had her seated on the couch with tea.
Even in perceived crisis, he still had to maintain host-hood of his household.
“I apologize I’m not presentable at all,” Paul said, running his hand though his un-brushed, dark hair.
Celestia chuckled, sipping on her hot drink.
“I should be the one apologizing, intruding on you like this this late at night… but there’s something you need to know.”
Paul nodded and Celestia willed a folded newspaper into existence via magic, tossing it onto the coffee table. The man picked it up by the fold and opened it up to the headline curiously.
The German language spoke to him immediately, and the newspaper title of Reichszeitung revealed that this was indeed an Alemaneian national newspaper.
Celestia remained silent as Paul scanned over the words, his face sullying and pupils shrinking at just the headline. He skimmed through the paragraphs.
“CATASTROPHE!
On this morning, November 19, a military parade down Kaiser Ross von Pferdlich Street was bombed by cowardly terrorists…
…104 ponies dead…
…General Aryanne Land was wounded but reportedly in stable condition…
…group ‘Freedom’s Hoof,’ a terrorist cell bankrolled by Mareitonia, has claimed responsibility for the gruesome attack…
…in a statement from the hospital, General Land has vowed to ‘unleash the entire might of the Alemaneian war machine against those responsible.’
Paul breathed in deeply as his hands tightened up. He tossed the paper back on the table.
Celestia spoke up:
“That was about three days ago. It took some time for the news to get to us, but we think it did just in time.”
Paul’s gears began turning inside his head.
“Aryanne was the target?”
Celestia nodded.
“Intelligence believes that was the case, though the ploy failed.”
“False-flag attack?”
Instead, she shook her head.
“No. We thought the same thing, that perhaps this was a setup gone wrong for Aryanne to seize power from Chancellor Unser. It looks increasingly more likely that Mareitonia did indeed finance this group that carried out the attack,” she said, speaking with the aid of her metal-clad hoof.
Paul nodded thoughtfully.
“Is Aryanne okay?”
He did not know why he even asked that question, but regardless, Celestia had an answer.
“She’s alive as the newspaper reported, and she has recovered mostly. She’s back on her hooves, but this is where things are going to get ugly…”
Paul leaned back into the couch seat, crossing his arms under his chest.
“She’s going to make good on her threat: as top brass of the Alemaneian military, she’s ordered a full mobilization. Troops are stacking up against the Alemaneian-Mareitonian border and their fleet has left its harbors.”
“But what does Mareitonia have to say about this?” Paul ventured.
Celestia sat her teacup down and crossed her hooves. Her face played host to an almost disbelieving look.
“The country has denied financing the terrorist cell, but to make matters unbelievably worse, said cell retreated back into their borders. The government is refusing the Alemaneian demand to turn over the known suspects.”
Paul mirrored the same sentiment.
“If the suspects known claimed responsibility, why would Mareitonia not hand them over?”
“Spite,” Celestia said plainly. “The country is home to a fair amount of batponies, if that makes things clearer.”
The German pursed his lips.
“Right. Well, regardless, Alemaneia is well in their right to retaliate with, at the very least, a precision strike. With an attack this large, they're somewhat in their right to start a conflict if the adversary is uncooperative,” he said.
“Exactly,” Celestia agreed. “I don’t think Mareitonia expected this much damage and Aryanne to actually make good on her threat with this kind of reaction.”
She looked Paul in the eyes, stared into him with an urgency that few in even the mighty German Army could produce.
“If Alemaneia invades, Mareitonia will fall in less than a month. Leaders from other neighboring nations are threatening to intervene if Aryanne orders troops across the border, and this will become a large-scale conflict.”
Paul still had one last, rather important question to ask.
“There’s all this talk about Aryanne, but what about Unser? He’s the damn supreme leader, surely he’d not authorize such a disproportionate retaliation…”
Celestia twirled her hoof, nodding.
“And again, things get complicated. The way the Alemaneian government works in scenarios like these is rather straight-forward: all members of the Reichstag will voice their opinions and ‘vote’ in a sense, though ultimately the Chancellor has the final say.”
Paul nodded in return.
“Naturally…”
“But for serious matters such as these, the process can be upended by what’s translated as ‘Formal Defiance.’ That is, having overwhelming support against the sitting leader to override their decision, forcing their hooves. It’s sort of a ‘checks and balances’ type of system, though it’s been historically used to quickly select new leaders through what is essentially a vote of no confidence,” Celestia explained.
Paul ran his palm up his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m assuming you’re telling me this not just for a history lesson, hmm?”
“Regrettably not, Paul. Due to the nature of the attack, Aryanne has filed such a motion of Formal Defiance when Unser shot down the idea of full-scale military action. She has near-unanimous support, even from new batpony ministers.
Paul sighed yet again.
“So she has no authority but her own now.”
“Precisely. That’s where you come in. You’ve been her partner, instrumental in our alliance. The world is pleading with us to do something before things get bloody, and Luna and I feel you’re the one to pull this off.”
Paul steeled his gaze and held his head high, itching his knuckles against the stubble on his angular chin.
“What will you have me do? If it’s trying to force sense into her dense head, I can do that.”
Celestial chuckled, sipping at her drink again.
“It’s not like we have much of a choice, anyway. The General refuses to speak to anypony but you,” she said, pointing her hoof at him.
“You need to convince her that this isn't the right way to go. If there is an invasion, three other powerful nations will counterattack. As skilled as Aryanne and the Alemaneian military are, they won't be able to hold their ground for an enormous amount of time.
“Further, if they get driven back, they will ask us for assistance, and despite no mutual defense clause, we must assist lest our credibility as an ally to others be tarnished.”
Paul held held his posture and nodded.
“Understood. When can I talk to her?”
“She will only talk to you on one condition: you need to go to her… in Alemaneia.”
The German fell silent for several seconds, yet his steely exterior never faltered. On the inside, however, he was thrown into disarray. He had only set foot twice in that god-forsaken nation in the dead of night to see and then pick up Seerose. He never wanted to go there again while things were still ‘weird’ there, and by all accounts, things were still plenty weird.
But this wasn't about his feelings. He'd let Aryanne and her nation burn for all he cared, but they were not alone in this. The whole world could potentially be dragged in… the world his daughter lived in.
That was something he would not allow while he had breath within him.
“Yes, Princess. I'll do what I must.”
The Princess held her head high and stretched her neck out, then looked down upon Paul with the most solemn expression he had ever seen.
“Paul…” came her first word, low and blunt. “I will not be sending my ponies to fight and die in a pointless war. You leave for Alemaneia first thing tomorrow. Time is not a luxury we can afford right now. Seerose will be taken care of by us personally in the castle while you are away, so rest assured, she will be in the best hooves.”
The regal alicorn then leaned forward, never breaking eye-contact. With the same tone, she conveyed with as much respect and love for him she had as a friend:
“Take care of this, Colonel.”
He nodded curtly one last time.
“Jawohl, meine Prinzessin.”
That was the end of the conversation, and both Princess and Colonel decided to part ways for the night. Instead of relaxing and sleeping late, Paul instead had to frantically pack for the journey overseas.
Though that was fairly easy, his stomach still felt hollow and painful… he was dreading facing down those bright sapphire eyes of his little girl, and telling her that he had to leave unexpectedly for about two weeks to deal with the fate of nations.
He may have been battle-hardened, but there were some things men were not meant to do.
Two in the morning and Paul had finished packing one suitcase, though mainly for the actual journey and not the stay. He had every intention of minimizing his presence in the nation that was an analogue of the one whose ideals he left behind… and so long as his uniform was good for two days (the boarding and the meeting), he did not particularly care.
He would also stow away his MP40… just in case.
Not like anypony was going to stop him, anyway.
He was all set, and to say that he was nervous would be an understatement. He had been sent to fight in a war and had nearly been killed on numerous occasions in the process, but not once had he been tasked with preventing a war.
And the sheer importance of what he had to do highlighted the fact that Seerose could not come with him on his trek. Her spry outlook at life and thirst for adventure would have made the journey that much more bearable, but alas, he knew the stakes. He could not afford to be distracted, and the Princesses, his friends, knew this as well as he.
He stood by his daughter’s room door, and silently shook his head.
Aryanne… what the hell are you thinking?
And that thought ran continual laps around his mind, though he had more than enough mental clarity to enter Seerose’s room and lay softly on her bed. By subconscious instinct, the fast-asleep filly curled up against his chest in a little pony-ball with Paul’s arm’s securely wrapping around her. The gentle breeze outside the open window and his sleeping daughter’s heartbeat was what truly lulled him to sleep and calmed his mind… more effectively than stripping a weapon ever could.
He bestowed a lone, paternal smile down at the crimson-maned Seerose before drifting off for the night.
Paul jumped in his seat on the demolished wall, flinching harshly as his muddled thoughts were, unfortunately, brought back to reality.
