Ameins, Destination Nice
A long, shrill whistle sounded across the pony packed platform. Just in time too; it was beginning to snow. There was a bustle of movement as ponies pushed past each other, some trying to board the train, some trying to disembark. Most of the ponies were civilians, travelling on business or for leisure. They had the usual set of berets, trench coats, trilbies, jackets and so on. Some had saddlebags, other didn’t. Some smoked on pipes or imported cigarettes, others didn’t. All very mundane. Except for the ponies spilling out of the carriage at the end of the train. The well-armoured, well-armed carriage with the all too familiar symbol on it.
A head poked out the side. The chiselled features of the stallion made him look like he’d been cut from marble. He played around briefly with the garrison cap mounted on his head; a shade of greyish green. He stepped out of the carriage and flipped a notebook out of his pocket, also drawing a pen. He gave a loud bark in a deep, gravelly voice and, one by one, came the carriage's ‘passengers’. The almost over encumbered ponies began to file out. Over their backs were large packs and saddlebags, various items of equipment hanging off them. Upon their heads, shielding their eyes from the glare of the snow, were iconic steel helmets, with straps that fed under the chin. They wore the same greyish green uniforms, and most had (amongst other items of kit) well-polished bolt action rifles slung over their backs. The garrison cap wearing pony had at his hip a large sub machinegun, and he counted each pony who hopped down from the wagon, each one giving a crisp salute as they fell in line. The last off the carriage was a tall, formidable pony who looked to be of noble birth, a peaked cap shielding his eyes and a Knight’s Cross on his breast pocket. The officer saluted the younger officer, who saluted back and ordered the gathering of ponies off into a quick march, yelling at the top of his lungs as the military ponies marched in step.
For Vinyle, this was a familiar sight. She was at this station a lot, being one of France’s most prized musicians, and saw this sort of thing every time she came. Ponies rushed to get out of the way of the oncoming soldiers, so as not to be trampled. The unicorn, as white as the snow that now fell upon her head, smirked. She hefted her saddlebags onto her back and made her way to the front of the train, where the reserved carriages were. She could afford to be luxurious. She was Vinyle Rayure, and anypony who didn’t have her records playing on the gramophone was missing out. Her songs were fresh, unique and bloody good to listen too. Sure, the age of the home radio was dawning as more and more ponies could afford the luxury of owning their own wireless, but she liked to think that vinyl records wouldn't go out of fashion for quite a few years yet. She wanted her music to still be played across France for years to come.
She flashed a pass at the attendant at the carriage door, who bowed his head as he recognised her, “Madame Rayure. It is a pleasure. Can I take your bags for you?”
“No, thank you. I can manage.” The attendant nodded and opened up the carriage, moving to one side to allow the unicorn entry.
“Madame?”
“Yes?”
“I really like your new song. Have a pleasant journey.” Vinyle blinked as a stray snowflake blew into her eye.
“Thank you.” The attendant nodded once more, before closing the carriage door. After waiting a few moments, he looked to either side and held up a brightly coloured flag. Somewhere outside, a whistle peeped and the train shuddered, beginning to move away ever so slowly.
Vinyle made her way down the passage of first class compartments, looking for the one she’d reserved. She was sharing the journey with another pony, but she didn't mind. She was glad for the company, actually. This was going to be a long journey.
She peered at the numbers to either side of each compartment door until she found the one that matched her's. She slid open the door and beheld the room inside. It was spacious, and well furnished, with a bunk bed embedded into one wall. There was a large open space in the middle, and seats on either side, and a sizeable window opposite the door, with its own set of blinds. Yes, this was the only way to travel. She stepped into the compartment and slid the door shut behind her, beginning to feel the train pick up speed and hearing the soft clickity clack of the wheels on the rails.
She squirmed out of her saddlebags and placed them in a compartment under the seat. The bunks were on the left wall, relative to the door, and she now sat on the seats in front of them, looking across at the pony sitting opposite her. The pony was also a mare; a humble earth pony. She wore very refined, black clothes and her mane was very clean and well kept, sweeping back and flowing down her neck like a dark grey river. Her eyes sparkled and shone with the hue of greyish purple. She wore, around her neck, a pink tie, which snaked down over her breast and tapered to a point just above her stomach. Next to her, leaning against the seat, was what looked like a large guitar case, but was obviously much too big to be a guitar. Neither of them talked. They both sat in silence, looking each other over.
