[1.5 Years after the Events of Parallels…]
“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.
Just the little things. That’s all that mattered.