He blinked some of his residual daydreaming fatigue away and had a glance around him, finding two of his trusted Lieutenants in front of him: Joachim and Ernst. Both were dressed as he was, fully equipped in their uniforms, helmets, and small-arms at the ready. Each of their platoons stood ready, awaiting their next orders.
The day was as it had been the last few weeks: cold; miserably so, with dense fog that did not allow vision past twenty feet in any direction. His shaky breath was as visible as it was frigid.
“It’s time, sir,” the blue-eyed, blonde-haired Joachim informed, offering his hand to Paul.
He took it without hesitation and got to his feet. Paul then adjusted his stahlhelm and held his rifle at the low-ready.
“Right…” he began, gathering his troops around him. “Orders straight from von Rundstedt. We’re to clear this section of the town and pave a way for the panzers to roll through. We can leave none of the Bolsheviks alive nor free.
“We know our squad objectives. Let’s push through quickly and all meet up on the other side for the final thrust and drive the Soviets out. We’ll all get out of this yet; for the Fatherland!” Paul concluded with one final addendum.
And as his troops dispersed to prepare for their imminent rush, Paul had this sinking feeling that he had seen this before; an extremely strong case of deja vu standing exactly where he was, rifle in hand. He had felt one or two of these feelings (which caused him to blink harshly to convince himself it wasn’t a daydream) were premonitions of sorts.
Perhaps he’d get lucky, and he’d get taken in one of these battles.
But that's when Paul realized that something wasn't right. There were no more footfalls from his soldiers boots crushing the gravel and sleet beneath them. In fact, he was the only one that had been walking.
Paul stood straight when he felt an enormous presence right behind him. The hair on his neck bristled.
Yet as he turned around, he found no gigantic, Soviet menace upon him. All his troops had not dispersed as he remembered ordering them. In fact, they were surrounding him on all sides save for his direct field of vision.
Their faces though… as his eyes widened and pupils shrank with each passing second; as his skin crawled and winter had him constantly shivering, those zombie-like, war-torn, dead faces of his comrades did well to depress his icy temperature more than anything else.
Not metaphorically ‘dead’ either. These were not the faces of men who had fought for too long and suffered too much…
These men were standing dead. Killed. Shot, burned, and dismembered.
Unrecognizable.
Paul’s feet beckoned him forward unwillingly between these two groups of living dead, and at their center stood someone else.
He resisted with all of his might, but his body assumed full control. He marched painfully slowly towards this new entity, and he shut his eyes in any attempt to focus out of this stupor. His mouth refused to scream either; Paul fought with every bit of strength he could muster in his tired body to restore control to his mind but to no avail.
And all that control died a merciless death when his eyes focused on the little one in front of him.
A wide sapphire-eyed filly with a crimson mane, who trembled violently on her hooves and sunk to the ground in any attempt to make herself smaller.
Tears streamed down her face and she wailed in the most profound fear that Paul had heard even through this war.
His own eyes widened at the sight, and he shook his head as if to deny the reality in front of him. Still, his body refused to respond any more than that…
...even when his hands leveled the rifle in his grasp.
His pleas with himself did not vocalize. His thoughts did not manifest, nor register his burning question of ‘why?’ All he did was feel compelled to shoulder that rifle, and train the sights on the filly’s head.
No… no no no no!
Said filly continued to bawl incessantly as she watched his actions. Paul’s finger entered the trigger well.
With no time to even contemplate his next strategy, he pulled the trigger.
*CRACK!*
Paul’s eyes shot open at an instant and he launched himself out of bed, crying out agonizingly and grasping at anything that could provide him a hand-hold. Instinct took over and he grasped the ledge of the window, the remnants of what once was a pained cry ebbing away and being replaced with deep hyperventilation. Paul’s pupils remained wide and his entire body felt clammy, cold, and inconsolable. His heart pounded the inside of his sternum and threatened to explode out of his ribcage, and his palms shivered each and every time he took a much needed breath of fresh night air.
Nevertheless, his body still felt the rush of adrenaline’s touch, and he remained on high alert.
Realizing that reality had reclaimed him from his nightmares—admittedly the worst one he had had in a very long time—Paul took another deep breath and regained control of his bearings. He stared blankly out the window and let himself be bathed in the cool air from Luna’s night, letting the light of her moon’s final descent over the horizon wake him up.
Lord knew he would not be going back to sleep.
As concerned of a father as he always was, Paul shakily glanced over his shoulder and found Seerose sleeping as peacefully as ever. If anything, she only turned over and faced away from the window. It was times like these that Paul felt it was a blessing that his little filly slept like a petrified log.
But even knowing she was safe did not disperse the remnants of the nightmare, fresh on his mind.
And through the receding, abyssal fear for the life of his daughter, it was replaced with another emotion.
Fury.
Paul balled up his right fist white and planted it firmly on the windowsill. He trained his furious focus on the gorgeous Equestrian skyscape above, as he knew past those twinkling stars was the one who was responsible for everything he was going through.
He produced a pained grunt through his deep, shaky breaths.
And then, came the futile cursings.
“Is this my goddamn punishment?!” he whispered in his native tongue to any divine power that would listen.
“You could not just put me out of my misery?!”
“You could not just have let me die in Stalingrad like I should have?!”
Paul took a few deep breaths, letting his head droop. The two lone tears that spilled over from his eyes mingled with the drying sweat.
He shook his head.
“No merciful god would let me remain in this hell… am I in hell? Reliving these memories every day in paradise?”
His eyes clenched shut as he bared all his insecurities, his vulnerabilities to nopony. His knuckles remained balled white and the tears continued to fall on the windowsill with silent plops, a rarity for him.
“Please… if there is a merciful god, just let me d—.”
“P-Papa?”
Paul raised his head upon hearing the timid call of his little filly. Turning away from the window, he found the pristine white Seerose perched on the edge of her bed, regarding him with utmost concern. Her mane was a mess and matted to one side, but those bright sapphire eyes beckoned a response.
“Oh! Seerose, meine Liebe, please, go back to sleep. It’s not good for a little one such as you to be awake at this hour,” Paul coaxed, moving to tuck her back into bed whilst tactically wiping his face and eyes of any evidence.
But she didn’t budge, and her expression never changed once.
“Dad… was it the dream again?”
That blunt assertion from his ten year-old daughter forced a hard blink out of him. He had never once told her, or had her privy to one of his post-nightmare episodes… or any of his trauma-induced episodes at all.
“Röslein, what are you talking about?” Paul questioned, attempting to gauge just how much she knew or understood.
He knelt before her to be as close to eye-level as possible, and the little filly spoke with more solemness than Paul had ever heard… especially for a nine year-old going on ten.
“I can hear you at night sometimes, Papa. When you groan and grunt. You’re having bad dreams, yes?
“But… are you okay?”
Paul looked down and away for a brief moment, considering precisely how he would go about this conversation at this hour… because it did not look like either of them were getting further sleep this evening.
And he then met his daughter’s gaze once more. With extra care and trepiditon in his voice, Paul answered.
“I’m fine, my dear. You should have told me if I was waking you up, I would’ve quieted down. I’m sorry,” he apologized.
Seerose then hit him with a sentence that he would never have expected from her, with all the seriousness expected from an almost ten year-old filly:
“Don’t lie to me, Papa.”
Paul stiffened visibly, flinching as if struck. Even worse was when the mighty German who always knew what to say in the worst of situations could not find a grip on coherence.
“D-Darling, what are you—”
“I heard you talking with Princess Celestia.
"Go to Alemaneia.”
Now, Paul understood. Perhaps his little one was not as heavy a sleeper as he would have liked to believe. He thought after all this time, he could sulk on his lonesome and bury some of his worse memories by stripping his weapon and having the occasional bit of cognac, along with a cigarette.
Even worse to admit, perhaps for him as a new father, was that Seerose was growing up; becoming more aware of her surroundings and the world.
But now Paul had to face the music, and essentially admit to the most prized light of his life that he was going to leave and tell her last minute. After all they had been through together as a small, albeit broken family unit… this is how he was going to leave abruptly, even if it was temporary? In hindsight, it was probably a terrible decision.
But thankfully, one he did not have to immediately address by way of his daughter interjecting once more.
“You have to save the world, right?”
Through Seerose’s ever sharpening awareness, her innocence still shined through in the most endearing ways. Paul couldn’t help the loving smile as it chiseled its way across his angular face in the remnant moonlight.
He cupped her cheek in his right hand, and she had little qualm with leaning into the gesture.
“Perhaps only a part of it. I’m not going to let us go through what I went through… let you go through what I had to. Never again, my dear,” Paul proclaimed softly, sitting next to Seerose on the bed.