Eventually, Vinyle coughed and smiled at her, “Bonjour, madame. My name is Vinyle Rayure. I assume you’ve heard of me. And you are?” The mare hesitated briefly.
“My name is Oktava.” The mare spoke in fluent French, but her accent gave her away. She definitely was not native, and Vinyle made a game out of trying to silently guess where she came from. Eventually she gave up and just asked.
“You speak French, but you’re not from here. Where have you come from?”
“I have come from Russia.”
“Really? You’ve travelled that far already? That’s some distance.”
“Well, I’ve been here for a while now. I have a house in Paris, you see. I was living there when…” she paused, thinking of a way to phrase this without offending the French mare. “When they arrived.”
“I see. So why are you all the way up here? Why come up to Amiens just to catch a train?”
The train shuddered slightly as it continued on its way. They were still in the city, but the buildings were beginning to thin out. Soon they’d be in open country until their next stop in Laons. Vinyle could see ponies walking around the streets going about their business. On a nearby road, a German Kubelwagen drove by, an ordinary soldier at the wheel and two officers in the back. Every street had a German barracks on it, and every street corner had an armed soldier standing and watching the crowds. Vinyle wouldn’t have been able to tell, but she was certain that somewhere amongst the crowds there would be Gestapo officers looking to hunt down resistance fighters. That was part of the reason she’d taken this train herself.
“Well,” began Oktava, snapping Vinyle back to attention. “I live in Paris, but I came up here to catch this particular train. It is the only one in France that goes all the way to Nice that was within driving distance. Trains in and out of Paris are heavily controlled, as you might expect.”
“Why are you going to Nice, might I ask?” Oktava looked left, then right, checking that nopony was hiding in the compartment or outside the door. She spoke in a hushed voice so there was no chance of anypony else in another compartment hearing them.
“Do you work for the Germans?”
“What? No! I’m loyal to my country. Vive la France!”
“Okay, well, I’m planning to catch a ship to Equestria. It’s the only ship headed there and it’s sailing out of Nice in about a week. This train ought to arrive in time for me to catch a lift and leave this continent.”
Vinyle was briefly stunned. This pony was taking a train across the entire of France, all the way down to Nice, and wanted to risk getting aboard a ship to Equestria? That was exactly what she herself was on this train for! What were the chances? She said as much, and the Russian gave a small smile, “That is convenient, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Vinyle would have taken a ship out of one of the other major ports that were a little closer to home if it weren’t for various reasons. The first was that all of the major ports along the northern and western coasts of France were under German control. That meant she ran a higher risk of being captured. Another was that getting a ship from those ports was very difficult indeed. You needed an entire scrapbook of formal papers and documents to get aboard, and even if you did, there were no ships to Equestria from any of those ports anyway. Nice was the only port town that harboured an Equestrian ship, and both Vinyle and now Oktava were keen to board it.
There was a curt knock at the door, before it was slid open. Before them stood a formally dressed stallion with a kepi on his head, a pouch at his side, “Tickets please.” Vinyle fished around in the pockets of her coat, trying to find her ticket. Oktava produced hers immediately from the breast pocket of her blazer, handing it to the stallion who clipped it for her. He handed it back with a quiet, “Have a pleasant journey, madame,” He then rounded on Vinyle. “Your ticket, madame.” Vinyle still couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in her chest pocket, nor the two pockets at her side, and nor was it in the internal pocket on the inside. This was not good. She wasn’t going to have set off on this massive journey only to be stopped by the French railway system. Wait, could she just show him her reservation? It had proof of purchase on it and all, so it should be okay. She produced a folded up piece of paper from a pocket at her side and showed it to the stallion. He checked it over, then checked it over again. Vinyle waited anxiously. What happened if he refused it? She couldn’t find her ticket, but she could have sworn she’d received one.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the stallion handed the form back to her and said, “Very well. Have a pleasant journey.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” The stallion shut the door as he turned to continue on his journey down the carriage. Vinyle laughed awkwardly to herself, “That was a little tense.” Oktava simply nodded quietly.
