A Train to Equestria

by Teq

Papers Please! (Laon)

The bottle now almost finished, Vinyle felt a lot more at ease. The alcohol had dumbed her down a bit and she no longer worried as much about the Nazis next door. In fact, she was content just to watch out of the window at the fields of snow and the criss crossing roads. Occasionally there would be a convoy of cargo trucks, or a parked tank, or a motorcycle group, or a large troop patrol, but all in all, the scenery was quite nice. It was a shame it was covered with little soldiers.

Vinyle began to notice houses popping up a lot closer to the track. She opened the window slightly and peered out, looking down the track in their direction of travel. At last, Laon was coming into view. She had survived the first leg of her long journey to Nice on the southern coast. The train began to slow down as they entered the city. Vinyle didn’t intend to disembark, not even to buy a paper, so she was content to pay little attention. Although, the train was slowing down remarkably quickly. A little too quickly, perhaps. Vinyle looked out of the window once more. They were still some way off the terminal, and were still only just on the outskirts of Laon, yet the train was almost at a complete stop. This could only be a bad thing.

The train gave a slight lurch as the breaks took full effect, stopping the train dead. Vinyle listened intently. She heard the thunk of hooves falling hard onto the floor of the carriage. The attendant said a few words, and he received a harsh reply. In German. Vinyle scrabbled for the door and peeked out. Already rapping on the door of the first compartment was a Wehrmacht officer, with a Walther P38 strapped at his waist. On either side of him were two soldiers bearing rifles. Vinyle closed the door carefully and, with a worried look, turned back to Oktava. She looked rather nonplussed.

“What’s the matter?”
“Germans. There are Germans on the train.”
“I know that.”
“More Germans! I think they’re inspecting papers.”
“Why would they do that now?”
“I don’t know, they just are! Questioning it isn’t going to make them go away, now get your papers ready. It’s best not to keep them waiting, lest they get antsy.” As Vinyle said this, she drew her papers from her coat pocket. Everything was in order; she had checked before she left. All she had to do was answer the questions thrown at her. Of course, she knew the answers already, as the questions were always the same. She knew it was supposed to catch ponies out that were using fake identities, but surely if you were organised enough to get fake papers in the first place, you’d have taken the time to revise your cover story? The concept did not concern Vinyle, she just thought it a problematic system.

Vinyle looked up from her papers to see Oktava pull her passport out of her pocket. Vinyle’s heart sank slightly. No way was Oktava getting past an inspection with a Russian passport. The Germans were still fighting hard against the Russians and probably wouldn’t take kindly to seeing one here, in a country that they were supposed to have conquered. Vinyle checked that the Germans were not right outside the door and challenged the mare, “Really? You don’t have a French passport?”
Oktava looked briefly confused, and then her ears drooped. She looked down at her passport. She flipped it open. She cursed quietly in her native tongue, “I… I must have taken the wrong one. How can this be? I made sure! How did I confuse the two?” Oktava looked up at Vinyle with worry in her eyes. “They’re going to arrest me! I’m sure I brought my French one! Maybe it’s in my cello case? Or in another pocket, maybe?”

In a whirlwind of panic Oktava opened the case of her instrument and checked behind it. She seemed to dig around for quite a while, which made Vinyle wonder what other contraband she had hidden in it. Not finding what she was after, she checked the pockets on the outside. Then she frisked herself, turning out all of her pockets onto her seat. Vinyle was surprised by what she saw. In the pile slowly growing on her seat were two sets of identity papers, both in French, but with different names, ages, and occupations. She had a work permit, likely forged, about seventy francs, twenty rubles, and…
“Five hundred Reichmarks? Why are you carrying German currency?”
Oktava looked at her briefly, holding in her hoof a German passport. Vinyle narrowed her eyes to a squint, “You’re German?”
“No. I have the necessary documents to impersonate several nationalities. I had to pass through Germany to get here in the first place!”
“You have a German passport, but not a French one?”
“I do have a French one! I just don’t know where it is!”

There was a clattering of hooves on the screen door…

Of the compartment opposite. The officer barked a command and the door opened. Oktava hastily returned all of the items on her seat to her pockets, but kept the German passport ready. Of course! The soldiers wouldn’t suspect a fellow German. At least, what they perceived to be a German. Vinyle leaned a little closer, “Can you even speak German?”
“I can speak a little. I know enough to get past an inspection, but not to hold a conversation.”
“What if they try conversation?”
“Then I’ll have to hope I understand what they’re saying.”