And despite everything, she still managed to beam a smile up at her adoptive father. She added whimsically:
“My friends always get jealous when I tell them my dad is a hero…”
While that was a deep compliment as she meant it, Paul still felt a mixture of guilt and anguish rise up from the depths of his core, finding residence in his chest as he turned away. At that point, he could not look at her… that title had no meaning to him after all he had done in Poland and Russia.
His reply was as genuine as it was rueful.
“If you knew what I had been through, what I have seen and what I have done… perhaps you would not be so quick to use such labels with me,” he said.
But, to her credit, Seerose’s expression varied little after those words of his.
She only nuzzled herself into his side, and leaned further into his warm body… just enough where she could mask her tears just a little bit.
“You pulled me out of an orphanage, Papa… you’re a hero to me.
“You’ll always be my hero.”
That was it. That did it for him completely. Paul swept up his little girl and held her close to his chest, burying his face in her mane as his chest swelled with emotions he had always so longed to express. He was a caring father, that much even he was ready to admit… but as the product of his life and his upbringing, emotional expression was not his strongest suit.
Paul did not care anymore about that.
Seerose hugged and cuddled him in return, and Paul placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I don’t know when you got so smart and so caring… but you definitely did not get it from me. I love you, my little rose.”
“I love you too, Papa… so much. Please be careful,” she sniffled out.
Paul scratched behind her ear for a few moments to calm her down after all these emotions were shared… emotions that were the very essence of one of the strongest father-daughter bonds in world history, at this point. There, they held each other for what seemed like hours, knowing well that Paul would have to depart in the morning and face whatever dangers he needed in order to ensure peace for Equestria and the world.
And most importantly, for Seerose.
Paul’s thoughts began stirring once more, and he debated for a split second if it maybe was time… time for her to know who her father truly was in his ‘past life,’ as it were.
But he dismissed that idea outright. No… it was not the time. Not just yet.
“I will, I promise. When you get older, I promise you I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered.
Even through the comfortable chariot ride where he and Seerose could catch up on some much-needed sleep, Paul’s eyes refused to waver in their soreness.
His whites were mildly bloodshot, and minor bags had formed under his eyes despite his steely exterior, unmatched stoicism complimented with his full Equestrian Uniform ensemble. The nascent-morning chill nipped at his bare hands, and he had half a mind to scold himself for not donning his more formal gloves.
Paul’s shoes were shined to perfection, one able to see their reflection stare back at them. The dark-grey uniform was decorated proudly on the breast with his hard-earned medals, both local and substitutes for those he lost from Earth. His white dress-shirt underneath his uniform jacket was stainless and his black tie held the perfect knot to both literally and figuratively hold his getup together. He pulled his rolling luggage behind him and hefted a briefcase in his left hand.
And finally, his visor-cap lay proudly atop his skullcap, its raised portion playing host to the metal insignia of Equestria’s coat of arms that shimmered brilliantly in the eastern, rising sun…
…a sunrise he would be sailing toward to deal with the fate of a continent.
Paul’s face was without blemish, clean-shaven, and accented by two wrinkles on either side of his mouth that were made more prominent upon the stoic downturn of his lips.
He was Paul Werner; a man, a German, a soldier.
And at the proverbial frontline ready for duty when Equestria announced his call.
The German Officer knew his task before him; what was at stake personally and to millions of ponies around the world. He knew both the marvelous fruits to bear from success and the horrific consequences of failure.
But ultimately, as he stared out in the barely-crowded harbor of Manehattan, Paul knew from the bottom of his wounded heart that there was only one motivation to his actions beyond the veils of honor and national pride:
A duty to his kin.
A love for his daughter.
And said daughter—shockingly awake at this hour—stood tall and proud for her short height as she nuzzled against Paul’s right leg.
Such small action placed tactical cracks in his steely visage; it was always the little things that ended up causing him to lose his composure when it mattered the most.
But when it came to the crimson-maned, porcelain-white-coated Seerose, he would have it absolutely no other way.
Besides, he could always take a roller to his pantlegs if any of her coat managed to rub off on him.
It always did.
Paul and Seerose were not alone, but for a moment as Paul stared down at his daughter as she, in turn, stared into the sunrise, he felt all was right in the world.
Seerose felt his gaze on her and she turned her face up to meet his… and smiled a wide, if tired smile that conveyed her unfathomable pride in him.
He was her father… the superhero Equestria and the world needed.
And she, in turn, would have things no other way… events having been as they were.
They shared their little moment, and like clockwork from bestowed habits, they turned back toward their ultimate destination. Seerose’s expression, as well, molded into a more neutral one, courtesy of Paul.
Princesses Luna and Celestia took their first steps from their chariot and flanked the odd little family on the right and left respectively. Paul noted that the former was about as much on the brink of sleep as he, while Celestia was as perky and chipper as always in her step.
And in the little loving moment that Paul and Seerose had shared, they failed to notice something that was most odd with the scenery… something that had not been disclosed to the human.
Namely, the Alemaneian battleship peacefully at anchor in the port.
Paul attempted to blink any residual sleepiness out of his annoyingly sore eyes but to little avail… yet, that same dreadnought continued to float imposingly in Equestrian waters. The same flag he had come to know a little more intimately than he would like flew with its own sense of inanimate pride over the bridge. Four massive batteries of enormous bore diameter remained in synchronous position and unloaded, while at least two-dozen Alemaneian soldiers of all races went about their business loading up the ship for imminent departure.
And as the group of four closed in with a cadre of guards flanking them, the chorus of irritated yells and barked orders could be heard much clearer.
“So,” Paul ventured to say with a mildly uncertain tone, addressing the elephant in the room.
Or rather, the ship in the harbor.
“Am I to assume this is my transport?”
Celestia giggled.
“This was actually somewhat last-minute,” she informed. “From the last exercise you and the General participated in, the Alemaneians left some equipment behind and had to send another ship to collect the rest of it; this is that ship.”
Paul raised an eyebrow.
“It took that long to arrive from the mainland?”
Luna shook her head.
“No,” she said. “It was on deployment to one of the Imperial Alemaneian Empire’s former colonies to retrieve some other supplies. That trip happened to take a while.”
She nudged her head towards the ironclad warship.
“It is indeed on a one-way trip to the Alemaneian homeland. It should not take more than a few days on calm seas and magically-charged engines, as planned.”
Paul nodded slowly, his eyes scanning for anything that may have been perceived as a trap from this distance. Yet, as they closed in, he could find nothing out of the ordinary.
It was just an odd method of taxi service, was all.
To his immediate right, Seerose’s eyes lit up brightly, her sapphire pools impossibly reflecting all the light that Celestia’s Sun gave off.
“Ja?!” she asked with little haste. “You get to ride on a battleship, Papa?!”
A conservative, lopsided smirk was etched onto Paul’s features.
“So it would seem!”
Movement and loud chatter to the group’s right ceased all conversation as a group of four black uniform-clad Alemaneian soldiers hefted a gargantuan crate of artillery shells. One unicorn, two pegasi, and an earth pony occupied a respective corner as they continued to struggle against the munitions’ combined weight.
“Pardon us! Sorry!” one of the pegasi strained out as they brushed right past the odd group without a single bit of situation awareness as to who it was made up of.
The unabashed, unaware chatter, however, did not end as they meandered their way towards their ship.
Especially when the crate dipped a little too low and slammed a corner into the concrete ground.
“CAREFUL! It’s artillery shells, retard! You wanna kill us all?!” the other pegasi trooper lambasted his comrade who let the munition crate sink a little too far.
The pony in question quickly regained her bearings but was quick to come back indignant. She seethed out her reply:
“Oh yeah, that’s real rich coming from you, Mister ‘Let me shag my Equestrian marefriend for two days straight and shirk patrol duty!' Get fucked!”
The unicorn, apparently the group’s commanding officer, was not too keen on their banter.
“Will you two assholes shut up? Damage these shells or keep complaining and I’ll put you all on half-pay for a month! So lift, you turds!”
Their continued banter was drowned out in the wake of their distance and the sounds of the ocean.
Paul was finally able to get out of his stooped position and remove his hands from Seerose’s ears, much to the latter’s hilarity.
Now was not the time to expose her to ‘soldier speak.’
But the joke was on Paul, as Seerose’s little secret was that she was always listening to him silently swear at anything and everything.
She had picked up quite the lot of vernacular.
Celestia and Luna also could barely stifle their laughter. While they were not well-versed in the Alemaneian language, Paul’s actions spoke volumes and infinitely louder than translated words ever could.
Just before the boarding ramp of the ship, the four were intercepted by a high-ranking army officer. Paul was not completely familiar with the rank insignias and designations, as they varied somewhat from the Wehrmacht.
The lanky, off-white stallion saluted to the group. Paul returned the gesture in kind.
“Guten Morgen, Alle,” the officer greeted coolly, then delivered a respectful bow to the Princesses.
He did not allow the others to return the greeting, however, and continued as he sized up the human. His own cool gaze was barely a match for Paul’s lifetime of experience in a mere few years. There were just some perks that war could not afford anyone else.
