"Come on Son, what was wrong with the name we gave you?"
Ah... it's this one.
"Come on Dad... I already have my cutiemark, why can't you just accept what I am?"
"A warmongering soldier? Like some sort of changeling? How can you even say that?"
My father is reprimanding me loudly outside the Civil Service Center, as Mother stands behind him crying. It's a rainy day in Manehattan, but the streets are still full of ponies going about their business. Many of them stop to stare at the spectacle unfolding on the sidewalk.
"Dad... I don't like it either, but who is going to protect Equestria from Chrysalis when she comes back for round 2?"
"The Elements of Harmony will convince them to leave, just as they did last time! There's no need for you to muck around with that uniform, playing Griffon-at-war!"
I sigh. This isn't the first time my family protests my career choice. It's not that I don't understand them, likely, I am the one least in favor of this choice out of everyone here, but what can I do? My talent was decided from birth, to fight that is to fight myself.
"Maybe so, but I was born as a safeguard."
I point at my cutiemark, a field shovel.
"If I end up being useless, I'll be the happiest pony in Equestria, but I have to follow my destiny dad."
Dad slumps his shoulders.
"Fine son... we understand. We just had to try one last time."
My father moves in to embrace me. I notice he's fighting to hold back sobbing.
"Son... we'll always love you. We just want what's best for you, but we've tried enough times. Don't worry. We'll let you go now. If you ever need a break, you can still come home... We're sorry for being so hard on you, my boy..."
The rain splatters on the sidewalk. It's pouring down, yet, I am not wet, aside from the tears rolling down my cheeks.
As I look up into the rain, my eyes sting from the ash and dust assaulting my corneas.
Come on... don't take me away again...
My eyes jolt open. The corpsman is standing over me with an empty syringe. I can't believe I didn't notice that I was coming down. I suppose the day has been a bit hectic.
"Thanks for that doc"
"You're welcome Sir..."
Razor Cut, my Corpsman, was never all too happy about using the "medication" we looted from the Changeling supply depots. He was especially unhappy with my hoarding of a certain medication: Injectable Methamphetamine. However, I need to be awake for days at a time, so he reluctantly cooperates in my abuse.
"How long was I out?"
"Just a few seconds sir, don't worry."
I sigh with relief, and stand up to make my way towards the Changeling crew, who are in the process of vacating their tanks with their hands up. I count maybe... 13 or so in total? I utter a short prayer under my breath, begging this not to be some Changeling trick or ambush, as I open my mouth to speak to the invaders.
"EIN REIHE, VOR DEM PANZER!"
I flex my Changeling a little. I took my education very seriously, and learning the language of the enemy was part of that diligence. My hard work pays off, as the tank crew obey my command, forming a neat line in front of their scuttled war machines.
"We surrender, please don't shoot!"
The Changeling with the fanciest cap, likely the commander of this group, begs on behalf of his men in near-incomprehensible Equestrian. I let out my thousandth sigh today and utter a tired response, one that has also been repeated a thousand times.
"Legt Ihrer Waffen bei Ihrer Huf, und dann komm mit Mihr."
"The rest of you, get to work getting these to safety in the courtyard. Driving them can't be that hard."
I accompany the POWs back towards the apartment, and into a basement separate from our ammunition. Gun pointing towards them, I order them to sit down on the floor. I eye them, wondering if I should even bother with the procedure, as it usually always ends the same way. Better safe than sorry I suppose.
"Ihrer Leben geht wieder... mit einen Bedingung." I slowly pronounce, the Changeling straining to understand my accent. "Ihr müssen meiner Ponys Panzerfahren lehren".
The Changelings look at each other briefly, before the Commander once again speaks out in broken Equestrian:
"Zis is not a problem for us. We wish to join your side anyways" he takes a deep breath before continuing: "Queen Chrysalis has taken all of these young boys from their homes to replace my dead crew mates. I cannot abide it any longer. I have heard the POW camps of Equestria are far to the south, away from this war. We wish to go zere."
I suppose the propaganda has finally paid off. I give up on Changeling, as their commander seems fluent enough, and I don't particularly like their language.
"Well, one problem with that. You have us besieged. If you want to go to a POW camp, you've got to fight alongside us to get to that camp first."
I make the last remark almost as a joke, expecting them to assault me any second, as the last dozen POW groups have done.
"I see no problem with zis. We can fight to fight, or fight to maybe live. We choose ze latter."
I take a moment to gather my thoughts at this response. Three functioning tanks, with a trained crew, could give us a fighting chance when it comes to breaking out of the siege. Never mind escaping, breaking out would open a corridor for crucial supplies to save the cities defenders. It's the number one priority for every fighter in Manehattan right now.
Then again... how can I trust these creatures...
"You, commander, come with me."
I bring the Commander outside, and hand him one of my last cigarettes.
"What's your name?"
"Otto Schmidt, und Du?"
"Trenchline Hope".
"I did not know you ponies had such war-like names."
"We don't. I'm one of the only ones. I suppose it's why I've lived so long."
"Too long?"
I turn to face Otto, and only now truly look into his eyes. They are the eyes of a broken old man. I am not even sure if I am seeing his eyes, or my own in their reflection. He has, like me, long outlived his will to live.
I make up my mind in that very moment. He may be deceiving me, but I am so desperate for this one olive-branch of hope that I ignore the paranoia that has saved me dozens of times.
"...yes." I sigh. "I feel we may have that in common."
Otto takes a deep puff of his cigarette. Coughing as he does so.
"I've never smoked you know. My mother always said it was bad for the lungs. But what use is that now, nä?"
"Indeed."
I reach out my right hoof, and he stares at it curiously for a moment, before shaking it with his own.
"We'll get the living out of here Otto. You and me, the living dead."
"If it's the last thing we do, Herr Trenchline."
The sun sets on a strengthened platoon, invigorated by the addition of two new machines of war. The ponies made their protests known of course, but I've given the harmony and friendship speech enough times to have perfected it, and I quickly convince them of the merits of this unorthodox addition to our forces.
I didn't see Applebloom for the rest of that day until she showed up for her watch duty, wordless and sullen. At least she had washed her hands since the incident. Sadly, there is no way to wash away your sorrow. Or at least, no ways that we have in stock here in the apartment.
The night went by with trying to regain contact with Wing 3, to no avail. Otto and I stayed up as long as we could, powered by coffee and Panzerschokolade, devising an escape route using the Changeling Commander's fly-over pictures, courtesy of Chrysalis' scout planes.
I wouldn't say I was hopeful for once. That may just be the sleep deprivation talking, but I was at least less cynical than usual.