//------------------------------// // 1009 pt 2 // Story: EaW: From Front to Front - The Great War // by Warpony72 //------------------------------// Sent June 16, 1009 Dear Paige, Worrying you? I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Most of the major powers have some overseas territories. Equestria still has New Mareland, need I remind you. They had to take that from the local griffons the same that Feathisia took the South Zebrides from the locals. Wingbardy’s got territory in Abyssinia, and everyone knows the River Coalition’s been eyeing up the lands in the southeast.  I’m not in a position to say what’s wrong or right, Paige. But if the Emperor or the Regency determines the flag be raised over some miserable desert in Zebrica, I’ll roll off the transport screaming ‘Fur das Kaiserreich’. Look. (Several words are scratched out.) I’m happy your War is over. Sombra sounds like a threat to all of Equus, not just Equestria.  I hope someone took care of him, for good. I hope your leave helps clear your head. You need it.  You mentioned Manehattan before, but I’ve only ever seen it in newspapers or from a postcard. It sounds like an amazing place.  I’d love to go there some day. Did you ever get a response from Hoofington U? I’m fairly sure you’ll get in, especially with how many must have left to enlist in one branch or another. If you’ve got that veterans’ education bill, I’d think that would fast track you up. It definitely would here. Your father thinks I made you enlist? You did tell him I tried to talk you out of it, right? Anyway. We’re sitting here with baited breath.  Across the river, Marsch troops dig in. They’ve dug miles of trenches already, sandbags and log bunkers, machine guns and mortars waiting.  This is madness. From the intel briefings, we outnumber the peasant troops just on this front three to one, with panzers, howitzers and airplanes.  I see the lights of Oldwingburg on the horizon, well within striking range. For the life of me, I can’t fathom what the Peasant Council’s thinking is. They’re outnumbered, outgunned and not even in a good fortified position to cover themselves. Statthalter Erebus and his Council have gone insane.  But we just sit, and we wait. Even the trips to town have become lifeless. The village we visited before was taken over as a korps kommand. No more beer and schnitzel our way. Just a regiment of volunteers from Rimau and dogs setting up howitzers in trenches. Guess they’re not so happy to see us. They’re telling us the Ducal Wedding is going to be July 7th. We’re on standby. The Council’s likely to declare secession around that time, we’re told. Everyday, I climb into Zola and stare down my gunsights, watching a bunch of militia watching me.  We’re all just sitting here, waiting for the word to start shooting each other. And no matter how the odds look stacked in our favor, I know it’s not going to be easy. It’s going to get ugly here. If the fight breaks out before I hear back from you, I want to send you one last message.  I know you don’t need my medal of Arcturius anymore. Keep it. From me. Just in case. Yours,  -Cyril P.S: Female attention: more than I’d like, less than you think. It was a bit thrilling at first, but now it’s just awkward. (Inside the envelope is a small, square photo of Cyril smiling in his Reichsarmee uniform, sitting on a tank in an unknown location, wings slightly flared.  Flipping it over on the back is handwritten “To Paige, For when the years grind on, and the winters grow bitter and cold. -Cyril” Sent June 31st, 1009 Dear Cyril, I’ll drop the colony issue, for now. But don’t think this is over.  I’m not letting it go. We’re posted on occupation in the Crystal Empire. I’ve been moved north to the City’s airfield. If Whinnyapolis was cold, it’s frigid up here, even in the summer. Forests stretch all around, and even now there’s still ice and snow to be found in caves and areas that remain cool.  Good thing my leave came in before too long. I flew over Manehattan as soon as I arrived. There’s so much I missed here when I arrived all that time ago. The metropolis stretches as far as the eye can see up and down the coastline, with the tallest modern towers I’ve ever seen. Not Rijekograd, not Griffenheim, not even the Crystal City or Canterlot has skyscrapers like these. They’re marvels of engineering, and more are under construction, the workers tending to it around the clock with rivets and hammers and magic.  