[Six Months Later…]
She had been getting some good mileage out of her lesser exercised hobbies, as of late.
While Regenfall would never hesitate to flex her expertise as a royally trained dancer, orator, or—like now—singer, she only wished that the circumstances to warrant such ‘flexing’ were brighter than of current. Happier times tended to yield much more powerful, enrapturing spells upon her when she would sing her little heart out… much like the times she had performed as a filly for the nobles in packed theaters, to standing ovations.
God, she hated the nobles.
Even so, these were not those times… for the Prench had called her bluff. The whole world quickly found out that the Kaiserin herself had not been bluffing in the slightest.
Despite this, however, she sang.
Despite the declared, open state of conflict that now existed between the Prench and Alemaneian Empires, she sang.
Despite the gentle rain of an early spring on the Prench plains of Mer de Fleurs, she sang.
And despite sitting in a fortified rally point just behind the third-line trenches, her navy-blue uniform being marred with mud and water…
…all in the middle of the aforementioned plain that was now a partially mangled, cratered, moonscaped shadow of what it once was…
…she sang.
Through every stanza, every chorus of song she let flow expertly bidden from her lips, Regenfall let her eyes fall shut. She let the soft, soothing rhythm of a whimsical, nostalgic song of Alemaneia permeate over the deathly silence… a silence only blighted by the occasional salvo of artillery, or distant burst of a machine gun on the front line.
And at every purposeful, poignant pause, she would open her eyes just enough to take in her audience.
Their muddy, ragged uniforms and helmets from a recent fight… The variety of bloody bandages and bandaging techniques, depending on the severity of any wounds they sustained… The multi-colored sea of faces that managed to pack into this wider section of trench-network, all in various states of attentiveness towards her…
…and ultimately, their eyes:
Their exhausted eyes.
Their tearing eyes.
Their hollow, broken eyes.
Or their fresh eyes.
She also noticed many of them dozing off to her lullaby-esque choice in song, though many of these had already fallen quite asleep… some against the walls of the trench, some curled up amongst themselves, and others leaning blissfully into their comrades. A few greener, fresh troops had joined in as replacements, too, and were just as enraptured.
And she sat right in the center of them all, performing for them… providing whatever she could to her soldiers on the front who were bearing the brunt of Prance’s failed gamble.
The world may have been watching the two empires at the moment. Other world leaders would happily lambast the two nations for beginning a slugfest that threatened to spiral out of control… despite her forces having all the initiative. The Prench Emperor, Bouclier, may have been bellicosely demanding an end to ‘Alemaneia’s unacceptable invasion of their heartland.’
But unlike the world, and those leaders, Regenfall was here…
…singing to her troops.
Well, as many as she could at one time, given the circumstances. Squads and platoons had rotated in and out of the area regularly—this section of the line had been seeing heavy action since the conflict escalated. Hence, she chose this section to visit today, despite the protests of some of her top generals and advisors…
…though they tended to have a conniption every time she wanted to go to the front. Regenfall had to pull rank for them to even let her go to the frontline trench to have a look at Prench positions opposite of them.
She felt at home with her soldiers. She felt, outside of the royal, walled gardens, that this was her home. And so, she would visit her second home as often as she pleased, if only for moments like this…
…to keep spirits high or raise morale among her troops.
She smiled at the thought, once she ended her song by breathing her final lyric.
It was the least she could do.
Regenfall opened her eyes fully after a pointed pause, and ‘returned herself’ to the real world. Her return to solid ground was greeted with soft, tired, but genuine applause and cheers. Her erstwhile soft smile chiseled its way into a proper, glowing beam as her troops—dozens, no hundreds, if one counted the medical dugout nearby—showered her with both verbal and nonverbal praise.
Even a supervising brigadier general on the line seemed to not hesitate in joining in, despite her earlier protests to Regenfall being here and ‘putting her life in danger.’
They were all putting their life in danger.
A private to her right—a cream-coated stallion with a bloody bandage on his shoulder—was the first to properly speak up:
“That was beautiful, my Queen!”
Other voices quickly joined in, competing over one another, of which she could only pick out a few responses from the sensory overload.
“Yeah!”
“That’s our Empress!”
“Thank you, Queen Regenfall!”
Regenfall giggled heartily, partway from flattery, but the rest from the use of her title so close to the action.
“You know you don’t need to use my title right now… we’re equals out here. All of us,” she said.
