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.
“Crisis averted, sister… so far.”