Knock, knock. Vinyle tensed immediately, but not too much to be noticeable. Oktava, on the other hoof, seemed to freeze in fright. The officer slid open the door to their compartment and glared in at them with shrewd, narrow eyes. He briefly surveyed the compartment before rounding on Vinyle, staring intently at her as if trying to read her papers through her hooves. Eventually he held out a hoof, “Ausweispapiere bitte.” Vinyle obeyed without question, passing her papers over for the officer to flip open and briefly scan over. “Name.”
“Vinyle Rayure.”
“Date of birth.”
“February twentieth, 1917.”
The officer compared the photographs on the papers to the respective parts of Vinyle’s anatomy. “What is the purpose of your trip?”

Vinyle was silent for a moment. That question had caught her off guard. The officer spoke perfect French, which annoyed her, but the question had never been posed to her on a trip before, and she hadn’t really prepared a response. She hastily searched for one now, before panic overtook her, “I am travelling to help compose a new record.”
“Where?”
“Nice.”
“How long will you stay?”
“A week.”
“You have a lot of luggage for somepony only staying a week.”
“Most of it is recording equipment.” Vinyle smiled casually but inoffensively at the officer, trying to look relaxed and confident with her response. The German was taking an uncomfortably long time to return her papers. He folded them up again, and for one horrible moment Vinyle thought he was motioning to tuck them into the pocket of his tunic. Instead, he simply returned Vinyle’s papers, and turned to the soldier on his left. In German, he recited everything that Vinyle had said for the soldier to jot down. Vinyle squinted. No doubt they would return later to check that her story hadn’t changed.

With Vinyle checked and fully confirmed, the officer turned on Oktava, who did her best not to cower away from him. The officer eyed her German passport suspiciously, “Ausweispapiere bitte.” Oktava timidly handed over her passport. The officer flicked it open.
“Sie sind Deutsch?”
“Ja.”
“Wie heißen Sie?”
“Frau Druckfarbe.”
“Wann sind Sie geboren?”
“Zwanzigsten Dezember, 1918.”
“Warum sind Sie hier?”
“Ich bin Sekretärin. Ich arbeite für der Oberst von Nice.”
“Werden Sie für wie lange in Nice arbeiten?”
“Für die Dauer von der Krieg.”

Vinyle had understood none of what had been shared between the two, but she was impressed by Oktava’s ability. She’d spoken fluently and confidently, and hadn’t stuttered or had to pause to think. No doubt she had rehearsed her story a lot, as Vinyle would have expected. The officer glanced between the two photographs on the passport, and then closed it. He motioned to hand it back. Just before Oktava could grab it, the officer retracted his fore leg, “Es tut mir leid, meine Frau. Eine Sekunde bitte.”

Oktava seemed to visibly shrivel.

The officer took no heed and simply flipped the passport over.

He scanned the back.

With a very slight nod of his head, he passed the passport back, “Dankeschön, Frau Druckfarbe.” The officer once again recited everything that had been said, and the soldier hurriedly scribbled it down. The door to their compartment was slid shut, and Vinyle waited and listened as the officer moved further down the carriage. Vinyle released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Vinyle slid her papers back into her pocket, and addressed her travelling companion, “What was that all about?”
Oktava flipped her German passport over, “He was no doubt looking for the seal on the back. It’s a good thing I had that fixed before I left Germany.”
“What about it?” Oktava showed Vinyle the back of the passport, which displayed a Prussian eagle with wings outstretched, carrying in its claws the regretfully familiar swastika.
“It was changed when the war started from a hunched eagle to an upright one, and the swastika was added. They’re probably using it as a method of finding counterfeit passports. Like I say, I had mine fixed before I left Germany.” Oktava returned her fake passport to her pocket and sighed in relief. That had been close.

Really close.

Whilst Oktava lay completely at ease, Vinyle was still tense.
“You realise that they’ll be back?”
“They will?”
“To check your backstory. They’ll be back in maybe a half hour? Possibly even after we’ve left Laon. They’ll ask you the same questions again, to make sure that your backstory is the same. If it doesn’t match up, or you change details…” Vinyle didn’t continue verbally, but just held out her hooves as if holding a rifle and made a clicking noise with her tongue.

Nerves in the compartment stayed frayed, even after the train started moving again and they were at last nearing the terminal. Vinyle was anxious. They would be back soon, they were bound to be. Who would be getting on at this station? More Germans? Maybe they’d all be kicked off to make room for more SS officers? Vinyle squeaked in surprise as she heard the heavy thunk of hooves on the roof above her. The train had slowed down enough to make the rushing wind less of a problem, and Vinyle could make out the sound of somepony walking along the roof of the carriage. No doubt it was a German soldier, maybe looking for ponies who’d hitchhiked on the roof to avoid paying, or who’d scurried up there to avoid inspection. By the time the train had come to a complete stop, the pony had clambered down on the other side and made his way back through the carriage. It was one of the snipers that Vinyle had seen before.