Then, in an epiphany, promptly added with a broad gesture of her hoof across her audience:
“In fact, I’d argue all of you are above me. After all, you’re all the ones doing the heavy lifting.”
She adjusted her haunches on her wooden box that she sat on all this time—she apparently had lost some feeling to her right flank. Had she been sitting that long?
Regenfall shrugged.
“I simply get to set the goals and make some decisions. And…”
Her words eluded her, though a brief glance around her showed that she still commanded the full attention—and smiles—of her soldiers.
“…I know this may be an awkward way of phrasing this after all I’ve asked of you these past four months, please forgive me… but I… I thank you.”
The orator in her returned as powerful feelings welled up in her chest and manifested in two tears. She held her head high as she drew her gaze over her troops.
“All of you, my noble warriors. For everything you’ve done for our struggle. And to those who gave everything…
“…they… will be taken care of. Their families will be taken care of. May they rest in peace. And the same applies for you, should—heaven forbid—anything happen to you. Again, thank you.
“For everything!”
It was a solemn moment, one where Regenfall felt she could share a proper heart-to-heart with at least some of her troops.
But they erupted in raucous cheers, much to her startle.
From whence many were on the verge of sleeping to her voice and fatigue, all around her found the energy to contribute to the beautiful wave of bellowing cheering that could only be from genuine, boosted morale. The frontline was probably hearing everything right now.
Regenfall beamed right back at them and offered a sharp salute.
“Yeah!! We’re with you, My Queen! To the end!”
“Long Live the Queen!”
“Hail Queen Regenfall!”
“See?! She’s with us! Our Warrior Queen!”
“Long Live the Queen!”
“Long Live the Queen!”
“Long Live the Queen!”
The chanting became synchronized and was almost enough to draw out the sudden artillery salvo fired at the Prench lines. Regenfall was instantly brought back to the first speech she made in the Parliament building… to all her supporters and skeptics in the government, as well as to the civilians in attendance. She remembered how amazing it felt to be genuinely accepted.
She felt the same feeling now… that giddiness that enveloped her entire core and made her feel lighter in her uniform. Suddenly, the drizzle on her face felt that much more prominent as it cooled her coloring cheeks. Her long, flowing mane channeled the occasional gust of wind to her warm head, and fluttered majestically in the breeze behind her… and she deliberately left her crown behind.
Regenfall was smiling so hard, she felt it could somehow radiate brilliantly through the cloudy day.
“Haha! Thank you, my soldiers! As close as we are to achieving our objectives, there is still much work to be done to bring the Prench to heel.”
The unnoticeable transition to her oratory side was instant.
“It’s not that they should sue for peace… but that we ensure they never threaten us again!”
A young, inquisitive, boyish voice piped up from her immediate left.
“And if I may, My Queen… what are the objectives for that?”
The sudden silence was almost tasty… and in looking left, she found the greenest, freshest looking young stallion she had ever seen. His boyish features stood out like a sore hoof on his pale-coated features, to the point where Regenfall would not fault anyone for questioning his age. Even his helmet—adorned with the lone spike atop it much like every one of his comrades around him—seemed comically large on his head.
She noticed the aforementioned Brigadier General—suddenly fuming—marching forward, but Regenfall thrust a single, imperious hoof towards her, and wordlessly stayed her. Not that she had any problem with her soldiers speaking to her so directly, but she certainly admired the younger confidence, nonetheless.
Regenfall smiled down at him and basted her words in a healthy amount of amusement:
“That—my young warrior—is the right question… how old are you, even?” she asked.
A mix of chuckles erupted from their little crowd at the joke, but Regenfall owed credit where it was due: the young one didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and only beamed wider.
“Just turned eighteen, Your Highness! Enlisted on my birthday!” he said, snapping to a prideful salute.
Regenfall smiled, then nudged his shoulder jokingly.
“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second, young one! Hehe, where’s your mother?”
“Right here, Your Majesty,” came an unexpected, feminine reply from behind the young one.
Regenfall recoiled visibly when a mare—who bore more than passing resemblance to the subject of her little jibes—stepped forth and placed a booted-up hoof around the young stallion… a stallion who looked back up at her with the utmost pride he could muster in his little heart. Their uniforms, from their boots, to their helmets, to their patches were the exact same. They even bore the same rank as one another: Private.
And there were more than a few murmurs from the “audience.”
The Kaiserin raised a tentative, awe-struck hoof. There wasn’t a joking air anymore.
“Y-You’re his mother? You came with him?!”