The harbor is more full with nautical traffic than even Rottendedam ever was. The Celestial Fleet was in, and I spotted an aircraft carrier with half a dozen destroyers at the naval yard. The attitude here is different than Whinnyapolis or the Crystal City. Up north, I get welcomes and thank yous and congratulations, all for winning the Crystal War. But here, I get just as many dirty looks for my uniform. There’s protestors in front of city buildings calling for a vote to dethrone the Princesses and decide their own fate, and they all glared at me. I stopped in at a bar to grab a few drinks, and lucky me I picked a military bar. All my beers were paid for by other ponies, and I even earned a pat on the back from a few Nova Griffonian mercenaries. Apparently they were on a protection detail for a cargo shipment, not that I asked. But I did get a look at their gear when they left. To my chagrin, they were better equipped than the Equestrian army ponies I saw in the Crystal City. Isn’t that humbling? I went to the harbor like I said I would. Looked east across the Celestial Sea. For a brief moment, I imagined I could see Rottendedam, where we first met. I could almost hear your voice again.  And now, thanks to the photo you sent, I can remember how you look without missing a detail. You look very handsome in your uniform, by the way. There was apparently a contingent from Hippogriffia in the city while I was there. The airway was cleared for them to fly through the skyline, all gleaming jewelry and bright colors. First time I’ve ever seen a hippogryph up close. It’s such a strange feeling, seeing a creature that is two halves of two different, familiar creatures.  They were so...large. Larger than the biggest pony I’ve ever seen. Larger than griffons. Everywhere I look, I see more reminders of you. Hippogryphs that look like you, crows with your feather color, snacks at the seaside. With no war to distract me, I feel further from you than ever. Hoofington U replied to my letter. Apparently, somepony already sent my transcripts and information from Luna Nova (no idea who, and I wasn’t going to start asking). I start in the Fall, on a mail-in course. I’m going back into arcana! Wishing you were here, Yours, -Paige (Enclosed in the envelope is a photograph of Paige, apparently at some sort of photo shop, seated in a wicker chair. She wears the uniform of the RAF, and her wool-lined bomber jacket is hung over the back. She smiles, but looks tired, forlorn and distant.  The reverse says “To Cyril, the missing piece of my life I never knew I needed, gone for too long. Use this to chase off that awkward attention you get. -Paige) Sent July 8th Paige,  The word came down. The Ducal Wedding went ahead in Rottendedam. The Regency demanded Griefenmarsch stand down and prepare for Imperial reintegration. The Council declared themselves independent from ‘the tyrant Duchess Regent’. All in one day. We’re being ordered to battlestations. I can hear the guns already. Artillery thundering in the distance. It is thrilling and terrifying. I will be running to the line as soon as I finish this. Please, keep my medal and photo somewhere safe. Should the worst happen, do not forget me. You are the best thing to have happened in my short life. Pray for me. Dearly Yours, Cyril Sent July 29th, 1009 7/22/09 Dear Paige, I’m alive.  That’s unfortunately the extent of the good news. Breaching the lines was more difficult than we thought. The peasants fought hard, but without anything heavier than artillery, they couldn’t stop us.  Our guns shelled those bunkers for what seemed like forever, and all we could do was wait for the signal over the radio. Once the guns stopped, the real battle began.  We advanced, covering the dogs as they stormed the trenches. It was bloody work. I fired the cannon again and again and again. Sprayed the ground with the MG. And when Hellseig finally told me to stop firing, all we had in front of us was mud, splintered wood and torn flesh.  The dogs went in with flamethrowers and shotguns to flush out the rest of the defenders. Then we moved on Oldwingburg. Fighting in a city is a completely different affair than in the open field or up in the air.  I’ve never felt so helpless inside a panzer. It wasn’t just their regulars we fought. Militia griffs took up arms.  Males. Females. Teenagers. The defense was scrambled, disorganized. But fire came from everywhere, a gun in every window. The panzergrenadiers dismounted their trucks to clear the houses.  We were literally driving these griffons from their homes. But, strangest of all? No civilians. No old grandmas or schoolchildren running in fear from the houses. Oldwingburg was emptied out.  In the middle of the fighting, it was chilling to realize that. But it also made the job easier.   The ones without rifles flew in from above and cooked our panzers with firebombs.  Panzergrenadiers and crew gunners cut them down with close-range fire. Artillery landed on the city blocks, dog sturmtruppen, Knights from the Order of the Carmine Shield and our support schutzentruppe blasted into city squares and markets.  Bombers pasted the quarters of the city held by the enemy. I don’t know how many we lost.  We struggled through Oldwingburg for four days.  They had to literally drop us supplies from cargo planes into the city.  Booby traps in every house, streets rigged with landmines. It was insane.  