The human stood in front of a rather familiar mirror, slipping on his uniform’s jacket after ensuring his tie had a proper fit around his neck.
With that taken care of, he took another hard look at himself and his presented appearance, though the stark difference this time was that he was quite happy with the result.
His Equestrian uniform was not marred by any last-minute tears, so the Colonel was able to display his new colors proudly. New, ‘local’ medals near the breast replaced his old Iron Cross… which, out of a gesture of goodwill, the Princesses had him fashioned an exact replica of his prized medal without the offending symbol in its middle.
He did request the Equestrian yin-yang insignia at its center as a counter-show of goodwill and pride, and his alicorn friends were all-too happy to oblige. His wound badge would forever be his to safeguard, and he still kept it sealed away for him to always remember.
Said uniform was a sleek, dark-grey color that fit him even better than his original Wehrmacht one… and it looked especially nice when the light of the early-morning sun fell upon it through the open balcony-doors.
He contorted himself in every-which way to make sure all was well. Gone was the blood-red armband with a swastika, yet to replace the one he disposed of, he requested a teal-blue band with Equestria’s insignia, much like his medal...
...and identical to the centerpiece of the visor-cap in which he fastened atop his head.
Not even two months later and Paul Werner found himself back in Canterlot, taking up residence in same room that the Castle provided so he could help make the arrangements for the preparations.
The day of the joint exercises had come, agreed upon by both Equestria and Alemaneia.
This time, however, there was no somber buttoning of a uniform he did not wish to wear again for the remainder of his life, nor having to negotiate with what was essentially a pseudo-Nazi nation.
No, all what Paul had felt were the more difficult aspects of this whole alliance process had been dealt with, and in his opinion, it was smooth sailing from here on out. Chancellor Unser of Alemaneia had been most cooperative and amicable thus far, and it certainly looked like a true bond could be formed between Equestria and the reforming fascist nation.
All Paul had to do was show up, do a little press photo op, and then command his troops.
Reflecting upon everything with a gentle hum and an upturn of the right side of his mouth, Paul figured that if anything was going to be difficult, it would be another exposure to Aryanne. The Generalfeldmarschall’s demeanor was not going to change overnight, after all.
Paul brushed some of his dark hair up and out of his forehead.
He did not foresee her being much of an issue, and as much as he quite vocally did not approve of her general existence (much to the amusement of Celestia and Luna), he knew that she would be a constant counterpart of his. Ergo, they would have to at least be professional and find some manner of workable, common ground to proceed without hiccups.
Paul was a true, iron-blooded German. Professional stoicism was a national trademark.
He could not apply those principles in good faith at the moment, however, due to a gentle, happy humming entering his ears from behind. The source: a certain crimson-maned, pristine-white coated filly resting her eyes on his bed.
Turning around to face her in full, Paul’s heart fluttered pleasantly at seeing his adoptive daughter catching up on some light napping; they did have to wake up early to get here on a weekend, after all.
“Seerose?” Paul cooed in his thick accent, stepping lightly over to and kneeling above her.
He lovingly brushed a few wayward locks of her crimson mane out of her tired face, and that’s when she stirred in full. The wide sapphire-eyed filly came face-to-face with her dad in full uniform for the umpteenth time in her small life.
She yawned, unimpressed.
“Yeah, yeah, you look fine, papa… but I’m tired,” she whined, curling back up into a little pony-ball.
Paul sat on the bed, chuckling at her display whilst scratching the back of her ear. He kissed her forehead.
“Did I not tell you to go to bed early last night? I said we would be getting up equally early today,” Paul forced her to recall.
No answer.
“Well?”
“Nph.”
“Ja… und?”
“Nph.”
“That’s what I thought. You’ve got to get up and go to your lessons before you can come to work with me later. You said you want to be with daddy when he’s in the command post, yes?”
“Mmph.”
Paul huffed out amusedly, massaging the back of the filly’s neck to calm her yet ensure she did not fall back asleep.