The princesses were only there to see Paul off, and opted to listen to the silent communication between their mutual human friend. They did not get involved.
“I am to presume you are Colonel Paul Werner, yes?” the pony officer spoke in what Paul would consider a heavy Southern German accent.
He nodded once.
“You presume correctly.”
The stallion’s nostrils flared as he huffed, then began a full, yet terse explanation of the situation.
“Very well. General Land has ordered us to provide you safe and expedited transport across the ocean and to the Fatherland should you have chosen to accept her offer to talk. It is time to board at this moment, so I suggest you say your goodbyes now.
And without any further interaction, the officer delivered another curt salute and took his leave.
Paul gripped the handles of his suitcase and briefcase that much tighter, stepping forward so he could turn to look back at his entourage.
His first sight upon looking down was Seerose, whose bright smile had waned completely in the face of Paul’s impending departure. She pawed mindlessly at the ground and averted her increasingly misty gaze, lest she incur the disappointment of her militarily stone-faced father.
And for her sake, Paul always tried to never show that side directed at her. He was never disappointed in her expressing rightful emotion.
It was he who was poor at it.
Paul knelt down an cupped his filly’s chin so she would look at him.
“You be good, Röslein, ja? I’ll be back in two weeks.”
Seerose bit her lip nigh painfully, and the tears had welled up well-past the point where there was little obstacle for the flowing rivulets down her cheeks—painfully obvious with her pale complexion. Her lips curled unnaturally down as they quivered, and the sniffles began in earnest.
She buried her face into Paul’s chest, who accepted her embrace without hesitation.
“Promise?”
Paul separated a smidge from her so Seerose could have full view of him nodding… a nod so resolute that even one as young as her could not have hoped to disbelieve it. He was a man of his word, and he had always been there for her throughout the length of their small but willing father-daughter relationship.
She had no reason to suspect he would not come through this time around. And through a dampened visage marred with the stains of her fresh emotion and heartache, she etched out a smile—her dimples and pearly whites were on proud display for all Equestria to see.
Her response was strained, but ever determined and resolute:
“G-Go be a hero, Papa…”
Princess Luna would, later, refuse to confirm nor deny that she had to avert her own gaze from the spectacle lest she partake in the emotion.
Just the mere way she expressed herself in the moment made Paul’s stomach churn. His breakfast was meaningless as his abdomen seemed to hollow out—he embraced her tightly. He would rather have charged into Stalingrad if he never had to experience this ever again.
A few tender moments passed as the human held the filly in an embrace, though hours seemed to pass in the early morning light. With a final kiss to her forehead, Paul stood up tall.
“I’ll be home before you know it. Be good for the Princesses, ja?”
All the while, Paul directed a single, proud glance at both of his superiors and friends. The alicorns met his with distinct, knowing smirks of their own. They knew well what Paul meant: take care of my world.
They had given their word to him—they would personally look after her, and Seerose would be left wanting for nothing.
“Okay. I will!”
Princess Celestia giggled.
“We will look after her as if she were our own. Go, Paul, and worry not for her well-being.”
Luna had something to add with equal vigor:
“Seerose will be tended to like a foreign noble.”
That was all the immaculately dressed human needed to hear. With a final, deep nod, he turned on his heels to make his way to the Alemaneian warship…
…though he had one last thing to add over his shoulder with accompanying smirk and snark that was most quintessential of him:
“I do implore you, Your Highnesses… to please attempt to refrain from feeding my daughter ice cream for dinner every night.”
“No guarantees~!” Luna riposted with child-like devilishness, much to Seerose’s amusement.
With the final reassurance fresh on his mind, Paul nodded once more, delivered a playful salute to his daughter (which Seerose returned full-heartedly), and marched to the waiting warship.
Princess Luna’s ears perked up when she felt her right front leg obtain some extra weight. Glancing downward, she found Seerose hugging her tightly as she watched her father walk into the sunrise. The rays glistened off her drying tears, of which she shed no more. A gentle gust from the sea gave her flowing crimson mane a little, hypnotic ripple as it morphed over her pristine-white neck.
“Are you alright, little one?” Luna ventured to ask.
Her sudden words drew Seerose out of her stupor, but she answered immediately with a vehement nod.
“Ja, Princess. I’m well…” she said.
The Lunar Princess turned to her older sister.
“Celestia, shall we get breakfast?”
Celestia glanced back at her sister, then down to Seerose with a bright smile of her own.
"Absolutely! Seerose gets to pick the place!"
And just like that, Seerose's heartache was alleviated just that much.
[Several Days Later…]
Full speed towards the Fatherland was a surprisingly quick journey in Paul’s eyes, considering from Manehattan, they were already in view of the mainland.
In full uniform, Paul unwaveringly stood at the front of the warship, supporting his body against the guardrail as they sped towards the port city—also the capital—Siegstadt.
The ocean wind flowed past his face and served to cool his nerves as their destination appeared ever larger as the seconds droned by. The ethereal sound of the surrounding ocean against the ship’s metal exterior drowned out any other noise and left him at peace by his lonesome… despite being surrounded by soldiers and Alemaneian Kriegsmarine personnel.
The buildings of Siegstadt became much more discernable as the miles waned between them, and he’d no doubt be as close to the hustle and bustle of the Alemaneian capital than he’d ever want to be. This further reinforced Paul’s desire to get his job done as quickly as humanly possible so he could return home.
Home.
But, as he expected the speed of the dreadnought to decrease gradually, their speed remained the same as a sudden left turn was made.
Cocking an eyebrow, Paul was perturbed as his ride was suddenly not aiming for their initial destination… but then again, he never inquired as to where, geographically, they were going. All Paul knew was that he was being taken directly to the pony he needed to talk to.
Paul turned to an Alemaneian army stallion a few feet away, who was also taking in the view much like him.
“Wo gehen wir?!” Paul questioned, his words barely able to be discerned above the roar of the ships mechanics and the ocean.
The soldier stallion turned his attention towards the human.
“Was?!”
Paul tersely shook his head and raised his voice:
“I thought we were going to the capital to see the General!”
“General Land is not in the capital, sir!”
In Paul’s understanding, if she wasn’t in the capital, then that would mean…
“Where the hell is she??”
“The Alemaneian-Mareitonian border! She’s personally overseeing the buildup!”
Paul blinked. He understood good Generals would often present themselves at the potential front lines, but all this meant was that he had much less time than he had initially anticipated. Whatever he needed to do to beat some sense into her self-righteous head, he needed to do it swiftly and he needed to do it now.
Thankfully time happened to be on his side for once, as it did not take more than a few extra hours to reach the sea border with Foalshevia—a large, somewhat recently communist nation bearing striking resemblance to the Soviet Union.
Since Mareitonia was a land-locked nation, Paul was granted reprieve when his Alemaneian transport docked at an appropriate deep-water port to unload personnel and supplies. Dusk was upon them already, but the human was still able to cautiously observe over the starboard bow the hundreds of troops that were stepping onto solid ground.
Orders were being barked and bright floodlights did well to banish the darkness and chaotic nature of this lush, woodsy area. Paul then witness cannons and other war materiel being hauled out from the dreadnought’s cargo bays… howitzer and long-range artillery calibers rolled down the loading ramps with cacophonous screeches of their wheels.
He didn’t even think Equestria possessed such heavy weaponry in her arsenal.
“Colonel Werner.”
Paul perked up and turned on his heels to find the same army captain from before… a light-gray coated stallion with hazel eyes under the ever onyx-black uniform and helmet.
“Yes?”
“Your transport awaits, sir. Please come with me.”
The German nodded once and secured all his possessions he had taken with him. He then gestured with his hand for the earth-pony stallion to lead on.
A set of boot-clad hooves and feet sounded on the metal ground as they made the simple trip down the loading ramp. Even through this simple journey, Paul garnered looks out of everypony that he happened to pass, soldier and civilian volunteer alike. Surprisingly, there were few stares of hate or disgust… but rather, confusion and inquisitiveness.
Paul happened to be more partial to those stares—not that he cared in either case.
He scanned his eyes over the seemingly lush environment, though no details beyond silhouettes against the dusk sky stood out. Nor did the tactically placed floodlights around the rally points help much. Like with the stares he continued to receive as his boots touched Alemaneian soil, he did not care.
Paul did well to tap the left side of his coat, just under his chest, where the holster for his pistol hung snugly against his torso.
An extra bit of reassurance, should he have needed it.
Paul was unceremoniously led to an open carriage transport that was motorized—one of the first he had seen in this world. It was occupied by a few other surplus soldiers that could not fit with the rest of their comrades. It made for a less-crowded abode, though it was no VIP transport by any means.
Not that Paul expected any VIP-like treatment from the Alemaneians… if he knew the tendencies of his parallel nation.