A whistle blew and the doors were opened, ponies spilling off the train onto the platform, and others waiting patiently (or in some cases, rather impatiently) for their chance to get on board. One of the doors to Vinyle’s carriage was flung open, and a gruff command was shouted in German. Vinyle peered through the window into the corridor of the carriage, with Oktava at her side, equally interested. A soldier marched past, rifle slung across his back. Almost immediately behind him was a civilian pony, who looked visibly shaken. What had happened to him? He must have failed the inspection. Was he a foreigner? A wanted resistance fighter? Had he just insulted the officer or spoken out against the Nazis? Whatever the reason, the officer from before was close behind him with his pistol tucked into the base of the civilian’s neck. As they made their way past, the other soldier from the original trio brought up the rear, checking that he wasn’t being followed by anypony that could be working in league with the stallion they’d caught.

The stallion was marched onto the station and immediately escorted away by what looked to be an agent of the Gestapo. Vinyle resumed her seat, looking worriedly at Oktava, “That’s why you need to be careful. Especially if the SS or Gestapo are involved in any way.”
“I can see. What did he do?”
“It doesn’t matter what he did, he’s with the Gestapo now. He’s as good as dead.”
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Oktava’s tone of voice made that seem more of a statement than a question.
“It’s life. You have to deal with it.” Vinyle slumped back in her seat, forelegs hanging uselessly by her sides. It was a very emotionally draining thing to watch the Germans capture somepony. It was best not to think about what was going to happen to them. But, such was life under the Nazis, and until such time as they were out of France (which Vinyle was sure they eventually would be) that was how things were. That was exactly why Vinyle was on this train – to escape from the Germans and to live a life without fear.

Vinyle managed to barter a newspaper off one of the ponies that boarded their carriage, and in silence she and Oktava skimmed over the headlines, looking for any important news updates. The paper was naturally very heavily censored, and it was likely that every single word had been carefully scrutinised by an SS official to make sure there were no hidden messages or double meanings to any of it. The paper proved to be of little use, but Vinyle did take note of one article, which told of a recent escape from a prisoner of war camp back in Amiens. The article warned pedestrians and passengers on public transport to watch for any suspicious individuals (that weren’t the Gestapo) and to immediately report anypony that looked as though they could be in league with the resistance movement. The article wasn’t greatly informative, but Vinyle took pleasure in the knowledge that somepony had bested the Nazis in something.

Vinyle tossed the paper onto the empty area of seat next to her and sighed. The train gave a lurch and started to move again, commencing the next leg of its journey towards Nice. Vinyle took a small watch out of her coat pocket and gazed at it briefly. It had been midday when the train had left Amiens, and it was now half past one. Vinyle had never been particularly fond of long journeys, and already she was starting to feel bored. She looked across at Oktava, who had produced a reasonably large paperback from somewhere, flicking a page every minute or so. Vinyle peered at the cover. It was a very simple cover, a very simple black, and in white lettering at the top was something in Russian that Vinyle couldn’t understand. She inquired as to its translation, but Oktava didn’t respond. So heavily engrossed in her story was she that she didn’t notice when Vinyle attempted several times to attract her attention. Eventually, however, she looked up, “Pardon?”
“What book are you reading?” Vinyle said as calmly and as not through her teeth as she could manage. Oktava shut the book and turned it to look at the cover, in an almost affectionate manner.
“Vasilii the Unlucky. It’s about a cruel merchant who keeps trying to kill a peasant colt named Vasilii. A lot of other things happen, but I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. It’s one of my favourite tales that I brought with me from Russia.”
“All I’ll say is that you better not let the Germans catch you with it, or there will be searching questions.”
Oktava simply smiled, “Don’t worry about me, Vinyle. I’ve made it this far all the way from Russia and they haven’t caught me. I’m not going to let a book be my downfall.”
“What about a passport?”
Oktava sneered.

Vinyle leant back against her seat, looking out the window at the buildings speeding by gradually faster, at the ponies that ran about on their daily business, at the German soldiers that patrolled the streets, at the halftracks and armoured vehicles that littered the cityscape. One day, Vinyle thought, they won’t be here. One day there will be no German soldiers. There won’t be any halftracks or SS officers or Gestapo agents or censorship. That day would come, but it may not even be within Vinyle’s lifetime. If she stayed here, in her home country, it almost definitely wouldn’t be within her lifetime. That was why she needed to escape. She needed to live to see a free France again. She rested her chin on her hoof as she kept watching. One day.

“Next stop: Chalons-en-Champagne!”

Interval.

Comments

[Iron Comet]

Arrogance is how mistakes happen. Interestingly enough I have been reading the Gestapo for all the fear they engendered were woefully undermanned at even the best of times. Particularly in Germany itself. The best and the brightest were dragged into the SS as well leaving things like investigative work in the hands of older Gestapo or men to old for infantry work.

[Teq]

5915525 And you'd be right about that. The Gestapo were heavily understaffed, but that didn't stop them becoming infamous throughout Germany and the rest of the world.