“Seerose…”
“Nph.”
Paul rolled his eyes. As much as he loved his daughter with every fiber of his being, she was being ridiculous. She did have to get up and study with the royal tutors before later, and Paul did not compromise on her education, though this often annoyed the little one to no end.
He moved to slip his hands under her chest.
“Komm. Steh auf, Seerose.”
“Neeeiiin...”
The military man had no intention of letting his daughter have her way this time. He gave her one last chance to get up on her own volition.
“Ja. Genug. Los gehts—spiel’ ich nicht.”
Paul’s tone brooked no argument this time around, and Seerose only grumbled before acquiescing to her father’s command. She, tiredly, got to her hooves, but Paul did her a little favor to help ease her ‘pain and suffering:’ with one hand, he brought her up to his shoulders behind his neck.
Through a fatigued reflex that had been honed undoubtedly an uncountable number of times, the filly wrapped her forelegs around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder, still resting her eyes.
Paul lamented that he’d probably get a little hair on him from what shed from her coat, but it was of no concern to him right now. He could easily take a roller to his upper-back if need be… a small price for Seerose’s comfort.
“Very well. Let us depart,” Paul spoke, taking the two of them out of his room and shutting the door behind him.
Not content to let the filly fall back asleep, Paul began peppering her with little questions as he walked.
“Have you made any new friends?” he asked.
Seerose nodded.
“Mhmm. There’s sometimes a very nice thestral guardmare who plays with me in the morning when she gets off duty.”
That certainly piqued his interest. She was already making allies who were older than her? Impressive.
“Really? What’s her name.”
Without much thought, Seerose snuggled into Paul’s neck and answered his question:
“‘Frau Sabre…’ aber sie will mich ihr ‘Stella’ heiβen,” she enlightened him with the mystery mare’s name. “She’s super nice. She helps me with history and teaches me vocabulary words.”
Paul knew the name all too well. That, combined with Seerose’s last statement was more than enough cause for concern.
He cocked a most curious eyebrow.
“And just what words is she teaching you, darling?”
A cooler day had befallen the Manehattan cityscape and coastline, but this was to be expected due to the ongoing change of season.
Yet at that same port, the same terminal, and relatively the same time as nearly two months prior, the day chilled further for the same reasons…
…namely that same Alemaneian dreadnaught being docked with its flag held high, dancing in the breeze.
The sun had not even reached its apex in its flight across the deep-blue sky, and Generalfeldmarschall Aryanne Land set her first hoof on Equestrian soil. Her troops had already arrived earlier than her and were awaiting exercise orders to come in the next few hours, and the Chancellor would not be arriving until later this evening.
So, it was just the immaculately dressed Alemaneian officer and her detail of four elite, black-uniform-clad troops.
Visor-cap high atop her head and trench coat around her usual uniform to shield from the cool morning air, Aryanne regarded her familiar surroundings with the same annoyance as before.
Stoic indifference.
Burdensome.
Further adding to her perpetual irritation, Aryanne’s warship had made much better timing than expected with calmer seas. Consequently, she had nearly four hours to kill before she had to meet with the infernal ‘human.’ As much as she’d love to smash his face in with a hoof and drag him back to her country, she would have to just settle with hopefully out-commanding him during their exercise.
That would do… for now.
The blank-faced pony’s entourage held their high and gravely still statures as the mare in question glanced around the empty terminal. A few Equestrian troops were posted for security purposes and they paid her no mind, as she did them. She commended them for not staring and minding their own business; perhaps Equestrians weren't entirely worthless as soldiers.
So, for all intents and purposes, she was alone.
Aryanne flared her nostrils as she cleared the inner-ramblings of her mind. But in so doing, she was reminded how breakfast did not go so well; spoilt milk ruined her entire dish.
As a result, she was quite famished.
As an even further consequence to that, she would have to venture into the city proper to obtain suitable nourishment, much to her chagrin.
Aryanne addressed her troops over her shoulder.
“Soldaten.”