Stepping up into the carriage, Paul placed his suitcase between his legs as he sat down on one of the bench seats that lined the perimeter. He ended up taking position right next to what he figured was a female soldier, clad in expected uniform and getup… if only a sparce glance at her more svelte figure was any indication.
And once again, he was hauled off to yet another location deep within the lushness of this border forest.
As he sat in the back to patiently await his arrival, Paul studied a map that was graciously provided to him by the nameless, higher ranking officer sitting directly across. According to Paul’s estimates in this regard, their convoy had pulled away from the Foalshevian border and we’re now inching closer to the 'infamous' nation of Mareitonia.
All the while, the thought entered into his mind that Paul had, probably, not said more than a couple paragraphs the entire journey from Equestria thus far.
He released a little pressure in his neck as he twisted the tightness out of it. Reaffixing his visorcap to snuggly fit his skull, Paul knew that there would be plenty of time for talking later on.
Few defining features could be made out as the dusk evolved into night, where barely the thick trees could be examined by the light of their convoy. All Paul knew was that he was somewhere on a border region about two thousand miles away from home. That was the gist of it all.
But, even as a soldier by virtue of intense training, Paul felt the presence of an emotion the had not had the… pleasure of feeling in quite some time:
He was bored.
His eyes struggled to keep open even though he had achieved plenty of sleep on the ride across the ocean, nor was he involved in anything physical that would warrant such fatigue.
Such was the paradox of inaction.
Paul knew one way to alleviate such feelings and replace them with more pleasant ones for at least the next few moments. He reached into his right coat pocket, carefully bypassing his pistol and reaching for a flat piece of photo paper.
Even through his onyx-gloved hands, he smiled at its familiar touch, and retrieved the folded piece of photo stock. Unfolding it, he stared into a picture of both he and Seerose. Said picture held the both of them in casual wear in one of Canterlot’s many public parks. Sat on the edge of a large fountain depicting both Celestia and Luna, a t-shirt-garbed Paul cradled his adoptive daughter in a one-armed grasp while the latter was giggling profusely.
This was all followed up with him pointing directly at her while facing the camera—a placidly amused smile was adorned on his face, as if to direct attention to the cute tomfoolery of the light of his life.
Paul huffed as he tenderly held the picture from two diagonal ends, nodding to no one and allowing the monotony of his environment to whittle away… at least for a short while. The rhythmic clacking and creaking of the wheels of their transport in conjunction with the non-rhythmic, frequent bouts of orders being shouted were barely white noise at this point.
Paul felt an entity distinctly paw at his left thigh with a clean, white hoof.
He was instantly awoken from his little daydream and glanced over at the soldier he took a seat next to. Her bright, lavender eyes seemed to impossibly reflect nonexistent light at how wide they were… taken by the simple photo in Paul’s grasp.
“Endschuldigen Sie, bitte…” the soft-voiced mare excused herself, then pointed to the photograph.
She followed up in a tone most inquisitive. Under different circumstances, Paul would’ve found such a tone adorable from such a creature.
“Wer ist das??”
Paul pointed to the still of Seerose.
“Sie?”
The nameless soldier nodded with an open-mouthed smile.
“Ja!”
“Meine Tochter.”
The mares eyes went even wider, and she shifted her gaze rapidly between the picture and Paul’s face. The human did well to keep himself professional and presentable, as always.
“Your… daughter?” she questioned.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Adopted, I presume?”
“Correct. Adopted her from Alemaneia.”
The soldier beamed.
“Really?! She’s absolutely adorable! Such a beautiful young mare you’re raising… you’re Equestrian, right?” she followed up.
Paul huffed as he motioned to correct her by instinct that he was, in fact, German.
“Well…”
But while that was true, that name had no meaning to anyone else but him.
“Naturlich, ja.”
The mare giggled into her hoof at Paul’s sudden pause. She readjusted her helmet and tenderly patted his thigh twice.
“Well, that was quite selfless of you to do. I’m sure the little one’s extremely lucky to have you as a fater.”
Paul smiled and shook his head, especially so in conjunction with his response:
“Believe me, I’m the lucky one.
The soldier mare giggled, ceiling her lavender eyes through her bangs for a moment. Composing herself, her erstwhile jovial complexion returned with full force as she extended her hoof to Paul.
And she felt it only formal to start with her rank.
“Leutnant Schneeblume Herbstlich.”
Paul mirrored her approach, enveloping her tender, yet rugged hoof in his iron grip.
“Oberst Paul Werner.”
The literal instant his rank left his mouth, Schneeblume's features paled and slackened… as if her entire face was gonna slough off from sheer horror and embarrassment.
Paul had to struggle for once in his life to keep his stoicism fronted–Schnee’s lower lip quivered and she focused on everything but Paul himself.
“Oh my God, I’m SO sorry, sir. I had no idea. Please forgive my informality…”.
Paul allowed himself to chuckle at just how worried she was. While there were rules associated with the interaction of military personnel, especially foreign officers, soldiers of the host nation weren’t exactly beholden to them. Beyond potentially bad first impressions, there was nothing to really worry about in any sense, which is why Paul’s first meeting with Aryanne went the way it did.
The German cast an incredulous look toward Schnee.
“Don’t worry. I’m just visiting, really. I personally don’t care and actually am happy to forego the titles once in a while, Lieutenant.”
Schneeblume reaffixed her gaze on his and loosed a meek smile and nod. And to further lift the mare’s spirits, Paul patted the side of her hoof.
“Macht nichts, ja?”
Familiar slang from a Colonel was all it took for the soldier mare to bounce back to what Paul considered ‘normal,’ as if her personality was simply elastic.
The remainder of the ride toward the Alemaneian forward operating headquarters was no longer draped in silence. Instead, much to the simultaneous amusement and annoyance of accompanying officers, Schnee and Paul’s cordial discourse continued in earnest. Schnee decided to share a few photos that she always kept with her, namely one of a group of her and her friends…
…her late friends, that was.
Paul was flabbergasted to learn that such a kind, bubbly mare in uniform was actually quite distinguished in the field. She had fought in the Equidae Continental War—currently this world’s most destructive conflict that had striking mirrors to the one Paul’s father was killed in. Schnee, too, had lost essentially all her school friends in that war.
He never would have guessed based on her outward appearance. But then again, as the thought festered in his mind, he figured that was probably the entire point—to ensure no one saw what was underneath. Perhaps wrongly, as Schnee continued to talk about her fallen friends as if they were back in her home town waiting for her, Paul wondered what scars of her own this mare was hiding?
What horrors did she see?
What self-proclaimed atrocities did she commit?
How is she faring when she’s on her own?
Further, as Paul inquired about little details of the War to supplement what he could get his hands on for reading… how many of the current soldiers were remnants of a conflict long past?
How many just couldn’t leave war?
Flowing conversation was stymied when the convoy entered a very specific portion of the forest, one where the dirt road was suddenly flanked by two concrete machine-gun nests and a cannon… not dissimilar to what Paul would find back on German military bases.
The wheels of their carriage continued to trek on, and as they got deeper and deeper into the unassuming wild, columns of troops were spotted marching alongside the road. Ponies and materiel were being hauled by hoof… what couldn’t fit in similar caravans such as Paul’s, of course. These sightings only increased as they progressed further through the base’s perimeter.
Perhaps a mite too soon, the convoy came to a gradual stop. Peeking over the carriage, Paul found that they had arrived at a guard gate to what he figured was the main headquarters of the forward operating base.
This was further corroborated by the, this time, four machine guns guarding the entrance. Two flanked either side of the entryway with a direct-fire cannon to support either side on top of that.
This still never ceased the conversation at hand, though the German’s senses were on heightened alert… his eyes shifted in a multitude of directions and his right hand was ready to draw his concealed Luger at a moment’s notice.
“Yeah, I figured as much…” Schnee followed up to one of his earlier assertions.
Paul’s sideways glance took note of all of these defenses, and his stoicism was met with faces of varying inquisitiveness and contempt from the operators of the aforementioned heavy weaponry. Paul knew he had nothing to be afraid of, as he was the equivalent of a VIP at this point… but that did not stymie the fears that those guns could, at an instant, turn on him.
Hell, an entire army attacking from the front would be naught but mulch at the defense network that had been set up.
The general feelings of unease for a soldier of his caliber could be controlled, though they would never go away. The hollow feeling in his stomach despite having eating plentifully on the ship stemmed from fear of what would happen to Seerose should anything happen to him.
Under that visor-cap and deep within that thick skull of his, he always had to flash a reminder through his consciousness that he could not take any needless risks anymore. He was not on the Eastern front fighting to survive, where anything might as well have been a good idea. No, he was in tenuously-allied territory… and if something were to go horribly wrong, his safety could not be guaranteed.
Even less so back on Earth, but for now, he actually had something to come home to.