I dismounted at one point to look at a squad of partisans the panzergrenadiers took prisoner.  They looked like the most miserable griffs. Out of five of them, one looked like a soldier. The rest looked like farmers.  And their guns? Hinterladerbusche. C-78 pistols. Firebombs made from beer bottles and kerosene. These griffs have no planes, no AT guns, no modern rifles. I’m certain I’ve oversimplified what happened.  Understand, I was in the gunner’s seat, watching all this down a gunsight.  What I’m telling you is only a fraction of what happened. We won, in the end.  After four days, we took Oldwingburg. We’ve been advancing swiftly through Griefenmarsch.  The slower elements attached to our korps have moved west, to Nortfome. We’re moving at top speed through Thurwingen.  They’re calling it ‘the Blitz’. No defensive line can stand before us. Anything we meet, we blow past. Anything we leave behind, the panzergrenadiers engage and mop up.  We’re making at least twenty miles a day, though I’m not entirely sure. But at this rate, we’ll make Asselt in the next week. We’re holed up on a farm right now, doing some maintenance on Zola.  The mood is quiet, to say the least. Nogriff really talked much after Oldwingburg.  The excitement is gone. All I can say is, this isn’t war.  This is slaughter, and its monumentally one-sided. 7/27/09 We’ve taken Asselt. We all expected another fight like Oldwingburg, so we called the bombers in before us. Asselt lasted maybe an hour after that. We caught the militia mustering. Not much more resistance once your griffs are meaty chunks in the town square. From here, we’re supposed to refuel, resupply and head west to assist the other push, the part of the army using ‘traditional Imperial strategy’. Tradition. None of this was like the old stories.  7/28/09 (The words below are slightly smudged, and there appears to be some water damage to the paper) It's done. We moved west yesterday to push into the enemy flank. They folded under the pressure of fast-moving panzers. Apparently they’d already smashed themselves to pieces assaulting our divisions in the north. Most of the Marsch Regulars have given up. The militia stopped fighting before that. The Regency is calling this a ‘total victory’ on the radio. We’re to remain here and reassert Imperial domain, quell unrest and wait for the Landwehr to set up a garrison in Nortfome and Oldwingburg. It won’t stop raining. Once it started it just didn't let up. Driving panzers through muddy roads isn’t the same as across paved ones. Zola keeps sinking in, and we have to dig her out. They tell us we’re supposed to patrol the countryside suppressing partisans. Fat chance. The panzergrenadier trucks sink same as our tracks. The rains stopped all air cover. At this point, only the Bronzehill troops are willing to keep going, so they’re sniffing out (heh) the last of peasant resistance.  So much for glory. They’re calling it ‘the Month Long War’. I’m just glad its over. I’m sorry it took so long to get this letter to you. We keep changing locations. I’m stationed at Nortfome now, so I can use the postal system again. I taped your photo over my gunsight, so it's right at eye level for me whenever I want, and I can grab it if I ever need to bail out.  Nothing else in that panzer matters to me as much as that. 7/29/09 Zola busted a drive out in the mud.  We had to wait for another panzer to come and haul her out.  Now we’re cleaning her and fixing her up as best we can. Good thing we don’t need her for any fighting right now. I’ve decided to prep this letter today.  It's been a while since you last heard from me.  I haven’t heard from you either. Hope that’s a good thing, or at least not something bad.  It’s all wet, cold and miserable over here. The people of the Marsch don’t care for us, not like the Feathisians up north did.  Everywhere I go, I see hostile faces on griffs who blame us for crushing their freedom and democracy. Honestly, the way I see it, we wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t decided to spit on the Regent’s beak.  Who declares war on somegriff else’s wedding day? Seriously? Just wanted to wrap this whole thing up with saying that I’m fine.  This war was done and over with before anygriff knew what in Tartarus was happening.  We just have to live with the aftermath now. The Empire fixes up Greifenmarsch, puts a new governor in place and we all go home.  I hope. But given what’s happening in the south with the Holy League, we might have just witnessed a hint of the future. Mother’s thankful I’m still alive.  Says she prays for me every night since the shooting started.  I left out the worst of what I saw. Griffons burning alive inside panzers, limbs and wings blasted off, corpses laying in the street, MPs lining up militia against a wall, city blocks on fire.  You’ve seen it. Or things like it. I’m just waiting now.  In the sopping rain, in a town that I conquered. Tell me about something normal.  