All four snapped to attention, allowing her to continue stoically.
“You are dismissed for the next few hours. Do as you please. Meet me back here by thirteen-hundred.”
The four shared glances amongst each other, each face marked with the same amount of confusion.
However, her words were law, only second to the Chancellor himself.
“Jawohl.”
“Jawohl, General.”
“Jahwohl!”
“B-But where will you go, ma’am? Your safety is our top priority.”
Aryanne’s glower was almost painful for the stallion who spoke up.
“It is of no concern to you, private. I did not attain my rank being defenseless. Nothing shall happen to me, now enjoy a few hours off. Furthermore, some of your comrades made the mistake of questioning my orders once…”
She leaned in to emphasize her point, forcing the unfortunate soldier’s legs to buckle slightly. Her tone was controlled, icy, and downright terrifying.
“Once. Surely you shan’t make the same mistake a second time?” she questioned, her expression darkening.
“N-Nein, mein General. Jawohl,” the elite trooper, most unbecoming of his title, replied with a salute.
Aryanne huffed.
“Gut. Verpisst euch.”
One final salute and the group heeded her words, scrambling away to occupy their time however they could. The General watched them go with the most microscopic sense of remorse she could muster; her personal detail was made up of four truly magnificent soldiers; some of Alemaneia’s finest.
They meant well, but rigid discipline was a staple in the mighty Alemaneian Army. Insubordination, no matter how well-mannered, would never be tolerated.
With that, Aryanne was left to her own devices with nothing but her thoughts and a gentle harbor wind to keep her company.
She held her hoof out and tilted her head forward, letting her visor-cap flop into said outstretched hoof. The General then flipped her mane with the wind and stretched out her neck, allowing the cool Manehattan gust to caress and gently tickle her with its ethereal touch.
At least the weather was tolerable here.
That only left her to go grab a bite to eat. Her sentiment about the weather did not carry over to her hopes for the food, unfortunately.
Nevertheless, she needed to eat. Her tummy ached something fierce and she would have little mental clarity to command later if she were to ignore her body’s demands. Further, she was never in the habit of skipping meals if she could help it, though for more personal reasons…
Aryanne knew all-too well what it meant to truly go hungry.
She reaffixed her cap back atop her head and began her saunter towards town with her head held high. Each movement of her boot-clad hooves was deliberate and precise as would be expected of the highest-ranking officer in Alemaneia’s military.
Still alone, all that sounded were the distant city noises, though more prominently the heavy clopping of her hooves. Her medals swayed and jingled softly with her walking cadence, and the free portion of her mane and tail bounced freely in kind.
She enjoyed little walks with herself and only herself, much like this.
As she entered more populated and less-guarded terminals, the number of ponies began to gradually increase. Of course, this meant that Aryanne drew more attention to herself by sheer virtue of her uniform and that bright-red armband on her front-left leg. She didn’t mind in the slightest, actually. And in fact, she enjoyed bringing all eyes to her as a show of who dominated the room and the conversation.
It didn’t matter that those she passed would often sneer at her, or would look upon her with fear or confusion. Regardless, her head remained dutifully high and her expression unreadable. One hoof in front of the other dictated her strict walking cadence to ensure maximum intimidation.
Food mattered more to her than the lives of other ponies. This usually held true most of the time, anyway.
Exiting the docking facility and finding her way onto a main street which led to the heart of Manehattan, Aryanne found little reprieve from the same treatment. In fact, she drew even more attention as the population density increased.
None approached her nor attempted to confront her in any way (verbal assaults thrown at her aside). She was more than capable of defending herself if need-be, but her notoriety was proof that she was a foreign dignitary; assault on one who classified as such would amount to an international incident.
And deep down, Aryanne welcomed that option. She’d be lying to herself if she never thought of an invasion of the Equestrian mainland and the subsequent conquest. She did have to concede that it would be incredibly difficult to pull off, though. Besides, no one in her government would agree to it, even under more… conservative leadership.