And apparently it was her turn to be on the receiving end of some amusing sarcasm.
“Well, My Queen, he heard your call to arms and I just couldn’t change his mind. And I knew I’d never stop worrying about him… so I decided to join him and make sure he says out of trouble!”
Regenfall felt… moved, to say the least. But the amusement of the entire situation hit her just as hard. She threw her head back in genuine laughter—much harder than she had laughed, recently. And thankfully, it appeared her troops around her were inclined to join in.
She needed that laugh.
They all did.
But she composed herself and gazed upon this mother-son duo with an extra bit of reverence.
“Incredible… absolutely incredible. May I ask your names?”
The baby-faced stallion spoke up first and saluted once more—he looked positively star-struck, which made Regenfall giggle internally.
“Private Lightning Mist, Your Highness!”
And his mother added her name in kind, with an identical salute:
“Private Morning Mist, My Queen! It’s an honor!”
Regenfall bowed her head deeply. The amount of respect she had for this duo—and all her troops, really—she felt could not be adequately put into words.
Once she raised her head high again, she addressed all her troops once more… a rather pertinent point to make that was very much exemplified by the last few moments:
“No… the honor is all mine.
“And that, my noble warriors, is what I feel truly tells the story of our military forces. This is a family at the front, on their own volition and sense of duty.”
She gazed at everypony in her audience.
“In fact… you all are! You are an all-volunteer army! You are here on your own accord—you are all one family! We are all one family. And I make sure to take care of my family!” she said.
And that’s when she proudly announced:
“On account of an excellent harvest, I’m ordering the doubling rations for the month for the entire army. You’ll need the extra energy when it’s time to storm the Prench staging line.”
Seeing all their faces light up was the only gift she needed this year… but she was quick to shut down any rapturous cheering from her troops so she could get out her final point:
“Once we’re in control of their strongest fortifications, we hold that line and turn their defenses against them. We need not move further!
“The Prench—in all their pride and vanity—will throw themselves at us and grind themselves down into a dull shadow of their former effectiveness as a fighting force!”
She could see her soldiers keenly leaning into her words as she outlined the goals she had for waging this war. In her eyes, they deserved that much.
“And that is the goal. When they sue for peace, we’ll let them have this territory back. But only when we get reassurances that they shall never threaten us ever again. It will also be an example to all of the Equidaen continent!”
She brought her words to a crescendo:
“Because the continent must know that Alemaneia is no longer a collection of weak states, kingdoms, and principalities…
“…No. We are an empire! And this continent will soon take heed to treat us as such, with the respect we deserve!”
Every single pony in attendance thrust a hoof into the air, and a wave of cheers at her words dwarfed even the sound of another artillery salvo being fired off towards the Prench lines. And even when finished, the cheering from her soldiers continued to uproarious levels.
And that’s how she knew she truly was at her home away from home. Her smile could not physically have gotten any wider without violating the laws of physics by this point… though arguably some ponies were better at that than others. To Regenfall, it also appeared that her smile was contagious, as it fueled the flames of the fire that was the sheer energy of her soldiers in front of her.
At least… until a return-salvo from the Prench lines answered their own.
Regenfall perked her ear up and cocked her head when she heard the telltale sound of enemy shells slamming into the lines further ahead… and she narrowed her eyes when the chattering bursts of machine-gun fire became much more prominent.
A rather uncomfortable silence fell over the troop. Regenfall glanced at the supervising Brigadier General that had been her tour guide for the day… and found her speaking frantically with a runner from the line.
Almost on cue, Regenfall watched her turn towards everypony—her eyes laser-focused. Another Prench salvo made itself known all the while.
“SOLDIERS TO THE FRONT! Prepare to defend against an attack! MOVE MOVE MOVE!”
Her tone brooked no argument—even Regenfall could tell as much. Her soldiers all stood up firmly and began an orderly, wordless march towards the frontline trenches.
“General, is an enemy attack underway?” she asked.
The Brigadier shook her head as she closed ranks with Regenfall.
“Not at the moment. Surveillance from our fliers shows a gathering of enemy troops at the Prench front line that signifies an impending assault. Enemy artillery is also responding more aggressively—likely to provoke our counter-battery fire.
“We need to have the forces on-hoof if an attack presents itself.”
Regenfall may not have been a frontline soldier, but she saw a danger in this plan:
“With all due respect, General, if enemy artillery opens up, all these brave souls will be obliterated!”