Tell me about weekend pass in Whinnyapolis. Tell me about theoretical arcana, about thestral rights, about school.  Because in the next month, I’m going to need something to convince me I’m not going insane out here. Moving our again. Send to the military address on the slip of paper in the envelope.  Distribution will find me. Yours, -Cyril Sent August 14th, 1009 Dear Cyril, Never worry me like that again!  I’ve been watching and waiting for word on what’s happening back east.  The newspapers are calling it a ‘crackdown’. More harmonists howling at the ‘dismantling of democracy’.  Without realizing it was the democrats who started this fight. Myself, I was more concerned about you. I’m so happy you’re alright. That battle you described, all the trekking across Greifenmarsch, it all sounds so different to what I went through.  I was helpless, sure, but the only death I saw was my comrades. I never even saw what my bombs did to the ground. That all sounds like a nightmare.  I’m glad you only had to go through it for a short time. I don’t know if I could at all. The press is going nuts over it back here. With the Crystal War over, ponies are chattering about it.  But not us. Military’s keeping quiet on the subject. We know better than those sycophants and gossip-mongers in Canterlot acting like they’re so much better. But you ask an armypony what he thinks, and he’ll just stare back at you. They transferred me back south.  Apparently the work of making sure the populace is compliant falls back to the army.  The Royal Guard’s moving the royal family back in any day now. They don’t need bomber pilots up north anymore.  Headache’s going into storage for refit, while we get some well-deserved leave. We got two weeks, and then it's down to Dodge City for retraining over the desert.  I’m touring Hoofington for the next few days, visiting the university and looking over the town. It’s hot, that’s all I can say. After months of freezing my flank off in snow and high-altitude aircraft, this place is way too much for me.  I prefer staying indoors, if I can help it. There’s a lot of buffalo around lately since the tribes joined Equestria. Some sort of protectorate deal from what I understand. Stubborn to a fault. But good-natured. Had to wade through a whole mountain of paperwork.  Just because my transcripts are in doesn’t mean my application’s 100% complete, I found out.  They accepted me to the course, but I still have about a thousand more things to fill out. So that’s about half of my leave, and of course I have to get this done ASAP.  They’re talking about releasing me at the 1 year mark for wartime service, which means I have a few months left to get everything in order before I join the Air Reserves. This was always the plan, and at least this worked out.  I didn’t get to finish at Luna Nova, but that’s okay. My hope is they’ll open back up again before long. Your mother has toned down.  I think, with the war on your side and everything, she’s more worried about you than she is focused on abusing me.  She asked me if I had wanted to be a unicorn when I was growing up, given my fascination with magic. I told her ‘I always dreamed big.  So I wanted to be an alicorn.’ She got a kick out of that. And it -is- possible for unicorns to evolve into alicorns, but sadly not for pegasi.  Once I learned that, the dream kind of died. Sophie likes writing me too. Apparently she used my letters to her for a class assignment about writing a soldier.  She got the most attention for it, and a good grade. I apparently have a fascinating life. Who knew? Pushing this letter out fast so you get it quick.  Write more. Otherwise I’ll think you’re dead. And if you die over there, I’ll come and revive you long enough to kill you myself. Miss you. Yours, -Paige. Sent September 8th, 1009 Dear Paige, You never mentioned Hoofington itself last time you were there.  Then again, I feel like you had other things on your mind while you were there.  Good of you to tell me about it while you were there, I love hearing about other places in the world.  You’re so lucky you get to travel. Things are quieting down here.  Well, quieting down in that the shooting’s mostly stopped.  The Marchers have grudgingly come to accept we’re not leaving.  Fortunately, they also realize we’re not here to loot, pillage, plunder and salt the earth.  The MPs catch somegriff being stupid every now and then, but the executions stopped weeks ago.  Now it's only for those who kill or continue to try and resist. Service was a bit awkward this week.  When the 41st’s preacher called us to bow for prayer, we actually had a few civvies join us.  Apparently, some shells hit Asselt’s temple during the battle, and it's now collapsed and is unsafe.  Nogriff knew until now. Engineers are on it, but the preacher is holding mass for every townie that wants to attend.  