Ergo, these thoughts would be relegated to little more than dreams. Still, Aryanne smirked at the warm, fuzzy feeling that the idea of conquering Equestria brought on. Then would come the ‘degeneracy cleansing.’
She bit her lip and shuddered as a pleasurable tingle made its way up her spine. Her little episode was quickly quelled and unassuming to the public eye, so she continued onward in earnest.
The porcelain-colored mare did have to stop in her tracks for a moment when she entered the city itself. Her eyes wandered over and traced the rooftops of the apartment buildings, the peaks of the skyscrapers that ascended beyond the low-clouds, and the sheer number of ponies going about their business.
Skyscrapers were not that common in Alemaneia, as the cities were just built outward around the center as opposed to upward, such as with the city of Marelin. The number of residence quarters would certainly explain the population size here, on top of tourism bolstering. What did strike the mare (as she had to deviate from her stature and glance around as she trotted) was just how diverse everypony was.
There was no consistency in coat colors nor race of ponies. Further than that, thestrals, minotaurs, zebras, and many other species were aplenty, roaming about without so much as an escort nor with chains around them.
How charming.
It was not like Aryanne expected anything else from Equestria. Thus, she merely rolled her eyes and continued onward. But, even her ideals were not founded in a modern reality anymore. The work camps had been dismantled upon Chancellor Unser’s appointment, and targeted arrests and deportations had ceased almost entirely.
Perhaps Aryanne was just comparing Equestria to ‘better times,’ as it were.
Her search for appropriate food continued down the main street. The best restaurants in any Alemanian city could be found on the main streets, such as the famous Kaiser von Pferdlich Straβe in Marelin; the General figured that this assumption held true for Equestria considering the massive variety of eateries that flanked her on either side of her trek.
And yet, she regarded each passing one with barely a huff. Fast food never appealed to her, nor did the assorted different styles—batpony cuisine especially was off the table for her.
Useless.
It appeared she would indeed be going hungry for a little while longer, and Aryanne continued to curse this nation in her mind…
…at least, until a small banner in her native language caught her eye.
The General came to an abrupt stop and took in what looked like a typical, hole-in-the-wall little restaurant. An awning with the colors of her nation, a small flag frolicked in the breeze which helped draw attention to the name:
“Taste of Alemaneia…” she muttered, repeating what was written in bright Alemaneian script.
Aryanne’s lips curled downward in a scowl, almost offended that an Alemaneian restaurant would set itself up here of all places. Further, the décor seemed authentic, and that appeared to annoy her more.
“How wonderful.”
It offended her enough to pique her curiosity. And in the end, she reconciled the fact that she was almost obligated to try this restaurant, if only so she could have the opportunity to justify her indignation even further.
“HEY! Go home, you fascist bitch! Free Alemaneia!” came from nowhere in particular.
Aryanne smiled maniacally, then spoke over her shoulder as she trotted towards the restaurant’s entrance:
“Beautiful country here! Lovely ponies!” she giggled her reply in her thick accent.
She blew a kiss and a wink over her shoulder for good measure. Internally, her response to that would’ve been much more… informative. In her educated and informed opinion through her service, Alemaneia was already free; free and strong.
Her country was going to the dogs… straight to Tartarus. Once Unser set his plans in motion, there would be nothing to stop Alemaneia’s death. Not a damn thing she could do.
Aryanne shrugged off these lamentations for another time as she gingerly pushed the door open. A gentle chiming of a bell rang out as she strode through the establishment’s threshold, and the pink-maned, thestral hostess who was lounging by her podium immediately sat up, startled.
With a perfect southern Alemaneian accent, she said:
“Welcome to ‘Taste of Alemaneia!’ How many…” her spry tone trailed off when she affixed her gaze on the customer.
Aryanne’s stoically stared straight into the batpony’s eyes… eyes which had shone of great apprehension.
“…General?”
All other servers and staff, even the patrons stopped what they were doing to observe the newcomer.
