//------------------------------// // Act II, Chapter I // Story: The Kingdom and the Leviathan // by beckoning devil //------------------------------// September 5th, 1851 Day One of 21st Infantry's Furlough Day 26 of the Invasion of Equestia After being searched by a rather gruff looking gentleman, wearing a black armband, of course, I was allowed to step off the train. I paused briefly to take in the sights of Philadelphia, and try to contrast it to when I had left. The city looked...dirty. The people were dressed in browns, blacks, perhaps they had previously been brighter, but the dirt that they had been forced to live in (I could spot many shelters, hastily made of whatever was available) had gotten to them. The sight of a blue-coated soldier, in contrast to their dark and dull colors, was enough to turn me into a celebrity. Everyone seemed to flock towards me, and all had something to say. "Fucking fascist!" "Did you kill any Equestrians?" "Spare change? Please?" "Hey, I know you're probably lonely...how about later tonight?" The armband wearing civilians began to try and disperse the crowd, pushing and shoving them away from me. The civilians groaned, dispersed and I made my way past all the thieves, whores, homeless, and the insane. I was able to pass into an alleyway, which seemed abandoned, until a man stepped in front of me, knife in hand. "Where do you think you're going, soldier boy?" His face was bruised, he had obviously had a bad day. I saw that his eyes were at a squint, and his voice was very hoarse. My first instinct upon seeing the knife was to grab my musket, if only I had one. I was ordered to surrender mine upon boarding the train home. He must have recognized this action, and began stepping closer. "Sorry, pal, your musket ain't gonna save ya." He was on me before I could react, and I was able to easily push him off me. I delivered a quick kick to the groin, and as he sunk to his knees, I took his knife, and stabbed it in him. His life left him with each stab, and I looked down at my work with trembling hands. I dropped the knife, and ran to where I knew my parents house. Luckily, it wasn't far, and I could see Internal Security officers beginning to investigate the body. I was greeted by my mother a now aging woman, who cried as she recognized me. I held her in a hug for what felt like an hour, and I was finally invited inside. My father was there, who looked me over behind his glasses with tears in his eyes. He embraced me briefly, as my mother shut the door to our house. "John, please, sit!" My mother brought over a rocking chair, which I sat in as I removed my cap. My father took it, and placed it next to the shako that he had worn in the War of 1812. He smiled while looking at them, and comparing the two. Our house was kept in good order, and sitting in the kitchen, I felt the same sense of order that I had left with. Everything was kept where it was supposed to be, and as such, the house gave off an almost military feeling to it. My parents sat down too, and I was treated to my first warm meal in months. I ate every last bit of it, and after finishing, my mother sat back in her chair, and said, "So tell us about yourself! We haven't seen you in so long, and your father has been very interested in what's going on!" "Well, I'd probably bore you to death, I haven't seen much action." I knew I was telling a lie, and my father picked up on it. He nodded slowly, and my mother continued on like this, letting me tell her everything about life in the army. I carefully changed my story so I wouldn't have to tell her about the terror of combat. "It seems like quite an experience!" She stated, and then her tone became serious. "Now, I know you've only got three weeks of break, and in that time we'd like you to wear this-" She gestured to my former civilian clothes, "the beggars are beginning to target soldiers more and more." I nodded, and went upstairs. After taking off my army uniform, I noticed how dirty it was. I changed into my civilian clothes, a brown coat over tan pants and a black shirt. I gave my uniform to my mother, who began washing it outside. I looked around my house, and began to feel bored. Army life may be dull, but at least you got to do something. My father called me over, and gave me 50 dollars. He told me to spend it however I wished, so I naturally began looking for something useful, perhaps a gun. Stepping aside, I was once again bombarded by the ugly appearance of the city. I found the closest sane man that I could, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, would you happen to know where I could buy a gun?" The stranger looked me over, and pointed to a merchant who had about five large, beefy men near him, all armed with pistols. I thanked him, and walked over. I found my place in a rather long line, and did my best to ignore the disgusting smell that radiated off the man in front of me. A group of children had approached from other vendors, all of them carrying what seemed to be either porn or political handouts. They began handing them out to people in the line, and I politely refused them all. After this, it was my turn in line. I noticed the five men look me over, and I heard the distinctive click of someone pulling back the hammer on a weapon. "Hello, sir." The storeowner greeted me, and he must have noticed the general contrast I had in terms of appearance with the others. "I can see that you've been gone for a while." He winked, and whispered, "Your secret's safe with me, always good to help another soldier." "Uh, yes, thanks." I noticed his age, he must have been a veteran of 1812. "So, what brings you here?" "Well, I'm looking for a gun." "A gun?" He looked around, almost laughing. "Well, you've come to the right place. What can I get