It was one of those olive branch moments. Not as many incidents in town ever since. Lucky me, I think we’re getting through to them. The Burger says Equestria’s having an election crisis.  This surprised me quite a lot. I thought faith in the princesses was without doubt?  Wouldn’t it only get stronger now you’ve won against King Sombra? I remember you saying something about protestors and defeatists in one of your earlier letters.  All I can say is, keep out of politics if you can help it. Riots, mudslinging, ruined careers and civil wars come from bad politics. Just look at what happened to the Empire if you need an example.  Given how much trouble the Crystal War gave you, the Burger is also stating Equestria’s not only unprepared, but unwilling to fight its battles.  Crock of shit, but you know how the papers spin things. Mother and Sophie like you.  Keep asking when they’ll get to meet you.  I told them even -I- haven’t seen you since that day in Rottendedam.  Mother is concerned, but impressed we’ve managed to keep talking this long over such distance.  Of course, she said something about how we can hope to keep a relationship going like this, but (a few words are scratched out) that’s not important. I’m not sure when I’m going home.  It’s so close by, but no one’s been rotated out for leave yet.  Except the officers, of course. The colonel in charge of the occupation leaves every few days and comes back looking sloshed.  Pretty sure he goes for drinks and girls in Oldwingburg. The aristocracy at work. Uncle August sent me a letter saying he expects we might be in for more within months.  I hope not. I’d rather get a chance to live without all this mud. My nightmares are few, surprisingly.  Not so much about the militia griffs I gunned down in the open street or blew apart.  My nightmares are about fire. About kerosene poured on panzers and then set alight for the entire thing to burn.  About the griffs stuck inside, cooking alive. The Month Long War is over. But I’m not looking forward to what a war against a far more prepared opponent would be like. I wish you were here.  Even for a moment. Yours, -Cyril Sent September 30th, 1009 Dear Cyril, I still miss you too.  I’m sorry about the nightmares.  I can’t promise they’ll go away. What you went through was much more intense.  I still wake up from bad dreams about engines on fire, death spells and shadow monsters.  I’ve been told it could take years for them to fade, if they do at all. Yes, the election issue has been ongoing for months now.  Princess Celestia has gone before the press, stating she’s conferring with her sister about holding the referendum, and the reformists are stating that just proves their point.  But you know me. I’m not a fan of democracy by force. I’m not going anywhere near that, but you might be pleased to know (or not, considering your attitude on thestrals) that Pricess Luna’s reforms have finally taken hold.  I’m seeing thestrals all over the place, mostly at night. They man bars, work factories, typist desks, fly through the sky. I’m happy to see that, for once, the underdog won. They finalized me. I’m officially in the RAF Reserves.  I said my goodbyes to my crew, and the Headache. Half of them are going home like me.  We’ve all gotten so close in such a short time. Static, at least, promised to write me.  I’m actually okay with this. I can use my veterans’ bill to pay my way through school in Hoofington itself, no need for long distance stuff. Hoofington U is like I remember it.  Built of bricks and tradition. The facilities aren’t as good as Luna Nova, and I’m fairly certain I’m the smartest in my advanced theoretical arcana class, which of course is still leagues behind the more advanced one.  But that is at least one issue off my list. I can worry less about passing and take some time for myself. I’ve been doing some experiments in my off-time with a unicorn named Solid Stripe. He’s trying to get into the AP class, but he’s not sure he can pass the entrance exam without help.  So, with him providing the magic for my crystal experiments, I tutor him in exchange. So far, it's been a great agreement. He’s really coming around, and he’s at least pleasant to be around. I’m making huge strides in my research, I could even turn this into my thesis eventually. I think I’m on the verge of making a huge discovery in terms of crystal matrices and magical containment, but I’m hitting a wall.  Very frustrating. Hoofington is a southern city, through and through.  Other ponies gawk at my accent without a shred of awareness of how theirs is seen across the rest of Equestria.  They’re very enclosed, these ponies. Friendly, of course. But blunt. They’ll take good care of you for very little, but won’t hesitate to comment on how everything that comes from another land is strange in their eyes.  The local bookstore has nothing but books in Equestrian common, though I haven’t looked in the smaller neighborhoods. It's still hot in September, which drives me nuts. Apparently it doesn’t cool off until mid-October out here.  