The officer’s reputation preceded her, even amongst ‘natives’ of her country.
Excellent.
“Your establishment claims to serve ‘Authentic Alemaneian Food.’ Is this true?” Aryanne demanded.
The hostess shakily nodded.
“J-Ja… Naturlich.”
Aryanne blinked without a shred of differing emotion.
“Very well. Table for one, please.”
The batpony shifted her gaze from side to side as everypony else awkwardly went back about their business, though the noise level remained temporarily suppressed. She grabbed a lone menu and beckoned for the General.
“Right this way.”
Aryanne dutifully followed the thestral to her table, occasionally locking glances with random patrons and service staff as she visually toured. She received a mixture of fearful and bellicose stares in return, though in either sense, she did not care in the slightest.
She just wanted to get fed… and hopefully not get poisoned.
Her ‘table’ happened to be a small booth, and the hostess gestured for her to sit down. Aryanne did just that, scooting into place and getting comfortable whilst the former placed a menu in front of her.
“Y-Your server will be ‘Lila,’ General Land. Please enjoy your meal.”
Aryanne glanced at her from an angle.
“I can only hope I do.”
And with that, the kind thestral hostess nodded once and left the officer to herself.
Aryanne could’ve sworn she heard the word ‘murderer’ under her breath, though she was not too concerned with the pejorative.
‘Murder’ and ‘pest control’ were relative, depending on who one talked to.
She placed her cap aside and browsed through the menu, paying notice to the many traditional and classic dishes that made up Alemaneian culture. Her blank countenance never wavered, and in the face of a series of possibilities, Aryanne decided upon something simple: a personal favorite of hers that never failed to fill her tummy and make her smile…
…provided it was prepared properly, of course.
“G-Guten Morgen.”
Aryanne extricated her face from the menu and turned to the waitress that happened to be upon her at that moment. Another thestral, though this one was navy-blue in mane and tail with the darkest-gray coat that if it were any darker, would be black. Her pink magenta eyes shone of one who had more confidence about themselves, but her discomfort still peeked through.
Aryanne huffed.
“Morgen,” she returned, then buried her attention back in the food selection.
The batpony set down a glass of water she was carrying for Aryanne and fetched a notepad from her uniform’s belt. Regaining her air of professionality, Lila recited her proper lines with respectful obligation.
“My name is Lila, and I’ll be the one serving you today. Can I bring you something, General?”
Aryanne was not immediately forthcoming with answers, and her server was left in an uncomfortable stance. She knew not whether to come back or remain, but had little desire to clarify with the Alemanian military mare.
Thankfully, Aryanne spared her that choice.
“I shall have the ‘Wald am See’ open-faced sandwich.”
“Sehr gut,” Lila spoke, writing down everything. “Butter und Sauerkraut?”
“Ja,” Aryanne said, nodding.
“Ja… und Mayonnaise?” Lila asked.
Aryanne closed the menu and faced the startled waitress with wide blue, yet blank eyes. Her mismatching, icy tone was as clear as morning light:
“Mayonnaise is for bats and communists.”
She slid the menu to the edge of the table for Lila to collect. The latter did just that and gulped audibly, writing down and triple underlining her notes at that point. Clearly she had her answer to that question.
“Keine Mayo. Und zu trinken?”
“Coffee. Alemaneian dark roast. One cream, no sugar.
Please.”
Lila did not bother responding verbally, opting to just tilt her head forward and back away towards the kitchen.
Alone at last, Aryanne sipped her water and reached into her coat with her muzzle. Rummaging through the pockets, she found what she was looking for and thusly retrieved a set of folded papers. Said documents were the lifeblood of the combat maneuvers taking place later, with everything from the mission brief to the ‘battle plans.’ Both Equestrian and Alemanian armies and navies would be taking part in a joint exercise that would test just how well they could work together in a pinch.
Aryanne had few hopes. All her country’s previous allies were worthless.
