"Direct hit on enemy light tank, no more movement Herr Oberfeld!"
The Panzer's internal speakers amplified the words of Panzerschütze Wilhelm, making it possible to hear them over the heavy sounds of combat. As the commander of not one, but four tanks, Oberfeldwebel Otto Schmidt had no time to keep track of his own tanks' accomplishments. As such, this feedback was crucial, as he could now hand out the next command without fear of interrupting the work-flow of his nearly independent crew.
"Load high-explosive, turret to 38 degrees, third window from the left!"
The dull thump of the Panzer's cannon breech followed by the loader's signature "GELADEN!" came way before the turret was able to turn, and the good Wilhelm was already squeezing the trigger by the time the whirring electric motors driving the turret finished making their traverse.
An ear-deafening explosion, even through the protective ear-pieces worn by the entire crew, followed by the violent shaking of the hull signalled a succesful shot. The accuracy was shortly thereafter proven by the targeted building collapsing, the troublesome ponies within turning into either red mist or paste, depending on their proximity to the impact site itself.
"Volltreffer! Next tar-"
The gunner's triumph was cut off by a loud explosion, one not caused by the metal beast they were residing in. Rotating his commander's seat to the left, Otto peered out of the cupola towards where a friendly Panzer had once been keeping up with them. The burning hulk currently being evacuated by its crew meant that the Equestrians had finally found their anti-tank weaponry. That was very bad.
"2nd Panzerzug, this is Oberfeldwebel Otto, deploy smoke-launchers and reverse. We have unidentified anti-tank positions. Let the infantry flush them out! Over."
Otto was quick to react. It wasn't like this was his first rodeo, and while he had lost many subordinates on the warpath, there remained a veteran core who also knew exactly how to respond to his orders. Immediate smoke-launcher discharges justified Otto's pride in his changelings, as their responses, cool and professional, came in through the radio headset.
"Oberfeld, this is Panzer 2, understood, over."
The husky voice of Unterfeldwebel Hermann, years of tobacco abuse tangible even over the hissing distorting of radio signal, responded first. His Panzer II rapidly pulling into a reverse, blindly firing its 20mm autocannon through the freshly deployed smoke to dissuade the hidden shooter from taking another shot.
"Oberfeld, this is Panzer 3, you got it, over."
Easily recognisable through pitch alone, Unterfeldwebelin Maria's response came immediately after, exactly as protocol dictated. Commanding a slightly more imposing Panzer III, Maria had replaced the former commander of said tank when his head was blown off by an anti-tank round piercing straight through the glass of his cupola. She had done well for herself, and could proudly claim to be one of the only changelings still in the same tank as when the war broke out.
Opening the commanders hatch, Otto peaked his head out to locate the infantry commander accompanying his armoured platoon. Luckily, the changeling was not hard to locate, his officer's sabre's sheath gleaming in the Equestrian sunlight.
"Herr Leutnant, we're pulling back for a bit. We need you to locate that PATR gunner and flush him out before we loose another tank."
The hive-born aristocrat had initially left a very bad first impression on Otto through his looks alone. The spitting image of the stereotypical old warrior nobility that Great Queen Chrysalis had supplanted with party loyalists, Otto had expected to be met with a bitter old fart who hadn't yet realised what way the wind was blowing.
"Worry not mein Freund, we are expendable, but your machines are the personal property of Her Majesty herself."
Well, not all first impressions are true. Otto had realised that soon after doing his first couple of missions with the man. A soldier to the core, this noble was dedicated to the mission at hand, and cooperated fully with anything that would further the completion of said mission.
Gathering his squad leaders, the lieutenant rapidly spread out his platoon, getting ready to clear out the two lines of apartments framing the street they were advancing down.
"Los los los!"
His trusted subordinates set to work, assisted by 2nd Armoured Platoon's secondary armaments. The smoke screen had not even cleared by the time Dietrich von Vraks' Panzergrenadiers had finished their bloody, but practiced, work.
When the smoke-screen finally cleared, a full infantry platoon had also set up to look down across the crossroads, so when the PATR gunner reared their head once more, he was obliterated by a hailstorm of MG-42 fire.
Like a well-oiled machine, the Panzergrenadiers and Panzers worked in tandem, destroying the enemies of Glorious Queen Chrysalis. Such were the early days of the invasion, when everything went well, and we foolishly thought ourselves invincible.
Blowing on his cup of poorly brewed coffee, Hauptmann Otto Schmidt kept a close eye on the maintenance work his crew was doing on their Panzer IV's. With much of the crew being as fresh out of the Hive Vrak's academies as the tanks were fresh out of the factory, he had to make sure they weren't making any lazy mistakes.
"Soldat, did you remember to lubricate the transmission properly?"
Laziness was a privilege of experience, a resource in short supply in his Panzerkompanie. He had been reassigned so many times now that he would have lost count if he did not note it down in his diary. The surviving veterans of his former units being redistributed, along with himself, to bring new frontline recruits up to speed.