Now I really miss home. Princess Twilight is expected to come to Hoofington U sometime next week to give a lecture on the connection between the ‘energy of friendship’ and arcane amplification, and while I am excited to hear from an alicorn on magic, I’m not so on about her theories regarding friendship.  True, it's a proven phenomenon, but as the recent Crystal War and the wars overseas prove, it's clearly not an almighty unstoppable force. And it's a little difficult to test in an academic way. Magic has only just merged with the scientific sphere in the past century. Sorry, I realize I may be talking over your head. Our lives may keep up separate, but I keep your photo around at all times.  And so long as we can keep talking in our letters like this, we can keep this relationship alive.  I’ve been asked if I have a coltfriend by a few other students, and so far I just tell them yes. It’s a bit too odd a situation to keep chattering off in casual conversation.  That’s okay, right? Your marefriend (?) -Paige Sent October 17th, 1009 Dear Paige, Glad to hear you’re back at it in school.  Of the two of us, you’re going to go places.  Don’t waste it. I’m also glad you’ve got someone to talk big-brain to.  I know it was a little restraining to simplify your words to me in your letters.  Hoofington sounds like another good place to visit, though if its really as hot as you say, I’m not sure I’d like it.  Then again, I want to visit Zebrica, so maybe it would be a good warmup (ha). I like that you moved to the reserves.  So many would just go home and leave the service behind.  You’re part of that other breed, the kind who sticks with it.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked being Air Force. But then I know how much you hate being helpless at high altitude. About the whole marefriend/coltfriend thing, I guess it's okay to refer to us like that.  I just sort of simplify it myself the same way over here. I get the feeling you’ll get less guff about having a griffon boyfriend.  There’s plenty of griffs here who wouldn’t get it, both on a racial level and a national level. Tensions are high with the Coalition right now. I don’t know if it's in the news over there, but the County of Cyanolisia was invaded a few days ago.  The Burger is calling it an unwarranted act of aggression.  Y’know, after touting the Month Long War as a righteous battle against traitors.  Cyanolisia is the last province loyal to the Empire outside the Heartlands aside from the South Zebrides (and maybe Nova Griffonia, but that one’s up in the air).  Its makes anything tricky. There’s word among the officers about intervention, but the Kaiserliche Marine has maybe five capital ships at present. What in Tartarus are we supposed to do?  Sail an army around Aquileia and Wingbardy? I’m sure they’d love to just let us through their waters and fuel up in their ports. So it just seems to be talk. I also heard about the coup in Nova Griffonia.  Nogriff wants to talk about it, but every trooper in the Reichsarmee with world awareness knows what’s happening.  They’re saying now’s the right time to land and kick Hemphill off his high castle, finally bring the colony back under control.  Which is nuts. We’ve got half the Empire still in rebellion against us and they want to talk about landing an amphibious force across the sea?  I’m all for the Empire regaining its strength. But this just shows you how most of these soldiers are so poorly educated they can’t see past their own beaks. Or snouts.  Or muzzles. Bigger picture here, guys. You taught me that, Paige. Thank you for your words on the dreams.  It’s getting a little easier now. The weather is getting better, the mud is freezing.  It’s easier to drive around without throwing a track or breaking an axle. These Changeling designs are supposed to be good against cold weather, so we’ll see what happens when frost in a hostile environment sets in.  Anyway, it sounds like all we can both do is keep weathering the storm as it were. I’ll keep writing as long as I can, so long as you do as well. Mother’s been talking better about you.  I think you single-clawedly managed to change her mind about pegasi, though she still regrets you being from the Riverlands.  That one’s probably never going away, though. And Sophie can’t help but idolize you even more. If we’re not careful, she’ll try to follow in your hoofsteps.  Then that’s two females in my life vastly smarter than I am. I’ve gotten friends in the area as well.  The 41st’s preacher Andrea Bronzeclaw has talked faith with me several times.  I’ve been counting on him to get me through the worst of these times, and he’s set up a talk group with some of the townies to mend gaps.  The engineers are almost done repairing the temple, and we’ve been invited to use it for the unit after they’re done. Word from Uncle August is that he’s even got a statue to Arcturius on the way.  