“The trenches are sufficiently deep, sturdy, and we have enough reinforced enclaves for most our troops to remain in cover under any length and strength of enemy bombardment, Your Highness!”
Regenfall absorbed this information as best as she could, as the cacophony of barking orders her troops marching past her threatened to overtake her thought process. The extra moment to herself hardened her resolve, however.
“Understood… please, take me to the front line.”
The sudden welling of unease in the Brigadier’s face could be read plainly, and was nigh palatable for Regenfall, all things considered.
“Th-That’s not—Your Majesty I have to seriously advise against and lodge my formal protest against such a—”
Regenfall rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for this anymore, nor did she feel she could stomach it.
“That’s fine, General. My soldiers will show me the way, thanks,” she said, then half-assed a salute before mingling in with the river of soldiers making their way forward.
Regenfall ignored the frantic pleas from her General that she left behind, and they were drowned out by the chatter and yelling as she moved farther away and towards the front. Her ‘mingling’ was likely a poor choice of words in her mind, as the moment her more ‘regal’ presence was made known, her soldiers parted completely let her through. Any and all chatter would die down considerably as she passed—determined expression plastered on her face—towards the front line…
…among all the surprised, bewildered, and bemused words exchanged regarding the Alemaneian Queen hoofing her own way to the firing line.
But as she soon let on to everypony around her, if these reports of potential action on the front were to be believed, now was not the time for awestruck-ness and reverence. Her words were further forged and alloyed at the sight of wounded, the dying, and dead ponies being brought behind the lines from the enemy artillery strike mere minutes ago:
“On your hooves, warriors! Time for gawking is not a luxury we can currently afford! To the front!”
The response was—however—unanimous:
“YES, YOUR HIGHNESS! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”
Her resolve was hardened even further.
I need to see this… I need to be a part of this.
And in a blur, she found herself at the firing trench, gazing stoically—laser-focused—as she decided what she would do. Her soldiers lined up and took cautious peeks over the parapet. Machine-gunners went about loading their massive weapons behind their shields and eyed the enemy lines with extra scrutiny.
Rifle teams all loaded their weapons and aimed them tentatively towards the Prench lines. Unicorns stood at the ready to lend magical support.
It was all so surreal to Regenfall… how perfectly, and seemingly choreographed her professional army deployed to general quarters. While she had been to the firing trenches a few times over the last couple months, there certainly had never been a threat of an impending, enemy assault.
She could not have been prouder—even those who were aware of her presence stood their ground and held their posts. The barking of various orders from an even greater variety of voices bombarded her ears and her senses.
It was only a familiar voice that brought her out of her trance:
“My Queen! I-I think you may wish to see this…” came the boyish tone of Lightning Mist.
Regenfall homed in on him as he made a small-enough space for her to climb up and peek over the parapet, and she was keen on taking it.
“And what might that be, young soldier?”
Before she could, however, the soldier next to him—seemingly a lieutenant from the rank insignia she was able to catch on his shoulder—waved her over towards the periscope he was looking through.
“Right here, Your Highness… take a look towards the section of the Prench line where I’m aiming,” he offered.
As he stepped down from the parapet, Regenfall took her first hoof towards the periscope, and lined up her eyes.
As if she was looking herself, she could see a wide expanse of the enemy trench network, and as if looking into a mirror universe, found Prench soldiers—quite distinctive with their own brand of helmets—cautiously peeking back towards her. The barrels of loaded, enemy machine guns were pointed right in the direction of her own line… ready to rain death quash any attempt at crossing the half-way cratered sea of flowers between them.
But then again, her line was equally as prepared—if not more so in her completely unbiased and objective opinion.
The previous observations were not what drew her attention the most, however. Rather, it was the central pony in a group of high-ranking Prench soldiers who were bravely looking, completely exposed over their parapet. The group were staring back towards her general area through a shared set of binoculars.
Regenfall suddenly felt herself bristle. She could feel the second-hand arrogance from here.
“Bouclier?!” she exclaimed to nopony.
That name, however, certainly had a resounding effect on her troops around her.
“The Prench Emperor?!”
“The enemy Emperor is here?!”
“Bouclier is among them!”
“To arms! The enemy King is here!”
It also became readily apparent that Regenfall’s supposed ‘handler’ in the form of the Brigadier General had caught up to her.
