//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Marching and Home // Story: The Melding of Two Worlds Pt. 2: Home and the Battlefield // by Luckless //------------------------------// Zlat Whoever said, "War is hell", is an asshole. War is far worse. It's more of a nightmare boiled in hell, spiced with misery, and with a side of, "You are absolutely boned". When we got the order to march, it rained. For days. The ground became a slurry of mud which tugged at our boots, threatening to rip them off our feet. Within hours, we were all thoroughly coated in mud, soaked to the bone, and our feet were tortured with the mud that seeped through the tops of our boots (no matter how tightly we bound them) and the rain pooled up, and sloshed about as we took each step. Now, clothes never felt wonderful against my fur. Now that both were wet, it was like being already being frozenly soaked with the wet, rough side of a sponge being grated against me. Already, my tail was matted, and the mud had woven itself to the appendage itself. It had become so heavy that it provided a constant strain on the base of my tail. It was going to take forever to get it back to it's former glory. Sleep was hard to come by when your unprotected from the rain, except for the small tarp that those that still had theirs could cover themselves with. I still had mine, but I still froze from the cold and the sogginess, so sleep was short, fitfull, and unhelpful. My only respite was my head, which was mercifully covered my my helmet. Well, most of my head was covered. The brim of my helmet dripped water onto the end of my muzzle, but compared to the rest of my miseries, I shouldn't really complain. That didn't stop everyone else though. I'd been dropped into Wolfgang's old unit. Something about unit reorganization. Rainbow Dash, or RD as we all came to call her, complained nonstop about the weather. She claimed that she could, "Clear those clouds in 10 seconds flat!" I learned that pegasi could manipulate the weather and clouds, but in 10 seconds? I found that kinda hard to believe. Besides, even if she could, we were given only short breaks from marching (which was really just a trudge to be honest) for eating or to sleep. Rarity was even worse. Every syllable was laced with a grating whine, every step was exceedingly slow unless prodded or poked forwards, and rarely did she ever NOT complain for a minute or two. I swear, half of us (including me) gave her looks that seemed to express the utmost desire to duct tape her mouth shut. Bouncer, Applejack, and Wild Ace could be heard grumbling to themselves every now and then, but that was it. The real sight and sound to witness, was Mac. He lugged around his machine gun, looked twice as bad as the rest of us, and he didn't say a thing. Hell, he didn't even look annoyed! Just that neutral, thinking to himself look that he always wore. I think you can guess who I stood next to. His silence seemed to strengthen my resolve, and if I needed to vent, or voiced my worries about my brother, he listened politely, and kept quiet. The Changelings marched right behind us, and seemed very fascinated with the humans and anthros within our army. Occasionally a brave one would approach us and try to mingle, however as irritated as we were, they didn't get very many answers. We made sure to tell them to ask another time when we had time to calm down and for conditions to improve. But there were a few repeating visitors, and no amount of ambient unfriendliness seemed to deter them. Despite everything, we marched on as steadily as possible. Wolfgang I wheeled myself down the sidewalk, growling through my teeth in pain. My arm still wasn't fully healed, and using it wasn't the brightest thing I could do, but even though the VA (Veterans Affairs) had drastically improved since our predecessors, they still couldn't house and care for me when I showed I was stubborn in working towards recovery. They patched me up best they could, got a pony doctor to accelerate the healing process, and send me on my way to my old apartment with the promise to continue paying me, and even give me a prosthetic leg once I regained my strength. Not to mention a recovery program. Mr. Voladaski, bless his soul, had reserved my apartment for my return, on one condition which I readily agreed to as long as I could set some ground rules. The condition was that he had to also allow refugees from Equestria to take residence (via government orders and payments), and my rules were- 1# Don't sell anything that was in the apartment when you got there 2# Replace anything you break 3# Don't protest when the original owners come back 4# Maintain cleanliness I figured they were reasonable rules, and so did Mr. Voladaski. I finally came to my old apartment complex, just as dilapidated-looking now as when I