Hearts and minds. The banner of the Empire is flown freely over the city square without a fear in Griffonia of it being vandalized. Tell that to your papers. Maybe they’ll see we’re not all the jackboot thugs they think we are. I’m thinking, as well as going to engineering school eventually, I’m going to try and take down some notes, get into writing and maybe write about these crazy times in a few years.  I can’t say it’ll be any good, or anygriff will want to read it. But there are groundshaking things happening right now. Somegriff needs to record it while it's happening. I can send you drafts one day, but not for some time, once I’ve got the words noted. It’s the quiet time, now. Let’s hope it stays that way.  Though, judging by the world, it won't last for long. Your boyfriend/coltfriend (?) -Cyril Sent November 11th, 1009 Dear Cyril, If you feel awkward about the whole marefriend/coltfriend thing, we don’t have to do it.  I can tell you’re a bit off about the whole thing. I heard about Cyanolisia.  Quite unfortunate what’s happening down there.  The minotaurs are supposed to be mad with rage. And Hemphill’s coup in Nova Griffonia is just adding fuel to the fire here on Equus.  I hope you don’t get sent there either, not with everything going on back in the Herzlands. I’d much rather you stay right there, so I don’t have to worry about your transport getting torpedoed and I can just listen to you bitch about the cold and mud and tell me about your religion and your unit and your tank.  Going all the way across the world to fight is...kind of madness. Tests come and go, exams and midterms.  But I’m not worried about any of that anymore.  I don’t stress as hard as I used to, not like before.  It's a bit surreal. I wonder if its because the courses aren’t as challenging or if I’ve become too confident.  That last one worries me a little, I could seriously sabotage myself. I’ve actually gone back to study a bit more as a result, just to make sure the facts are as I remember them.  Luckily, my tutoring Solid is helping. I help him to learn things, he helps me remember the basics. Good for us both. We go out for hayburgers and fries every Friday to relax and talk shop for a bit, as it were.  He’s actually been a good lab assistant on my own personal project, now he’s getting the hang of it. He makes small corrections on my calculations that I miss when I’m going over grandscope things, and honestly if he didn’t I’d be going back over my matrices for hours.  But thanks to him, I’ve got a new prototype mana crystal I’ve formulated. My only regret is that I’m not a unicorn myself. Always such a disappointment to be able to design these things, but never actually make them myself. I think keeping track of your memoirs is a great idea.  You’re on the ground, living what’s sure to be history. Keep track of it, and I’ll help you sort your notes out.  We can fit it into either a nonfiction book, or an autobiography if you’re feeling brave enough in a few years. It’s good to hear things are settling in Greifenmarsch.  I don’t like wars of conquest, but I tell myself the Empire owned that area before.  And, at least, you’re being good to it. With the ease of which the locals are taking you in, it sounds like they at least wanted to rejoin the Empire on some level.  Perhaps the Peasant’s Council was the catalyst in their bad decision (though certainly not their first one. I had to write an in-depth essay on how their system was both the most democratic in the world, and also the weakest government.  Elections on everything every three months. Wow). Being in the RAF Reserve isn’t bad.  It's boring, but I don’t get shot at anymore.  I’m not in an aircraft right now. I’m mostly relegated to airfield operations, in the arsenal.  Not strictly my job, but I did learn about every piece of ordnance I dropped, so I’m in a bomb storage facility.  Two days a month, just got in, check a list, sit in on some briefings. Nothing fancy. Good way to ride out the next three years. Your mother’s letters have mellowed out.  She talks about the future, how its always so uncertain in the Empire.  She says it’s been like that since she was a chick. Then the riots took your father.  Now she’s afraid she’s going to lose you too. I’m aware this is all stuff she’s already told you.  Just...be patient with her, okay? She’s going through a rough time, a lot’s changing around her and she doesn’t know what else to expect from the future.  You being a tanker doesn’t help that at all. I gotta go.  Solid and I have a project we need to work on, and I wanted to get researching.  Write me when you can. I’m just happy we’re back to a peacetime schedule again. Yours, -Paige Sent November 28th, 1009 Dear Paige, A blizzard blew in a few days back.  Covered the whole city in snow. We had to use the panzers just to cut through, let the infantry and rescue crews through.  