As the spring leaves greened, the cool breeze swayed the field of blooming poppies. Celestia’s sun gleamed throughout the meadow, brightening those red flowers which sprouted through the tall green grass and barley. I heard the birds chirping in the distance, followed by the buzzing of a dragonfly as it whizzed through the prairie. The scene was tranquil, a peaceful environment where the beauty of nature itself showcased its colors and natural rhythm. It was also eerie, since I remember this entire place as a wasteland made of dirt, mud, barbed wire, and gunpowder about two-ish years ago.
I, a unicorn that was enlisted in the Equestrian Military, could still hear the sound of the cannons firing in the distance, the roar of the planes soaring just above my head as they dropped their payload on the enemy, and the distinct “ring” of my rifle emptying it’s magazine after I shot through a small team of changelings. I could still see the ditches we dug throughout the meadow, the trenches we held ourselves within, and where no man’s land once existed. All these memories, like mental scars, still fresh from the months I spent here, defending this position from the changeling onslaught.
My orders were clear, myself and the company were to hold this area and prevent the enemy’s advancement into Canterlot from the north. Bales was the last stop before the they reached the outskirts of the capital city. Our CO reminded us that if we were to fall, everything we loved about being an Equestrian would cease to exist alongside our fellow brothers and sisters. We had to fight to the last pony standing, giving all we had to protect the Princesses and our own. The orders were bleak, but who was I to question them? I just marched along to the sound of the war drums and followed suit.
Slowly, this lush, green meadow became a maze of wire, trip mines, trenches, and built-up mud mixed with snow. It was a pasture of artillery, dust clouds, and cold stallions and mares huddled up within the ditches. The sheer cold of winter had gripped the established welcoming party we were for the advancing changelings. While word came that the cold’s grip stopped the lines from progressing further east, it didn’t mean we were done fighting. Besides the freezing temperature, we now had to fight against the increasing threat of boredom and isolation from the rest of our forces.
Two battalions were pinned up near Bales. I was a part of the 134th Airborne, otherwise known as “The Flying Sword.” Our emblem depicted a sword being carried by fire in the shape of a wing. The other one was the 293th Signal Battalion. Their motto “Second to None” annoyed our unit. The members of the 293th couldn’t stop saying it. In fact, they were so proud of the slogan that they carried a sign with them that said, “You’re now in a territory held by the 293th Battalion. Second to None!” Thus, we decided to erect our own sign that said, “You’re now in a territory held by the 134th Airborne, otherwise known as The None Battalion.”
Once spring had arrived, the changelings pushed into our sector. Sooner than I knew, shells began to fall upon the land, flinging up a mess of dust, shrubs, and the red poppies that had bloomed. The roaring thunder of the cannons, mixed with the sounds of yelling, bullets buzzing by, and crackling gunfire, had created a chaotic symphony of ponies and changelings fighting for the land. It was a destructive environment where keeping your head low meant keeping it bullet or shrapnel free. Yet, you had to peak out of the foxhole to shoot. I could describe the feeling of the scene through the word “Desperation.”
It could easily be seen on the shell shocked, dirty faces of my fellow soldiers. Their grit and frustrations had turned them into hardened personnel. To kill one of them now meant to save their own. Follow through with that ideology, and you should be ok. However, it wasn’t exactly the case. Our numbers dropped drastically within the first days of the battle. The enemy had armor with them, a devious new weapon called “The Heavy Tank.” While it was bigger and slower than our own light armor divisions, it’s cannon could blow through our trenches and take out a group of us within seconds. To which, that’s exactly what I saw.
The deep scars on the right side of my body were from the impact of one of the shells exploding within my proximity. I was blown back and into a stack of wooden boxes which contained our rations. It caught my body, but decorated me in wood chunks, splinters, and cuts. I was nearly knocked out, but managed to remain barely conscious to the situation. All I remember from that moment was my head hurting from the concussion. It took someone, shaking me, saying, “Are you ok?” before I came back into fruition. I was then perplexed by the pony shaking me.
It was a Stalliongrad officer, but in the middle of an Equestrian battlefield? It made no sense to me. However, it was later explained that the Stalliongrad Federation joined the fight against the changeling invasion. They had arrived late, but began to provide significant firepower which matched the enemy’s force. Combined with the resources our army had left, it tipped the scale toward the alliance. Within another week of fighting, the changelings withdrew. Within another year, after chasing them back to their hive-lands, they then surrendered. The bloodiest war in history was over.
Peace could finally settle upon the lands. Before I was discharged, I spend my last few months helping to locate and properly burry fallen ponies. I noted that after the graves were settled, the poppies quickly grew. It seems nature knew how gruesome war could be with the poppies being red, but also knew how beautiful and quickly peace and prosperity can be restored.