left. Familiarity spread a grin on my face as I fought with the stairs, opting to go up backwards to get the large wheels up, wrestled with the door to open it, and entered. The smell of Mr. Voladaski's sweet cigars overwhelmed my nose, and a small wisp of smoke coming from around the corner announced his presence. "OI! Voladaski! Get out 'ere man!" I yelled. Something crashed, and out came the massive Russian in his dour clothing, and scarred over face from his days as a city gangster. By no means was he a handsome man. Honestly, he looked flat out terrifying, and when he smiled, and you didn't know him, you couldn't tell if it was endearing, or even more terrifying. I had suggested once to him to wear something more friendly, and stop smoking to get rid of the smell of cigar that seemed to make his presence even more intimidating. To this, he laughed, and told me, " I won't be a pretty man, like you. I win people over with personality. You get good friends that way." His logic seemed sound to me. After all, only worthwhile people would give a man like him a chance to see his good side. Or, they could only be trying to get protection from the massive man, but he rooted them out soon enough, unless they were tenants. Then he would tolerate and protect them as long as they paid him, and didn't bring the police. If they did either one of these, out they went. His true friends never attracted police, and he protected them like family. I personally witnessed him ward off nearly an army's worth of gangsters that a friend of his had attracted to the complex. He looked at me with curiosity, no doubt my scars and distorted voice made me unrecognizable to him, "I know you?" he asked in his heavy accent. I grinned, my scars moved uncomfortably, still stiff from being so strained from when I'd abused them when I screamed my head off on the battlefield and in surgery until they'd finally pumped in enough painkillers and sedative to stock a drug store into me, "Course ya do! Room 12, Wolfgang Piatek! Don' tell me yer gettin' old an' went off an' fergottin' me." I joked. Poor Volad looked like he wanted to greet me with his bear hug, but either thought he'd break me, or wanted to make sure I was who I said I was, "Good Mr. Piatek was more whole, so forgive me if I not believe. Prove you are Mr. Piatek, and I welcome you with open arms. If you don't, I throw you to curb." His threat was sincere, and I smiled to hear his loyalty. With my good arm, I pulled my dogtags from under my shirt, over my head, and held them up to him. They were in terrible condition. They were bent in, scratched several times, and the rubber that wrapped around the tags to keep them quiet had been cut, allowing the rubber to flap if shook hard enough. Then there was the fact that they smelled like old blood and burning mustard. Volad gingerly took the tags, and held them up to his face, and looked hard. A sad smile crossed his face, and he handed the tags back to me, "Welcome back Wolf. I wish circumstance were better." I smiled wider, "I take what I can get." A laugh barked from his throat, "With you, that does not surprise me. If one phrase describe you, that it." We grasped hands, the familiar strength in his hand made me feel better, but the weakness of my own brought me down further. But I kept my happy face. This was a good day, and self pity had no home in me. "You in newspaper. 'Five month siege of Ponyville ends as the Hero of Equestria breaches Hell.' Had picture of you, thought you were safe." "Safe? What does that mean?" We gave a laugh to the dark joke, "No, had a run in with gas, an' got shot to hell 'n back. They even gave me a stab fer good measure, but you know me-" and we said together, "I'm a stubborn bastard." And we laughed again. "I'm a stubborn bastard" was something that we both described ourselves as, and I'd say it was accurate. Volad looked behind me, "Where is brother?" I sighed, my smile shrinking a little, "Still out there. He and the rest of the battalion are going with the Changeling army to free Equestria's capital. Oh, what was it called?" "Canterlot. Pony cities seem to be puns of our cities." No doubt 'our' spoke for the world we knew before the merger. Volad looked me over again, staring harder, "How long have you been traveling?" It was hard to hear with his deep voice and accent, but years of knowing the man allowed me to recognize his concern over my state. And what a poor state I was in. My eyes were horribly bloodshot from the days of sleeplessness, black bags hanged under my eyes, eyes that sunk into my skull as my body desperately tried to repair itself, and my worn, damaged and dirty clothes clung to my thin frame. My diet may have gotten better, but most of the nutrients was being used on repairs, not growth. "A long time, my friend. A long time." I let out the rest of