“...so I honestly would’ve expected a bit more from him, to be completely honest,” Paul finished his ramblings to his new, if temporary conversation partner.
The latter giggled into her hoof, and Schnee was about to respond when the sound of a masculine voice clearing their throat ceased all talk at an instant.
Both attentions were captured; Paul and Schnee found a grey-coated, orange-eyed Alemaneian Army Captain staring them both down expectantly.
Especially Schneeblume, whom he regarded with a measure of contempt and disappointment. The former’s posture slackened as she angled her helmeted-head downward, though she quickly corrected herself and resumed the stoicism expected of her.
The newcomer turned his gaze onto Paul, whom was less than phased at the rather poor attempt to intimidate him.
“Colonel Paul Werner?” came the terse, fateful inquiry.
Paul nodded once.
“Indeed.”
The newcomer then extended his garbed right hoof outward in salute, which Paul returned with a much more traditional gesture.
“I’m Major Iron Crucible. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,” Paul replied dryly. “Shall we?”
Iron Crucible gestured towards the dirt ground beneath them.
“Let’s. We’re behind schedule as it is.”
Paul nodded, then turned back towards Schneeblume. A gentle smirk formed on his face and he gave her a respectful salute.
“Thank you for the conversation, Lieutenant. Until we meet again.”
Schnee allowed herself to weakly smile in kind, and she mimicked the salute in return.
“Thank you, sir. Yourself as well. See you later!”
Iron Crucible had something to say about that, and he growled through gritted teeth:
“You will salute properly in my presence, Lieutenant.”
With a reluctance that was lost on nopony, Schneeblume sighed and extended her right hoof up and out. Paul could not dismiss her salute any quicker.
Without a further word, Paul got to his feet and dropped down from the carriage, his boots on Alemaneian soil for the second time with the sound of crushed dirt.
“Please follow me,” Iron Crucible bade, and led Paul around the side of the carriage towards the guard gate.
Before he could disappear out of sight, Paul loosed a single smirk in Schneeblume’s direction, which she returned in her own subtle fashion.
Paul was led into the largest building within the compound. He was flanked by two soldiers attached to his hip the moment he entered through the first gate, and there they were to remain at Iron Crucible’s order.
Entering into the compound yielded a rather spartan foyer, pristine white tile having been laid while ponies of varying ranks and functions cantered along. Orders were incessantly barked from all directions and Paul felt his body had no room to maneuver with such activity taking place on this base… and he had been in this position many times.
He also forgot about his silent guards. That probably contributed to the feeling, in his mind.
A short trip up a lift brought them to the command center, as it read in Alemaneian. The main entrance which lay right outside the lift was flanked by two Alemaneian Stormtroopers, who saluted Major Iron Crucible in perfect synchronization. They guarded a single, room-length door that held a turn-lock at the center.
The latter gestured to Paul.
“Pat it down.”
Referring to him as an object or animal was not lost on the German, though through his stoicism, he let it slide… especially since the aforementioned troopers stepped forward.
“Arms out, legs wide, creature,” came the smooth, assertive order from the left-most soldier.
In Paul’s mind, whatever expected behavior with an officer of a foreign military had clearly gone out the window the deeper he made it into the oupost. Still, he complied to make this easier. Whatever would get him to Aryanne sooner was welcome.
He did as they commanded, and both ponies stood on their hind legs to begin frisking him. The left pat down every inch of his body starting with his collar and arms, while the right started from his legs up.
The trooper who acknowledged him had come to his chest, where she felt a distinct mass under the left side of his jacket.
She cocked an emotionless eyebrow.
“Was ist das?”
Paul answered honestly.
“Meine Pistole.”
The Private glanced back at her superior officer who was looking on, and the latter nodded. With one last scrutinizing gaze upon Paul’s face, the mare pushed off of him and reset herself on her hooves. Her comrade did the same.
“Alles ist gut.”
The major nodded and the pair of guards trot back to their posts. One twisted the turn-lock and the other opened the door outward by hooking his hoof in the lone handle.
Paul was then led forward and greeted by an expansive command center. Several rows of desks sported military commanders and their adjutants going about their business. Paul could not hone in on specific functions as it was just as much of an organized chaos in here as it was on the base proper.
Though, as Paul stepped into the humid room bustling with life, he did notice the enormous window pane that lined the front of the command center, one which overlooked the Mareitonian border.
Right at the center speaking to her advisors with their backs turned to him, was his prize… the Generalfeldmarschall in full uniform, busy in deep discussion. That uniform and mane style was instantly recognizable.
Iron Crucible weighed in, gesturing towards the highest ranking officer.
“She’s expecting you, so I would—”
“ARYANNE!” Paul bellowed, letting his voice instantly draw the ears and attention of every single pony in the room.
All perked up and turned, wide-eyed to face him… all except the pony he wanted to see.
Instead, she calmly lifted her head up, exposing the back of her head and her visor-cap. She then turned around to properly face him from across the room…
...and Paul could have sworn that time slowed down when he looked upon her face. He subconsciously took the smallest step back.
Aryanne looked upon him with her usual pristine, white-coated face that had a distinctive, spider-webbing wound on her right cheek. Her bangs carefully veiled another horizontal, healing laceration. Her left eye was completely covered by an eyepatch which held stained, folded gauze underneath. Every single wound her face sported marred her once perfect visage with small dots and blotches of blood.
Yet through her healing yet grotesque injuries, she etched a smile on her face once she made eye-contact with Paul.
The smile was genuine… but it matched the state of her features perfectly. It was wide.
It was out of place.
It was… sick.
And her eyes shown of one who was not of complete, sound mind, even from this distance.
Paul allowed a single shiver to run down his spine. This was the only time, to date, that Aryanne had ever terrified him to some degree.
Paul stood at the edge of the command room, festering in quiet disbelief at Aryanne’s condition. Merely seeing the combination of her wounds and that deranged way she smiled at him forced a sickly feeling to enter his gut. There was an unwelcome lightness in his chest as his fight or flight reflexes were beginning to scream at him to just turn around and walk away.
Even Paul’s primal instincts did not want anything to do with the Generalfeldmarschall staring back at him expectantly from the other side of the room.
“Well?” Aryanne continued in Equestrian, beckoning him with her hoof. “Come, come! I want you to see the fruits of our labors!”
Aryanne then waved a dismissive hoof, directed at both Paul’s escorting Major Iron Crucible and his two soldiers.
“You three! Absolutely no way to treat an honored guest! Get away from him and get out of my sight or I’ll have you all shot. Now!”
A lone, synchronous salute was delivered by the three soldiers in question before they turned on their hooves and departed. Not a single word further was said in that regard.
Now free from his figurative bounds, Paul stepped down into the middle, square section that housed other military advisors, adjutants, and planners. They scuffled around, their boot-clad hooves occasionally squeaking over the smooth tile floors as they fought against some barrier of time to complete their tasks.
Paul waded through the small lake of Alemaneians and stepped up to the other side, joining Aryanne and the unwelcome embrace of her bright smile.
She, genuinely, looked happy to see him. That fact alone is what put Paul off-balance, though he did well to conceal this under insurmountable layers of stoicism.
The two finally stood a single foot apart, with Paul looking down upon Aryanne’s marred visage. He nodded curtly, once.
“Aryanne.”
She nodded tersely in return and let her smile elastically bounce back.
“I know for a fact that nopony has taken the pleasure, so I would like to be the first one to properly welcome you to Alemaneia!”
Paul only blinked passively as he kept his eyes squarely trained on Aryanne’s less-than appropriate, grandiose gesticulations upon her greeting.
“But come! Come! I’d like to show you our plans so far… you could say I’m even requesting your opinion! You should feel nothing less than overjoyed!” Aryanne followed up, turning on her hooves and beckoning him forth.
Paul allowed her to lead the way and he noticed, clear as day, that Aryanne no longer trot normally… but hobbled in her steps. She had a very distinct limp on her left hind leg. He nearly let a measure of pity for the poor mare rise within him.
Regardless, he followed closely and ever silently. Aryanne then dismissed her accompanying generals with a single wave of her hoof over her shoulder, and they went about their business elsewhere.
Aryanne led him to a small table that had the view of the darkened, Alemaneian-Mareitonian border. On this plain wooden table lay a large, rectangular piece of paper with a depiction of the border region, along with drawn sections representing troop deployments and recon of Mareitonian positions.
Paul recognized such a setup anywhere: it was an order of battle.
“What is this, Aryanne?” Paul ventured to ask.
The earth pony’s demeanor never seemed to change.
“Happy you asked, my human… what’s that phrase the Equestrians use… ah! Partner in crime!” she exclaimed. “Yes! This here, details our plan of invasion of the Mareitonian heartland…”
Aryanne’s complexion, now, darkened.
“...where we’ll steamroll their pitiful defenses and seize their capital city.”