“My Queen! I must ask you to step back from—”
Regenfall ignored exhortations entirely, if only by the fury that overtook her body and blinded the rest of her senses from the world around her. Her gaze remained fixated on the opulently dressed Bouclier, several hundred meters away. His pretentious gaze as he spoke to his officers on either side of him just… did something to her. Ever since their fateful meeting in her palace over half a year ago, she detested the sight of him—even more so now that their nations were in a state of open war…
…a war he started.
As her ears figuratively turned inward and focused on the thoughts marinating around in her mind, Regenfall was brought back to how often Bouclier’s office had attempted to make contact with her after the outbreak of hostilities. She rebuffed or outright ignored all incoming requests for an audience from him—her objectives had been set, after all. And she would see them through.
…but the reckless young mare inside her wanted to have her say in all this, on her terms. Perhaps she would be willing to have an audience with him.
But on equal ground.
Regenfall brought herself back to reality, turned the periscope back over to the gracious lieutenant, and placed her boot-clad hoof against the firm mud of the trench wall. Such a gesture evoked more than a passing anxiousness and confusion from her surrounding soldiers.
“Ummm… My Queen…?”
Satisfied with her hold, she steeled herself—her heart smashing its powerful hooves within the confines of her ribcage—and hoisted herself up completely over the parapet.
Her four hooves didn’t even make contact with the ground of no-pony’s land before an immediate, horrified uproar of voices made themselves known from behind her.
“What the FUCK?!”
“NO! QUEEN REGENFALL! NO!”
No… I need to do this.
Her response to all her soldiers literally screaming at her—and immediately saddling up to follow her—was to hold her left hoof back outstretched. While staring dead ahead at Bouclier and his posse, she channeled every ounce of her iron regality into that hoof. She held back the entire wave of hundreds, and potentially thousands of her own troops by sheer force of will.
She couldn’t imagine what was going through their minds… but Regenfall didn’t have the brainpower to devote to it as she slowly, steadily marched forward. She angled her face determinedly towards Bouclier, and she could feel the intensity and ferocity of which her eyes burned.
She focused only on him.
Every step closer awoke something in her… every time she felt her boots sink into the soppy ground after parting the flowers beneath her did her resolve harden.
And by the time Regenfall was a third of the way to the enemy lines, she was able to make out Bouclier and his high-ranked group suddenly whip their gazes towards her in abject surprise. She even saw the emperor himself run his hoof over his gaze, as if she would have vanished like the apparition of his worst nightmare.
Those thoughts calmed her nerves… Regenfall knew exactly what she was doing. She knew the danger she was placing herself in. She knew the consequences of a single Prench soldier taking extra initiative and putting a bullet in her head… especially since she could hear the commotion of the enemy line reacting to her presence in kind.
She placed all the faith that they wouldn’t, though. Because the moment she collapsed from any harm done unto her, the entire enemy line would be eviscerated. Of this, Regenfall was confident, as she took a final step towards the almost-exact center of no-pony’s land.
The silence was deafening… and nopony but the wind kept her company as it whipped through her mane. Her fitted navy-blue uniform was just adequate enough where it barely kept her insulated enough from the cool morning air and the gentle drizzle. And yet, her hooves remained firmly planted in the earth.
And her eyes bore directly into Bouclier’s from the distance. Wordlessly, she transmitted her icy message to him as both armies watched with collective, bated breath.
“Meet me. Now.”
She could feel Bouclier’s wordless, icy stare meeting her own. And with her stopping just before she’d enter ‘Prench lines,’ she felt her invitation was quite clear and forthcoming. He could take as much time as he needed—Regenfall felt more than content enough to just stare at him with a silent fury until he complied. By her sheer force of will yet again, would she compel the Prench Emperor to meet her on the field of battle to properly have a chat about the ‘situation.’
And from a distance, it appeared that Bouclier had caught on to Regenfall’s idea. She saw him drop his guard, lift his head high, and nod once—deeply—towards her. She then watched him hand off the binoculars to his closest officer, and then gestured with his hoof towards somepony in the trench to his right.
She felt it slam into her.
A hollow, metallic ringing noise echoed in her ear as her lungs evacuated themselves in sheer surprise. So much so, she barely caught the rapport of the rifle-shot ring out over the field. She cried out curtly, and shrilly at what felt like the hoof of Celestia herself punching her full-force, yet slightly off-angle on the left side of her chest. She stumbled over herself as a result of the impact…
…and her entire body and face were acquainted with the muddy earth in the shallow crater she fell into—just beside where she could’ve sworn she was standing.