my breath with that last word, suddenly feeling all the overwhelming weight of my travels and recovery crashing down on me. Boy I felt tired. I know that Volad saw it, he always does, "I think it time for you to go to room. Let's go," and with a smile, "I fix elevator just in time it seem." I chuckled a bit. The day I started renting my apartment, I had discovered that the only elevator in the whole place didn't work, and Volad had been trying to fix it for the last few years. "Yeah, and it only took you 20 years to do it too. Finally hire a mechanic?" I ask jokingly. He smiles, and pried open the iron grate that served as the barrier between the elevator and lobby, "After you." I roll myself in, and Volad pressed a button on the dash. The elevator shuddered, and started to rise. First floor, second floor, MY floor. My heart was beating harder as we turned to face the door at the end of the hallway. My door. I rolled myself up to the door with years of memories flooding me. All those days showing up after a long day feeling like crap, the few I stumbled up to it, and all the monotonous things like fixing the door frame, repainting it, or even just coming back with groceries. I tentatively rested my hand on the new handle. I guess there really is some new roommates in here. So before I opened the door, I asked, "So how many, er... ponies live here now?" "Five. Mother is pegasus, her name is Lucky Singer. Got herself a job singing in restaurant down the street. The father is Steam Hammer. He is Earth pony, and working at Department of Wartime Technologies, so he only here on weekends like today. Children are of all type. Oldest is Earth pony boy named Wrought Iron. Very good with machines, that one. Helped fix elevator. The middle child is pegasus named Warm Wind. She's a kind little soul. Youngest is unicorn orphan, Metal Strings. He still a baby, but in control of magic." Wait, 'but in control of magic'? "Uhh, what do you mean by that?" I really, REALLY, didn't like the implications of that. "Unicorns not control magic too well until certain age. He old enough that it not issue. I don't know if parents here, but children certainly are. What you waiting for? Let's go in." He reached over my shoulder and twisted the handle down, and pressed the door inwards. Walking around me, he called out, "Wrought! Come here my boy." I rolled in behind him, shaking my head with a smile. Volad certainly had quite a way with introductions. Around the corner came a brown earth pony with messy black hair and piercing, cold blue eyes. He was smaller than Big Mac in his pony form, but built exactly the same. He came with a smile, which quickly took on a look of curiosity once his eyes fell on me. "Hello Mr. Voladinski. Who's this?" He was trying to look at Volad, and not at me, quickly flicking his eyes back to him when he realized his gaze had drifted back to me. Well, time to put on a happy face. Wrought Iron I couldn't stop myself from looking at this new human that was with Mr. Voladinski. He was in a wheelchair, missing a leg, wrapped in a torn winter combat uniform of the New York Militia. Greyish long overcoat over the standard green fatigues. However, he didn't wear a helmet or hat, like I'd seen most Militiamen wear, and I wish he had been. A hat might have hidden some of the ugly disfigurement that he suffered from. I may have only been here for a few months, but I had come to know that a humans' face shouldn't look like that unless they got really messed up. At least his hair was still growing. I figured he wouldn't like it if I stared at him, so I tried my best to look at Mr. Voladinski only. "S'alright kid. Ya don' need to puh- I mean, spare my feelin's. Look if yuh want, it don' bother me." The man spoke. It was deep, gravely, almost distorted. I looked over to him, and saw a soft, reassuring smile. Or at least, as close as his face could manage. "Sorry, I just don't really know how to go about this. My name's Wrought Iron." I reached out a hood to shake his hand. He rolled himself up to me, and grasped my hoof, "Wolfgang Piatek. Nice tuh meet ya." Now that I wasn't worrying over offending him, I began wondering over why he was here, "Excuse me for asking, but what brings you here?" "Wrought, remember I say that previous tenant not kicked out and come back some day?" I nod. I remembered feeling worried that we might get kicked out when they came back, and Mr. Voladinski saying it again made that same worry come back. "Well, Wolf here is tenant. He will be living here again." And my heart dropped into my stomach. "Introduce him to family please? I need to go, so have fun boys!" And with that, Mr. Voladinski left, closing the door. "Wrought, I know what yer thinkin'. No, yer family ain't gettin' kicked out. Yer just gettin' a new roommate." Mr. Piatek's words comforted me, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. "Thanks, you have no idea how much better that makes me feel. Come on, I'll introduce you to my family, but my parents are out right now working and getting food." "Yeah, heard yer dad was working in the tech department. He's gonna be savin' lives man, I promise you that." I puffed my chest out with pride, I smiled happily with such a good opinion of my dad. Most people here thought poorly of anybody who was working for the war effort, but not actually fighting. "Thanks, you wouldn't believe how much flak I get because of his job." I halted realizing what I just said. No one but me knew about this. "Somethin' wrong Wrought?" he asked confused. My mind ground to an immediate halt. I hadn't meant to say that, and I wasn't confident enough that I'd be able to deflect the question, "Whatever you do, don't tell anybody about this! My folks are already stressed as it is. They don't need anything else to worry about." I pleaded. Mr. Piatek used his fingers to motion out zipping his lips, "Yer secret's safe with me. But if you need any help, I'm more than willing to go an' crack some skulls fer ya. I may be a cripple now, but I'm a far sight better fighter than those bastards are." I snickered at his surefiredness and willingness to protect a random stranger. What am I worrying about? This is gonna work out fine! Steam Hammer The day had been going as well as I could've hoped for. Getting to and back from the store wasn't so bad, or slow. It was getting the groceries themselves that was the hard part. Being a pony, the list was mostly limited to vegetable items like soup and raw ingredients. I found myself quite irked that the produce in Chestia was far less appetizing than Equestria food, and was more expensive too. I'd been explained that the grand majority of the population ate meat from animals that were one step short of being brain dead compared to Equestrian animals, and the cows weren't any different. Therefore, farming wasn't as much of a focus point as I'd like. The food grown in vats inside the city were far from palitable, but extremely cheap to the point it was nearly a steal. But this was the weekend, and we'd been surviving on it for a good long while, minus the leftovers Lucky brought back from work, so I figured it would be a good time to treat the family. However, it being the weekend also meant that most of the city's inhabitants were also buying their weekly supplies, so it was cramped and slow in the store. I met many humans and anthros throw me a mix of reactions and looks from fascination to anger. No doubt, ponies were a rarity everywhere in Chestia, and many found that an Equestrian not fighting in the war to be disloyal to the country, and downright cowardly not to fight. I tried to ignore them best I could as I loaded my cart up with food. The journey back was fairly peaceful despite the bustle of the big city, and the load I'd place in my saddle bags didn't dampen my mood. However, my mind still tracked back to my work. I found the idea of a large hulking mass of metal moving around on the battlefield incredibly fascinating. Men would be protected from enemy fire, and attack at the same time, wreaking havoc against enemy troops while boosting moral. I'd had the immense pleasure of examining an ancient wreck of one of these historical wonders, and had made as many notes as I possibly could about the science of the armor in deflecting incoming fire from cannons, to its' own armament. The one problem I came across that I shared with my team was how to get the engine and crankshaft to connect to the wheels of the tank itself. However, the wheels and axles we designed, no matter how much of a load we could coax them to hold, were never strong enough to bear the weight of the tank, and we couldn't find a good way to get the front wheels to guide the tank in a turn. And don't get me started about how we were trying to get the engine to not overheat and explode for the first few months. Apparently, cars and trucks had coolant in them to help maintain the temperature, and it had never crossed our minds because of all the other problems we faced. My pondering over solutions provided enough of a distraction that I found myself at the apartment complex quickly. I let myself in, climbed the stairs, and entered my apartment. That's when I saw a human sitting in the recliner with a wheelchair folded up against it. Not only was there a human in the chair, but my children were gathered around him, asking a storm of questions. I cleared my throat, getting everyone's attention, "Um, who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment with my kids?" I asked with rising concern. I don't think anyone, pony or other, would question my protectiveness of my children. Especially with the growing problems my son was