"Naturally, Hauptmann!"
Strict discipline would keep them in line and, most importantly, alive, until they could accrue experience of their own. As such, he could not afford to be lax, even if this tough facade was exhausting to keep up. A particular piece of news was making it very hard for him to sleep nowadays, which wasn't exactly helping.
He peered down at the photo in his uniformed hooves. A black-and-white photo sent from the Panzerakademie von Vraks. Such photo's were, of course, not foreign to him. In fact, he owned one with himself on it. No, what concerned Otto Schmidt, Panzer Ace of the Changeling Wehrmacht, was the fact that this was not his photo.
It was his son's.
On that picture, smiling from ear to ear and clad in the same cadet uniform as had once clad his father, was the newly graduated Panzerschütze Werner Schmidt.
"Bringing yourself down again Oberfeld?"
A hoof comes around his shoulders, along with the chipper voice of Oberleutnant Marie. One of the only advantages of these troop reorganisations was getting to see old friends, but it would take more than that to bring Otto out of this depression.
"What do you want me to do, Marie? Were I a pony, I would pray to one of their Demigods to protect him. But alas, I am not. All I can do is look, and wish."
"If he's anything like you Herr, I'm sure he'll be fine.", Marie says, following up the encouragement with a few claps on the back. "You'll see."
"That's exactly the problem Marie... he is not at all like me. This whole war... he is consumed by it." Otto looks around a bit, before continuing in a low voice: "The Queens Youth... he was a top aspirant, you know? They had him execute his first political traitor by age 15..:"
Otto's voice trails off for a moment, before continuing.
"He was so proud, you know? He sent me a letter that day. Were it not for his ugly handwriting I would have thought it had come straight out of the V.O.P.S's Propaganda Ministry."
Otto folded the picture, and put it back into his breast pocket.
"It's not that I'm not proud of him, but he is too eager Marie. I fear that they have given him a view on war too glamorous for him to understand how dangerous it also is."
At this point, Marie's hoof had come off Otto's back, instead now resting firmly on his shoulders. The freshly arrived tank crew would speak of this moment for months to come, honoured by seeing two legends of the battlefield in the flesh conversing right in front of them. Of course, if they knew the topic, they would sing a different tune.
"Listen Otto, I didn't just come here to tease you, but to tell you something important."
Otto's ears twitched.
"I just got the roster of new recruits assigned to my platoon. I think you know where I'm going with this."
"Ah... I see..." Otto looked into the muddy soil. This had once been a Hoofball stadium, before being turned into a makeshift staging ground for the Queen's Armed Forces. "Well, at least he will be in good hooves."
"Otto, I-, I'll do my best to take care of him. But you know the survival rates in vanguard divisions. Please, don't hold it against me if anything happens."
Otto head sank even lower upon hearing the words Vanguard Division.
"Hah... I won't Marie. The patriotic idiot likely requested to be assigned to it himself. It's not your fault."
"Thank you Otto... If you ever need any Love to take the edg-"
"Marie, you know I can't do that. Now let me return to my drug of choice. Thank you for informing me."
Marie stiffened at the interruption. The friendship between the two officers had been stagnating for quite a while, but Marie's infatuation with Love and Otto's recent downward spiral into depression had sent the relationship on a road much worse than mere status quo.
"Of course, Herr Oberfeld."
That was the last time Otto Schmidt spoke with Marie Geertz.
When the letter arrived, wax seal black as coal, Otto knew what it was.
Those letters only meant one thing. and he did not care to confirm it.
His usage of Panzerschokolade was now way above regulatory levels, serving to keep him completely occupied with work at all times. As his Panzerkompanie advanced towards Manehattan, the aged changeling couldn't help but wonder what it was all for.
Surely there were better ways of obtaining the all-important Love that the Hives had grown so dependent on? One that did not require the sacrifices currently being offered? Such thoughts could of course never be aired publicly, and Otto had nocreature left to turn to in confidence.
Marie, his last remaining confidant, had been executed by a VOPS agent for confiscating her subordinates love rations for herself; and all his other friends were far away, serving on different fronts than himself. While they had last said goodbye to each other on a sour note, the tired ace stil cried like a little child the night he received the news of Marie's demise. His use of the stimulant chocolate had spiked sharply that month.
Many evenings he would hold his service-pistol in hoof, staring at the still sealed envelope, hands trembling.
But finally, he had arrived at a new battlefield. Something to keep his mind occupied and, most important, something to finally bring him long overdue rest.
On the horizon, he could see the high-rises of Manehattan.
"Yes... this place will do."
"What was that Hauptmann?" a young Panzerschütze, his command tank's gunner, shouted back at him.
"Nothing Soldat... nothing..."
Otto took out his son's graduation photo and looked at it one last time, before dropping it off the side of the tank to be swept away by the winds. With this, Otto had nothing left to loose.