Taking a deep breath and sipping her water (and then her coffee when it was promptly delivered to her), she meticulously scanned over the briefing and diagrams. All the while, she retrieved a pencil from her jacket and made some notes for herself. Now would be as good of a time as any to review her plans for later, and hopefully streamline the whole event. Aryanne did not wish to remain in Equestria for longer than she needed to; she was having enough of an internal crisis as it were with the new administration.
Today was gonna be a long day, but at least one positive aspect was that the food and coffee were… delicious.
She left a decent tip.
[Twelve Hours Later…]
If there was one thing anyone expected once the exercises got underway, it was a lot of tension.
Both militaries were still unsure about the other, and if their conflicting values, if they existed, would hinder the performance. Such an outcome could sully an alliance before it even began, after all.
But thankfully, none of that came to pass save for very specific, isolated instances between individuals.
Not even the national newspapers reported any problems. The front pages were plastered with pictures of the enigmatic Colonel Paul Werner and the infamous General Aryanne Land… together. They stood high and proud looking over the battlefield, or were photographed working with a map side by side. Each shot was as candid as possible, showing the two mighty strategists at work together.
If there was one word to describe their appearance and their combined abilities, it would be ‘efficient.’
And this held true in reality, as the exercised concluded earlier than planned due to exceeding expectations.
Turns out, as much as they detested each other for their own reasons, Paul and Aryanne complemented each other on the field.
And as nighttime fell and the participating soldiers were free of their orders, the new allies could intermingle with one another. Unbeknownst to anyone but a select few, this post-battle phase was the most important aspect of the entire exercise: to see if the two armies could click with one another without major incident.
Aryanne, bundled up in her coat and observing with a keen eye, was somewhat interested in this dynamic as well. She sat on the edge of a trench-line just outside of the main command post, scrutinizing each little thing she could see over the darkened landscape.
She knew not whether to be happy or disgusted, but her soldiers were getting along quite swimmingly with the Equestrians. They drank together, they sang together, and despite few bilingual soldiers in the ranks, all were somehow able to communicate with one another and overcome the barrier.
Aryanne could have sworn, much to her chagrin, that a few Alemanians and Equestrians (including batponies) snuck off to more secretive areas of the field for less than reputable activities.
She huffed at the thought, internally gagging.
Though, she had little time to forment any potential disgust, as someone much taller than her took a seat to her immediate right.
“Zigarette?” Paul offered, holding a pack that he fished out of his coat pocket.
Aryanne glanced at the pack and then back up to him.
“Nein. Danke.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied, switching languages.
Paul then placed the pack back in his coat and lit one for himself. The mare looked on with a raised eyebrow.
“You smoke?”
“On occasion,” Paul replied. “War leaves nerves hard to calm sometimes. The lack of conflict here has let me wean myself off a bit… though I have a better reason to motivate me.”
On cue, a little filly’s voice rang out from the command posts entrance.
“Papa? Wo bist du?”
Aryanne’s instant bout of extreme confusion was warranted, and Paul smirked before calling out his reply.
“Ich bin hier, Seerose!”
Both heard the rapid scamper of little hooves before the filly in question appeared in the moonlight on Paul’s lap.
He hugged her tightly and the little one reciprocated in kind, nuzzling her cheek into his chest.
“I’m surprised you haven’t fallen asleep, röslein,” he cooed, kissing her on the nose.
She giggled at the gesture, and Aryanne looked on with some odd mixture of astonishment and horror.
“I like staying up late!”
Paul chuckled, scratching the top of her head through her mane and letting his adoptive daughter relish in his comforting touch.
“True, but you’re definitely gonna pass out in the next hour. We’ll sleep in late tomorrow, don’t you worry.”
Seerose didn’t respond, but instead stood on her hind legs to fetch Paul’s visor-cap from his head. She placed the garment on hers, and though it was barely too large for her, it still fit her well.
“Now I’m Captain Seerose!” she giggled.
Even Aryanne was not immune from the display of cuteness in front of her. Ignoring Paul for the moment, her heart fluttered at the sight.