you?" "Well, I'm not looking for a musket...perhaps a pistol of some kind?" "Oh, yes, I have lots of those, what kind would you like? I've got flintlocks, and even some new revolvers." Revolvers, that would come in handy. "Ok, how much is a revolver?" "Well, since the most of them went to the Army, they're 45 bucks, but, since soldiers have to look out for each other, I'll give one to you for free, along with some ammo. Ok?" I didn't expect him to be so kind, so I accepted. I was given a revolver, 30 bullets, and a holster. I thanked him, and went home. It was getting dark out, and I didn't want to be jumped by anybody. When I got back, I was given my army uniform again, this time it was washed. However, right before I was to go to bed, my father called me over. "Son, tell me about what really happened." "What do you mean?" His tone became a bit louder, perhaps becoming frustrated. "I can appreciate that you lied to your mother, and I understand that. But if you're struggling with anything, you can tell me. I won't tell her, I promise." I sighed, and looked at him. "Father, how would you describe the War of 1812?" He took off his glasses, and thought deeply, recalling his service. Perhaps I would do the same, if I made it out of this war in one piece. "Well," He began, searching for words, "I would describe it as a mostly boring affair...we did see some action at Fort Erie, but we sat out on the big stuff like New Orleans or Fort McHenry." I nodded, and followed up with another question. "How was combat back then?" "That's a rather personal question, John, I don't really see the point of-" "Father, if you want to hear what I've been through, then please answer it." I looked at his eyes and met his glare. "...Fine. Settle in, this is going to be quite a story." I assumed a more comfortable position, and he began. "When the British lay siege to Fort Erie on August 4th, I remember that we were told that reinforcements would be coming. The sight of the British, and the thought of death that came with them, was particularly unnerving to some of us. Well, those reinforcements didn't come in time. The British, after nine days, decided to attack us. Following an artillery barrage, they sent three columns of infantry at us, trying to overwhelm us at the same time. I was in the fortifications when a column of the British began advancing toward us. The order was given to fire when they were tightly packed, which worked. They suffered terrible casualties, and at one point, they began calling out, 'Stop firing, you're hitting your own men!'. The fighting stopped for a what seemed an hour, when one of our officers called back, 'To hell with you!', and we fired again. The British were driven back, and at least on this sector, we did not suffer any casualties. Let me tell you something about those British, they sure were determined. They suffered nearly the same amount of casualties as us, and kept persisting. Overall, John, I would not want to go through it again." He stopped, and let that sink in. "Does that satisfy you?" "Yes father. Now, let me tell you about the war with the Equestrians." I hadn't used that term in a while. "But before we begin, we're going to refer to them as ponies." "Ponies!?" My father laughed, "Is that what you call them? Ponies!?" "Yes, father. That's what some of the men who've been in combat with them call them. Can you please call them ponies?" "Sure!" He tried hard to control his laughter as I began. I told him everything. I told him about my experience in training, and described to him in graphic detail my first encounter with mortality at the hands of the fire by rank drill. I told him about my experience at Clovis, the way the civilians had begged us to save them from the ponies, and how our dreams of glory were shattered. In detail, I told him about every aspect of the Battles of Ponyville and Canterlot. I saw his eyebrows furrow, and saw his lip tremble as I told him about the tactics the ponies used in defending themselves, and their gruesome effect. Then I told him about the most damning experience of all, when we had fled. We had been so close, and we gave up. I called myself a coward for joining them, and a traitor for helping to effectively prolong the war. We had lost the most important part of any invasion: the part where you capture their capital. After describing the encounter with some of the ponies, I ended with, "That's how this war is going." He sat in silence as he looked me over. I was on the verge of tears, and couldn't bear to look at him. "Well...that's quite...revealing...just know that you're welcome to stay here after your three weeks." Before he could get up and retire for the night, I heard the glass breaking upstairs, followed by laughing. I knew the sound before it though. The sound of gunfire. As my father handed me a musket from a stash he kept hidden, we both found ourselves in a shootout. Doing what I found myself doing best, I was repulsed with how easy it was to find the flash of a gun, aim for it, pull the trigger, and occasionally hear a scream. It felt...good, for some terrible reason that I couldn't comprehend. After about five minutes, the shooters were arrested, and Internal Security officers began questioning us. Satisfied that we didn't cause it, they warned us to leave justice in the hands "of the professionals", and told us that this wouldn't happen again. Judging from the multiple muskets my father had stashed, I could tell that this was fairly common. I could also tell that I wanted nothing to do with home. As I tossed and turned under my blanket, I heard a voice call out, "Ready," and I jumped out of bed, startled at my reaction. I looked out the window, and saw the Internal Security officers making sure that such an incident would never happen again.