Paul stood tall and placed his hands behind his back, crossing them as he looked down on the surprisingly detailed battle plans. He knew what his job was… to prevent exactly this from happening, and from the situation of what Aryanne was showing him, time was beginning to dwindle before she gave the order to cross the border.
Still, he needed insight on what her master plan was. He bade her to continue:
“I see… and if I may, just how do you intend to both justify a large scale invasion, and what is the ultimate accomplishment?”
Aryanne’s mood swung immediately, and with hollow, glinting hatred in her eyes, she gestured to her entire body. She seethed through her teeth and ‘righteous’ fury:
“Look at me!” she roared, switching to their native language. “Look at my countryponies lying dead in the streets of Victory City! And you, pitiful worm of a second-rate primate, have the balls to question my approach to this, in my country?!” she asked rhetorically, pointing to her chest.
Paul did not flinch at her outburst, but neither was he given the opportunity to retort as Aryanne turned from him and back to her battle plans.
“Nein…” she began anew through much more leveled words. Aryanne placed the tip of her left, bandaged hoof on a particular spot on her plans.
“Here. This spat ends here. The Mareitonians have given me the perfect opportunity to obliterate their laughable nation from the face of the Equidaen Continent, and here’s where it starts!”
She beckoned Paul closer, and he obliged, glaring down from over her shoulder and allowing his attention to be guided by her hoof:
The largest buildup of troops on the map.
“Wie viele Truppen?” Paul asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Three divisions, fifteen thousand troops each.”
Now Paul physically recoiled. Flabbergasted, he expressed:
“You’re mobilizing forty-five thousand troops for a single push in this area?!”
Aryanne nodded vehemently, that erstwhile bright smile returning to her face, along with that hollow twinkle in her eye.
“Yup! That also includes two brigades, or six thousand elite stormtroopers to assault and demolish initial defenses. The Mareitonian’s will either flee the field, or they’ll be swept aside…” Aryanne declared whilst twirling her right hoof uncaringly. “It matters not to me what they do.”
Paul knew Aryanne was insane in many ways, but she was not stupid. He figured out early on in his life that those two never equated. However, in pony terms, forty-five thousand troops was an enormous number, especially for what would be considered a retaliatory strike for a terrorist attack.
Aryanne was planning a full-scale invasion and takeover. This had been planned long before disaster had struck at home. She just needed an excuse.
She was actually attempting to make good on her threat to wipe out this nation.
Paul took a deep breath and rightened his posture. He took his right hand into his left and massaged out some stiffness within the knuckles before he turned his attention back to Aryanne. As he had reminded himself an uncountable number of times thus far, he had job to do that was simple in concept: prevent a war.
...or perhaps, not so simple for someone even of his stature and authority by proxy.
Talking was always a good start.
“Aryanne… surely you can see this won’t end well in the long run,” he noted with a softer tone. He raised his head and stared out into the darkness of the Alemaneian-Mareitonian country side, knowing that there were hundreds of frightened, likely poorly-trained ‘enemy’ troops awaiting their fate from this side.
Aryanne’s right ear flicked and she cocked her head over her shoulder. Her annoyed words were heavily layered in veils of neutrality:
“Oh? Pray tell, Paul. Why do you feel this way?”
It was time to deliver the message.
“In case you haven’t heard, the allied nations of Prance and Anglomaneia have threatened to intervene if you cross the border. You would be fighting three nations at once!” Paul implored reason.
Aryanne turned away from her view to face Paul above her. Her expression was as innocently questioning as it was infuriating.
“Oh ja?” she questioned. “So what you’re saying… is that Alemaneia can pay them back for all they did to us during the Equidae War?!”
Paul’s face blanched, while Aryanne nearly jumped for joy.
“Oh, WUNDERBAR, PAUL! SEHR WUNDERBAR!” she squealed, and despite her injury, stood on her hind legs and squeezed a stunned Paul around the torso. “Thank you so much for delivering the message!”
She then turned to two of her higher ranking generals who were chatting about the mission at hand.
“You two! I want the 2nd and 8th armies on the Anglomane and Prench borders respectively. Requisition as much artillery, ammunition, and magic stims as you need. If they make good on their threats, I want no Alemaneian land taken! The Rainfall Line will be held in full! Inform the Chancellor.”
“Jawohl!”
And unexpectedly, Aryanne turned over her shoulder and asked Paul:
“And we can count on our wonderful allies in Equestria to assist, ja?”
The human, however, was not forthcoming in his answer… although his stance, his crossed arms over his chest and that stoic, almost pitying scowl on his face told Aryanne everything she needed to know through the silence.
And in turn, the militaristic mare’s face darkened… a shadow was cast from behind the brim of her visor-cap that did not exist a mere moment before. Her brow furrowed and her eyes glinted and burned with a ferocity that Paul was all-too familiar with from within the upper echelons of the Reich.
She drew in closer to Paul with confident, heavy steps and her eyes never broke away from his. Her tone was as dark as the heart that beat proudly and powerfully within her chest. Her next words were unusually formal for somepony of her character.
“I would advise that you deliver a message to the Princesses of Equestria to rethink their choices within the parameters of our ‘alliance.’ Such careless missteps would surely result in severe consequences for all parties involved,” Aryanne so confidently stated.
Paul, with the experience and confidence afforded by years of leading men onto the battlefield, refused to relent… and he retorted with equal vigor and tone:
“Indeed… however, Their Majesties wish me to convey to you that the alliance between Equestria and Alemaneia was, in fact, conditional. And we will not offer any support under the baseless vows of full-scale armed conflict for little gain.”
Aryanne flared her nostrils, then addressed her subordinate commanders once more:
“There has been a change of plans. Our allies will not be providing support. We will be the last holdout of decency on the Equidaen Continent. Be ready to mobilize all available forces and be ready to call upon reserves if at all necessary.”
Paul was ready to rip his hair out from under his own cap. This mare in front of him was absolutely relentless. In the face of hopeless odds to her nation, the German was able to finally see what kind of mare she actually was.
She would sacrifice an entire continent for her own ambition—her own bastardized version of vengeance for grievances recent and past.
Paul had a couple more tricks up his proverbial sleeve, and decided on his next move with extra urgency:
“Aryanne, can we speak somewhere privately… there is other information I would rather not be made public in light of these… events,” he baited.
That contemptuous stare that harbored nothing but hate with a modicum of respect for Paul narrowed. Her nostrils flared again as Aryanne studied Paul’s very existence.
“This way,” she commanded, beckoning him to follow her over her shoulder.
Through the mass of Alemaneian military officers, she led Paul to the other side of the room, where there was a line conference room with a single door in or out.
It was a spartan conference room with a single, wooden table in the center that could comfortably seat an entire army command… though necessarily tuned to the average pony’s anatomy.
Paul shut the door behind the both of them.
“Very well, human. Just what of value can you possibly tell me right now?” Aryanne ventured, moving to take a seat at the table.
Paul quickly locked the door behind him and, with impressive sleight of hand, he reached into his jacket and retrieved his Luger pistol from its holster.
And he pulled the slide back, arming the gun with an echoing, metallic ‘click-clack.’
Aryanne’s exposed eye widened for a fraction of a second before Paul placed his gun on the table, barrel pointing diagonally towards the edge of the room. It lay as the only object between him and her.
Aryanne did not look particularly impressed, and her lone eye shuttered halfway.
“And just what do you think you’re doing making such a display?”
Paul crossed his legs and crossed his arms comfortably, staring down the Generalfeldmarschall before him.
“This has gone on long enough, Aryanne. We’re not leaving this room until a compromise is had. There will be no war.”
Aryanne blinked yet again, though her emotionless, drab expression remained unchanged.
“And who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do as the head of the most powerful army this continent has ever seen? I’m actually interested in knowing…”
Paul leaned forward and placed both of his arms on the table, folding his fingers into one another. His expression darkened considerably.
“If you refuse to cooperate with any alternative, I’ll be the one that ends your ‘rule’ over your army,” he daringly warned.
Paul was not one to resort to outright threats like this, but this was a special case. He would be willing to ‘cut the head off of the snake’ if he absolutely needed to, though in such a circumstance, he knew well the consequences that would come out of that.
It likely would not be that easy. And it could very well be that her death at the hands of what one would consider an ‘Equestrian assassin’ would spark further controversy.
However, Paul did not have to actually commit to taking Aryanne’s life…
...but Aryanne herself would just have to believe that he had the will to do so.
“Are you threatening me, Paul…?” she asked flat out, steam figuratively rising off her form with how icy her expression came to mirror the human’s.
Paul stared down Aryanne before he put forth his calculated response:
“Yes. I’m threatening you. Attempt to start a world war, and it will be the end of you.”
Aryanne smiled condescendingly.
“Oh?” she widened her eye and let her mouth drop agape. Her voice dropped to a level so meek it was infuriating:
“What are you going to do, oh tall, hairless Equestrian ape?”