They’re saying this is the coldest Griffonian winter on record in history, and it's not even December yet. We’ve been busy with entrenching tools and flamethrowers, digging homes out of the frost.  The dogs are taking to it just fine with their damn trench coats. I’m stuck with my field jacket and panzer gloves. But the townsfolk are grateful. We’re had to set up the local train yard as an aide station, since the city hospital had a whole floor’s windows get blasted in.  Now the ground level is packed with snow and ice. Preacher Bronzeclaw is holding a soup kitchen in the temple, cooking up what he can and delivering it to families without. I’d help him if I could, but my place is carving through snowdrifts it seems. So, I’m writing you this from the side of a fire in an empty old fuel barrel, sitting in a train roundhouse next to Zola, tucked into my jacket and trying not to freeze my feathers off.  It’s hard to write, but lucky me, my claws are just as numb as the rest of me. The trains aren’t moving, but just like the panzers and the trucks, they keep the engine running hot to keep it from freezing over.  I swear, we’ll more of our fuel just sitting around than we do actually out on patrol. Sergeant Hellseig promises that when blizzards start coming this early, it's got a mild winter right behind it. I hope to Boreas he’s right.  Our company kommandant Kaptein Briarbeak promises that better winter supplies and rations are inbound. I want to believe her, but I’ve seen what the military’s like in peacetime. They just outright seem to forget about garrison troops.  Uncle August says it won’t be long. They’ll have the Landwehr brigades down here to continue the occupation by next year. Then we can finally go home. Apparently the Grand Duke himself came to Oldwingburg to deliver a speech to the troops.  And he brought the Emperor. I am sorry I missed that, for sure. Asselt’s not nearly as big or important, so I know why we got looked over.  But to look up my grubby beak at my future Emperor in person would have been a story to tell for the ages. He’s six now, so I’ll see him take the throne and rule in my lifetime.  Maybe even our (a word is vigorously scratched out). Any chance the censor could cut that one for me? Thanks for agreeing to help with my notes.  I sent the first batch since the invasion. Most of its just scribbles, but if you see something worth writing down, let me know, okay? Mail’s still coming and going on time.  Small wonders, eh? So, this Solid Stripe guy.  You spend a lot of time with him? Yours, -Cyril Sent December 19th, 1009 Dear Cyril, Another year closed up.  Hopefully this will reach you either at the end of the month, or the beginning of 1010.  A new decade. We’ve seen a lot happen, haven’t we? Been through wars, crisis, hardships.  And yet, here we are. Good to hear you’re making use of yourself.  I know surviving a blizzard can’t be easy, but I also know you love staying busy.  This is as good a cause as any, so I can see plenty of upside there. Keep those griffs out of danger, Cyril.  You’re fighting the good fight. Look, about Solid Stripe.  I think I need to be upfront.  I’ve been putting off saying anything.  I know we’ve said we’re in a relationship, and there’s no doubt I feel something for you.  But the work between me and Solid, it got...it changed. At first he was the stallion I’d taken on to tutor, and then he became a study buddy and lab assistant.  Next thing I know, we’re going out for dinner every Friday and hanging out in our free time. We clicked, sort of like what happened with you and me. But he was right there. I’m having a hard time writing this.  Solid’s been flirting with me and showering me with praise and attention and even a few gifts for weeks now.  I held him off at first, talking about you. But the more I kept trying to resist, the more he kept trying. The more he kept trying, the more he made sense in his reasoning of why I should be with him instead.  He was there, and we worked together a lot. And you weren’t there. Hadn’t been for years. You and I haven’t physically seen each other since Rottendedam, Cyril. That’s two and a half years. I was lonely. And Solid was persistent.  Extremely persistent. But that’s over now.  He started getting weird the morning after.  I sat him down to talk about what happened, and he left.  I haven’t seen him since, but I know I’m not going to talk to him again. I am so sorry.  I don’t know what else to say.  Most of my holiday cheer’s kinda been sapped by this.  I’ve been agonizing about how to tell you about it. I got your letter and I couldn’t even read it for a week.  I (the word ‘was’ is firmly scratched out) am so ashamed. I got drunk and I gave in to a weakness. I miss you, I really do.  And I care about you. But it's been so long. And after everything else, it was nice not to feel alone and thousands of miles from everything and everypony I cared about. Please.  Please please please, forgive me? I’ll understand if you don’t. Yours? -Paige