Paul, of course, also shared in the playtime.
“Ah, but this is the mark of a ‘colonel.’ So you would be Colonel Seerose Werner!” he gently corrected, booping her nose with his thumb.
After she tried to munch at his thumb (though Paul was much too quick), the German turned Seerose’s attention to Aryanne.
“My dear, this is Generalfeldmarschall Aryanne Land aus Alemähne. General, das ist meine Tochter, Seerose.”
“Hallo General!” Seerose greeted heartily, waving her hoof and extending it.
Aryanne smiled and met the little one’s hoof with her much larger one. They shook.
“Grüβ dich!” the General greeted in return. “A pleasure to meet a spry one such as yourself. Paul is your… father?” she asked, pausing for that specific word that felt almost heathenous to say due to the circumstances.
Seerose didn’t notice. Paul did.
“Mhmm! He adopted me from an orphanage in Alemaneia. He’s the best dad in the world and I love him!” she exclaimed, throwing another hug around Paul, who quietly smiled and returned said hug.
Aryanne shifted her gaze between Seerose and Paul for a mere second.
“You look happy to wear his cap. I wish some of my soldiers had as much heart and enthusiasm as you, young one.”
“Danke, Frau Land!”
Paul took this time to jump into the conversation.
“Alright, Oberst Seerose,” he began, removing his visor-cap from her head and placing it back on his, much to the little one’s annoyance. “We’ll be done here shortly, so then we can head back home okay?”
“Okay Papa!”
“Run along now. I’ll meet you inside the command post.”
“Okay! Goodbye, General!” Seerose bade farewell, then scampered off back through the entrance of their command center.
Aryanne watched her go, then spoke to Paul with a banterous, if thinly-veiled chiding tone.
“So you can adopt one of our nation’s children and raise them to be respectful and well-moraled. On top of that, your skills as a commander, I must admit, far exceeded my expectations. Perhaps I have misjudged you, if only a small amount.
“Maybe there is hope for you yet.”
While her distaste for him still shone through like the moon above, Paul huffed humorously at her words. It was progress nonetheless, and would only serve to make their jobs easier if they got along somewhat, and agreed on the tiniest things.
He decided to reply in a similar fashion.
“And your attitude towards things beautiful in life does not appear as toxic as it could be. Perhaps we can work on you, yet.”
The Colonel and General shared in an awkward laugh, though there was a mutual understanding.
Their relationship would be professional. No more, no less.
Though, Aryanne had something else to add:
“There is nothing to ‘work on,’ Colonel.”
Paul raised his head and looked toward her at an angle. Aryanne, uncharacteristically, was facing him entirely, giving him her undivided attention.
“And just what does that mean?” he ventured to ask.
The mare’s reply was ever as candid as her existence:
“You know exactly what I mean. And I’ll restate the obvious: I hate them.”
Paul cocked his left eyebrow.
“Pardon me?”
The General’s countenance became horrifyingly vicious, yet ever controlled.
“When I was fifteen, the bats were already being rounded up for reasons that eluded me. In defiance, the mongrels would form gangs and prey upon the innocent like disgusting cowards,” she explained.
Paul listened intently, though he held his stoicism firm.
“One such innocent happened to be my youngest brother who was walking home from a school event at night. Like the feral animals that they are, they tore him apart under a street lamp, killing him where he stood before they disappeared into the shadows. Nopony caught them.”
Aryanne spoke with such a cool-headedness that colored Paul impressed, but nevertheless, his exposure to a great many people and ponies bestowed him with some conversational skills. That is, he could still, just by subtle body language and tonal differences, hear a smidge of pain in her words.
…and yet, all of the hate she harbored.
Paul merely nodded for her to continue.
“I joined the Alemaneian Militarists’ party the next day, lied about my age, and enlisted in the army with my father’s forged signature. My entire family was horrified, and they all disavowed me… as if little Stahl didn’t exist in their minds anymore.”