She gestured forward towards Paul’s pistol on the table with her muzzle.
“Are you going to shoot me?”
Paul took a deep breath and let his own honesty prevail.
“I’d be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed my mind at least once.”
Aryanne giggled, wiping some tears just under the gauss of her bad eye.
“And… just how do you intend to go about this? I could walk out that door right now and give the order for all forces to advance.
“What will you do?” Aryanne questioned a stoic Paul.
“Will you assassinate me right then? I implore you to do so… only because I can take full satisfaction in knowing you would be tortured within an inch of your life, again and again…” she elaborated.
That sickly smirk of hers only grew wider as her grotesque words continued:
“All my dissenters in Parliament will immediately rally behind me, a martyr. Perhaps you will avoid this inevitable war as it is… but despite how your leaders may play this off, your mangled, tortured body will be visible to all in Alemaneia and the world… with you clinging to an inch of your life.
“And the giddiness inside me wells up at the thought of what Seerose would think seeing you on such display?” she goaded purposefully.
For the first time since he left Earth, Paul saw complete, blood red.
He swiftly stood up from his chair, swiped his pistol with his right hand, and jumped over the table to the other side, just so he could hold a death grip on Aryanne’s throat, right under her chin. Both their visor caps tumbled to the floor.
Clearly stunned, Aryanne’s sounds of choking were muffled as Paul pushed her completely flush against the wall, forcing her to stand on her hind legs so she would be almost at eye-level with him.
He pressed the barrel of his Luger against the side of her blonde-maned head.
And though Paul’s gloved hand held a vice-grip on her pulsating neck, Aryanne mustered a sick, choked up laughter as she stared directly into Paul’s infernos of eyes.
Her next, strained words were antagonistic and sarcastic:
“ACh… did—did I… touch a nerve?”
Paul had none of it, and he pressed the barrel on the underside of her chin, forcing an involuntary whine out of the already wounded Aryanne.
“Taint my daughter’s name with your filthy fucking mouth and I’ll make the last moments of your pathetic life a living hell!” he snarled.
Aryanne coughed… and then spit in his face, her saliva coating his cheek and dribbling down without so much as a blink from the human.
“Do it, you worthless—ACH!—coward! Have you even taken another pony’s life?” Aryanne dared, then questioned with the same condescension as before.
Paul snapped back, tightening his grip on his weapon:
“I’ve killed almost twenty during the insanity of my war, all better men than you. And I’d love to end your miserable, wretched life all the same. It’ll be the sanest thing I’ve ever done!”
“And… and what will that do for you, Paul, huh?!” Aryanne continued her defiant prodding at Paul’s mercy. “Nothing! And you haven’t pulled that trigger yet because you know this:
“You will still be, and always be, nothing,” she snarled through gritted teeth and struggling breaths.
“Nothing but a wounded soldier who’s out of place in this world!
“And who will leave nothing behind of legacy… except a bastard filly who will, a second time, be orphaned!”
Paul bared his teeth to Aryanne and squeezed the sides of her neck even harder, eliciting a pained cry from the mare… his grip on his gun tightened even further and his finger was already on the trigger. A rage welled up within him that he had not ever known, but this was only because Aryanne was right.
Killing her would not solve anything, and would arguably make things so much worse in the short run.
But he knew one thing… that deep in the blackened pits of his heart, he would get every ounce of satisfaction from watching her die.
And that terrified him.
Paul mustered every bit of stoicism and seriousness that his German military-trained form was capable of. Staring directly into her hollow, light blue eyes, he called upon the charisma that so influenced events to this point to not fail him one more time:
“Aryanne… General… mark my words, if you tell me right now that you have no intention of compromising with me—with the world, then my eyes will be the last thing you will ever see. You will never see your nation grow. And you will never see your nation wilt and die for all of your crimes.
“Test me. I dare you.”
Aryanne blinked… and her pupils shrunk at the weight of his words, and by how he so gingerly pressed the barrel back under her chin… a shot that would have obliterated her head had he pulled the trigger.
But he did not pull it, especially after, for the first time since he knew her, he saw pure fear in her eyes.
She understood his message completely.
And likewise for him, the reality of everything crashed down on him as his rage-fueled adrenaline high plummeted back to the earth. Paul released a deep breath that he was holding, and at the same time, he released Aryanne’s neck from his grip.
The porcelain mare fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, and wasted no time in coughing viciously to clear her airway. Her mane was now unkempt and her bangs matted to her forehead via sweat. She stared at Paul and attempted to bore a hole into his head with her own gaze.
As for Paul, he took deep, calculated breaths as he was concentrated solely on his gloved hand… the one that he used to choke Aryanne and… if he put a little more effort… break her neck with.
He paid Aryanne no mind, but his thoughts went immediately to Seerose. What would she have thought if she saw Paul do what he did just now? His machinations appeared to succeed with much internal pleading...
But would she think him the hero that she proclaimed he was to her? The superhero?
Or would he be nothing more than a monster who was birthed out of war and the Reich?
Paul shut his eyes and took another deep breath before exhaling completely. His gun hung limply in his hand, and he did not have any use for it at the moment. So with a drumroll of a heartbeat and surprisingly steady hands, he sought to make it safe.
He dropped his magazine into his hand, pulled the slide back to catch the bullet in the chamber, and placed it back into the magazine. He then slipped said magazine back into his pistol and holstered it in his jacket.
Paul then turned back to Aryanne, who was regaining some semblance of composure. The silence between them spoke more volume than any of the combined times they had conversed together… especially when they locked eyes.
There was an… understanding.
Tenuous… but an understanding nonetheless. Both knew what the other was fully capable of.
Paul’s attention was drawn to both their visor caps that had fallen to the ground during their… altercation.
He scooped both of them up from the brim, placed and fitted his back on his head, then peered down at Aryanne and offered her his hand.
Stoic gaze met recovering stoic gaze, and the elongated silence seemed to last a small lifetime as Aryanne worked up her response to Paul’s overture.
And in a manner that brought great surprise to the German, Aryanne placed her hoof into his hand.
Paul helped her onto her hooves, careful to avoid brushing up against any of her wounds, and then returned her visor-cap, which she wordlessly accepted and fitted back on her own head.
“Now…” Paul broke the silence, and sat back in his original chair.
Aryanne, understandably, was a tad more reticent.
“Let’s plan a different strike.”
The Generalfeldmarschall cocked her head to the right.
“Pardon me?”
Paul elaborated:
“We’re not starting a war. But… Alemaneia must avenge the dead of this horrible terrorist attack. I propose an alternative retaliatory strike.”
BREAKING NEWS!
ALEMANEIANS STRIKE BACK WITH LOCALIZED RETALIATORY OFFENSIVE. MAJOR POWERS PULL BACK WAR THREATS!
Last night, three platoons of hoof-picked, elite Alemaneian stormtroopers crossed the Mareitonian border. With the aid of intelligence they apprehended the suspected terrorists that set off a bomb during a military parade, killing over one-hundred ponies.
Taking no casualties of their own, the stormtroopers—commanded in part by Lieutenant Schneeblume Herbstlicht—killed thirty-two Mareitonian soldiers who resisted during the operation. All terrorists are to be tried and likely convicted in the Alemaneian high court.
“With this victory, we show the world that aggression against Alemaneia will not be tolerated,” General-Field Marshal Aryanne Land commented on the operation. “I expect swift retribution when these thugs are shot and their bodies dumped in the ocean. I also extend my thanks to our… wonderful allies in Equestria for lending us their top military advisor for the event.”
The Equestrian military advisor, a colonel and self-proclaimed ‘human’ by the name of Paul Werner, had this to say:
“Alemaneia is within her rights to retaliate for a senseless and barbaric act. The army and the country are both in excellent hooves under the motherly shield that is General Land. I was more than honored to lend my experience where I could, and I also give my thanks to her.”
It was widely feared that this would escalate to outright war between the major powers of Equidae, namely Alemaneia, Anglomaneia, Prance, and possibly Foalshevia. Bellicose saber rattling has halted entirely and national armies are lowering their internal threat levels.
The last war between the major powers almost fifteen years earlier was the most destructive war that the world had ever seen, which left nearly five million ponies dead and the led to the abdication of then-Kaiserin Regenfall IV of Alemaneia. Alemaneia has gone through multiple chancellors in its tumultuous governance since then.
Princess Luna lay the newspaper down on her desk, as her reading material had been all but exhausted for the early evening (her morning). And despite her not being a ‘morning’ Princess, her day was infinitely brightened by the news.
Celestia then trot into Luna’s room, her face bearing wear from the day’s events of court and her usual princessly duties.
She produced a profound yawn and wiped her face before speaking to her sister:
“Anything good in the news, Luna?”
The Lunar Princess angled her head over her shoulder and smiled brightly, her teeth reflecting all the moonlight in the sky.