getting at school. The human's face, I noticed, was gruesomely disfigured. It was terribly mangled by scar tissue across most of his face, but his hair seemed largely untouched and growing from what must have been a very close haircut. Maybe a complete shave. "Oh, Wrought, this yer dad?" His voice sounded like gravel, and held an accent I didn't recognize. Though it was gruff indeed. "Yes sir!" My eldest son answered with a sense of wonderment in his voice. The human smiled, though his face twitched in some areas, "Then allow me tuh apologize fer not givin' you a heads 'bout my comin', Mr. Hammer. I was the last tenant of this apartment," with what seemed to be great difficulty, he reached over to his wheelchair, and unfolded it, "an' I've been placed on extended leave cuz of my injuries. Give me a moment." I tensed up a bit as he pushed himself up off the recliner, and... hopped into the wheelchair. Now I got a good look at him, I realized the need for the chair. He was missing an entire leg, and his sleeve was rolled up to his shoulder, letting a heavy bandage around his upper arm be seen. For a human, he was incredibly thin and lithe. Not much could be hidden from the worn fatigues he wore. Realization hit me like a train, He's a soldier! He must be coming back for his apartment! I started worrying about being kicked out, and where'd we go. But I wasn't given much time, for he began talking again once he settled. "Since the doctors can't tell if I'll be strong 'nough tuh go into a fight with a prosthetic yet, I need tuh heal up. So they figured it would be best fer me to come back Stateside to get my moral back an' heal up peacefully. So for the foreseeable future, I'll be sharing the apartment with you an' yer family." With that, he cast a warm...ish... to my kids. At least, as warm as his face could make. "My name's Wolfgang Piatek, sir. But you can call my Wolf. Pleasure to meet you." Instantly, I felt relieved, and I let out a sigh of reprieve. He rolled himself up to me, and extended a hand. Even sitting down, he managed to be nearly at eye level with me. He must be really be tall when he stands. With my fear abated, I shook his hand enthusiastically, "Name's Steel Hammer. Call me Steel. It's a pleasure to meet you Wolf." Wolfgang eyed my saddlebags, "Groceries?" I nodded. He gestured to the kitchen with his head, "Come on, I'll help you put stuff away. It'll help me know my way around the kitchen if I get hungry and want to make something." I could barely utter out a surprised thanks. Even so heavily battered looking, he was eager and willing to help. As we put things away, I asked him some questions. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened to you?" Wolfgang didn't look at me, since he fixed on putting things away, but I could still see the side of his face. He looked largely neutral about the question, "Heard about the siege of Ponyville?" "Yes, I have. Next to Canterlot, I heard that was one of the bloodiest battles. Were you stationed there?" "Yep. Got pretty banged up on the assault, but I managed to do more than my part. Leg had to be amputated cuz it was too mangled to be saved. Took some bullets in a lot of places, but after I was stabilized, a unicorn doc fixed me up real quick. Still pretty tender in most places, an' everything will take a good while to fully heal, but things 'r goin' well considerin'." "How long were you there?" "A good seven 'r eight months. Five of them we were under siege, but those first three were pretty nice. Wasn't too hard work, an' we managed to relax in th' town awhile. Ponies there are good people, albeit curious." I considered asking him if anybody he knew died, but I held my tongue. It seemed a rude thing to ask, and I didn't want to bring up bad memories. "So how long you been working at the DWT?" His asked, clearly trying to continue the conversation. "Since Appleloosa was evacuated." "Good town?" "Pretty good. We had a tough time with the Buffalo who lived there. Apparently, we settled on their land without knowing, and we were both too thick headed to talk. Good thing Princess Twilight came in with her friends to settle things. After that, it was mostly smooth sailing." "Whatcha do fer work?" "I worked on the trains that ran through, and designed models for mechanical stuff. But compared to the technology here, most seem primitive." "Aah! Don't beat yerself up. I'll bet my leg that what you were doin' would be revolutionary before the merge. Better work than what I had." I beamed at his high praise, but "what I had"? "What did you do?" He sighed, sounding weary, "I was part of the militia. Patrolled the city an' go into gunfights with violent criminals. Got pretty beat up all 'round in those days." We fell into relative silence as we finished putting things away. Not much could be said after that.