Paul tilted the cigarette pack back at Aryanne for a second time. This time she accepted one, and he graciously provided her with a light.
She exhaled her first drag, glancing out towards the darkened battlefield and the multiple groups of their soldiers intermingling.
“I was cast out of my home, left to hopefully starve on the streets during my waiting period but I’m more resourceful than that. My newfound comrades took me in. They opened my eyes to what I suspected all along. Bats, Zebras, all of them… the poison that plagued Alemaneia at her lowest since the Great War all those years ago—the evidence was too compelling to ignore.”
“Was it?” Paul asked sarcastically.
His words masked his astonishment as to how similar everything was from whence he came. There were those that held worse attitudes and outlooks than her, but even so, the resemblance was uncanny.
Aryanne ignored his comment.
“Our party seized power with over half the country’s support, and our work began immediately… b-but I’m sure you were filled in on those details. In short, we rounded them up and deported a good few of them. Those that didn’t leave, or that resisted and fought we put on the first trains to our new work camps to help fuel our industrial complex and military might.”
The mare took another deep drag and faced Paul once again.
And if it was even possible, her expression darkened.
“I hate them. I chuckled at each one that was deported. I danced on my tippy-hooves for each one I helped squeeze onto a train… and I celebrated every single one of their deaths.”
Paul felt it was appropriate to interject here.
“I’m sure I need not tell somepony as smart as you that actions like these would not have returned your brother to life…”
“Oh I was well aware, Colonel. I don’t attempt to necessarily justify what I’ve done nor hide from it. Avenging my brother’s murder is not my life mission, nor am I seeking some skewed form of justice. You could say it was… ach! What’s the word…”
Aryanne twirled her hoof, thinking for a second before Paul weighed in.
“Catalyst?”
She perked up immediately.
“Yes! That’s it. He was the start of my life’s mission, a catalyst: to propose a solution to the country which I love with all my heart. From there spawned a specific set of events that enlightened me to what I… we as a nation had to do.”
Paul remained silent, taking in her words.
At the same time, in a sick sense, Aryanne admitted to herself that this was somewhat therapeutic. Here was a disgusting creature, clearly skilled in his art, and that held her in the lowest regard possible. Yet, he was listening to her side of things.
“Wherever Alemaneia goes, I shall answer her call, as her well-being and wishes will forever take precedence over my visions. That does not mean I must enjoy any part in it, however. If our new path leads us back where we were over twenty years ago, then I’m left with merely nothing than with what I started with.
“But even if it is no longer state sanctioned, I will forever hold the deaths of our true enemies close to my heart. It always brought me an immeasurable joy that I could project such suffering on such a scale, as they did us. I have no intention of letting those feelings and memories escape me.”
Paul looked on without a peep as Aryanne breathed in her last bit of nicotine, finishing off the cigarette.
She cast one last steel look at him.
“I don't want your sympathy nor your understanding. You like countless others view me as the death of all kindness and friendship in the world: Tartarus walking. A wretched equine being with a bastardized vendetta. A fascist pigdog prostituting herself out to corrupt ideals.
“Or better yet… a monster.”
Aryanne got to her hooves and extinguished the cigarette beneath her boot. Paul had nothing to say to her, and she looked up at him and shrugged indifferently.
“Good. It’s better you do. It will do wonders for our partnership. Until next time, have a good night, Paul.”
For the first time in their contact, they shared a salute (albeit a weak one) before Aryanne wandered off down the trench and past the command post. It was getting late and the Alemaneian’s had somewhat overstayed, so it was time to recall all the troops and set out within the next couple of hours.
Paul also crushed his cigarette and stood up after watching Aryanne leave. Smoothing out his uniform methodically, he pondered the mare’s words as they told him more about her than he ever wished to know. But like most things in his life, he could prioritize importance. As such, these musings could be saved for another time.
Standing up straight and sparing a last look at their combined handiwork, he marched back into the command post to collect his daughter.
It was past her bedtime.