“So what’s with that case?” Vinyle gestured to the large case off to Oktava’s side.
“Oh, it is my cello.”
“You’re a cellist?”
“Yes. I’m quiet famous in Russia, and here in France actually. I’m all about the classics. Of course, the cello is what I associate with, but it isn’t the only instrument I can play. I’m quite adept at the flute and I can play a piano to a reasonable standard. What about you? What do you play?”
Vinyle brushed back her mane. It was messy, a vibrant shade of electric blue, unusual for the time period. She smiled, “Oh, I don’t really play very much. I write mostly. I write songs. New songs, songs that are different. I’m not about the classics, but I’m more with the modern kind of music. I’m quite famous for my jazz pieces. You know, swing music, that stuff from Equestria. I was really the first to make it popular here in France.”
“Really?” Oktava scrunched her nose slightly. “I never really liked jazz music.”
“Funny that, because I never really liked the classics.”
“Oh dear. Well that’s unfortunate. Hopefully this won’t cause any troubles.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not that I don’t like classics, I just find them a little boring. I like jazz because it’s lively and energetic!”
“I like classics for the exact opposite reason.”
The two continued this debate for quite some time, neither of them gaining headway. They weren’t arguing, as such, just keeping each other occupied. It was going to be a long and very arduous journey. They weren’t really out to prove that there side was any better than the other either, again they were just making conversation. Vinyle was the more talkative of the two, often going off on a tangent and not giving Oktava a chance to get a word in, which she didn’t seem to mind. She was quite quiet.
Eventually Oktava butted in, “How old are you, madame Rayure?”
“Twenty three, why?”
“I am twenty two. My birthday is in two weeks’ time.”
“I just had my twenty third a few days ago, actually. That was the day the Germans showed up at my door and stole all of my things. I still have most of my records though, and a small portable wireless. Do you want me to turn it on? We can listen to some music? Maybe lighten the atmosphere a bit?”
“Very well.” Vinyle drew her saddlebags out from under her seat, opening them and pulling out the radio. She groaned in annoyance when she saw a small piece of paper come out with it. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. So that was where her ticket was. She rested the radio on the window sill and extended the antenna, flicking the set on and playing around with the dials until she found a radio station. Most of the stations here were under German occupation and heavily censored, only letting through German propaganda and old classics, most of which were in German anyway, so neither of them could understand them. But Vinyle managed to find one that wasn’t so heavily censored and soon one of her own jazz songs was playing over the radio, filling the compartment with upbeat, joyous music which took the edge of the depressing atmosphere.
Vinyle laughed and began to dance in the middle of the compartment, swinging her hips and her forelegs around in the air in a complicated series of movements and generally having a good time. Oktava was less enthusiastic, and instead settled to just watch as Vinyle swung her rump around and flicked her tail about.
The door to their compartment slid open and Vinyle immediately stopped dancing. In the door way was a black shirted stallion with a peaked cap on his head. On one arm was a red armband, the familiar swastika emblazoned onto it. At the stallions hip was a holster, in which was his Luger P08. The SS officer growled at her and spoke in very bad French, “Turn that off immediately. Jazz music is not allowed anymore. Either listen to some proper music or turn the radio off.”
“Sorry, monsieur.” The stallion sniffed and flared his nostrils, watching as Vinyle switched off the radio and returned it to her saddlebags. Satisfied, the officer turned to leave.
“Do not let me catch you playing such degenerate music again. If you cannot appreciate true music then you should not be allowed to listen to music at all.” With that, the officer shut the door and walked back down the carriage, his hooves making loud clopping noises as he did so. Vinyle waited and heard a door slide open, then shut again. She reopened her own door and began to make her way outside.
Oktava called to her, “Where are you going?”
“I’m just going to see who else we’re sharing a carriage with.”
Interval.