A War

by Comma Typer

Warming Up

Thunderlane staring at the ceiling.

Blinked.

Staring at the ceiling again.

Blinked again.

Lying down on his bed.

Sweating.

A door opened.

A gasp.

"It's more serious than I thought!"

Fluttershy walked to him, putting down her saddle bag.

"You need more than sunshine and a bed, Thunderlane."

His face did not move. Only a blink.

She waved a hoof in front of him. "You're...you're not dead, right?" She gasped again and covered her mouth. "What if he's really dead?"

Closed her eyes and shivered.

"Eek!"

Then, breathed in.

Placed a glass of cold water on the bedside table.

"There. If...if you n-need me or want to g-go to the hospital again, then I'll be...here..."

Thunderlane blinked, still staring at the ceiling.

"Please say something...I mean, if you want to. Perhaps you're super stressed out, or you're trying to sleep. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Kept staring at the ceiling.

---

Fluttershy hovered down the stairs and entered the living room.

Couches and sofas prevailed. A burning hearth warmed the cold house as Rumble sat on the rug before it, heating his hooves up, while the scent of burning wood floated through the air. Alongside the ordinary things a living room could have—windows with their curtains, flowers in their vases, short shelves of books, and heavy barbells in firm cabinets—there was a collection of Wonderbolt memorabilia: portraits, trophies, medals, photographs, and letters on display for the visitor to admire.

Fluttershy trotted to Rumble, looking nervously to her left and right.

Rumble noticed, turning his head. "How's my brother? I-Is he getting better?"

Fluttershy shook his head. "Not that I can tell. I've heard about this before, but this is my first time seeing a pony with it my whole life, and it's...scary."

Rumble sighed.

The fire crackled on.

"Thanks for trying, Fluttershy."

She shook her head. "No, I won't accept that for an answer."

Rumble stood up. "What?"

"Somepony has to watch over him. What if he starts breathing funny? Who would be there to rush for a doctor?"

"I'll stay up there if I have to!"

"That won't be enough," Fluttershy said.

Then, cowered back and covered her face.

"I-If you don't mind...that is."

Rumble walked past Fluttershy. "Alright. I'm coming with you."

She heard his hoofsteps up the stairs.

Fluttershy looked out the windows.

A wintery landscape laden with snow. The holiday decorations were still there; in fact, some ponies were installing more, hanging up rainbow-colored lanterns which spruced up the town in a jovial glow.

---

"Almost there!"

And several pegasi hung the wired lanterns across the street, hooking them up to several wreathed balconies.

"We're good!" Strawberry Sunrise shouted to her pegasi partners, flapping her wings above the snowy ground. She looked at a small group of other ponies. "Thanks for making these lanterns! I think they'll be the last ones!"

The crowd then dispersed, going their separate ways in the snow and under the gray morning sky.

Two of those ponies walked side by side, passing by cottages and trees, now approaching a bridge.

"You were good with those lights, Big Mac," Cheerilee said.

That stallion kept quiet, signature yoke around his neck, eyes straight on.

They stepped on to the bridge.

Cheerilee looked to the left.

Saw the frozen river and a lone pony ice-skating on it.

---

An aproned Mr. Cake wiped the messy counter with a wet rag. "I'm sorry for the trouble," he spurted out, wiping his bowtie clean of cake frosting, "but, you see, we're in a big hurry!"

Mrs. Cake trudged past him, pushing a wagon filled with boxed cakes and pies. "Sweet mini-bites for everyone. The soldiers, the workers, the assemblers, the sewers, the buttoners, the weaponers—"

She sloughed on.

"Not to mention we had to recycle much of the roof dressing and decoration." He motioned toward boxes of fake cream, fake candies, and fake chocolate chips. "You see?" Raised a sharp eyebrow. "Did I say that already?"

Cheerilee nodded.

Big Mac did so, too. "Eeyup."

Mr. Cake brought out a little basket from inside the counter and put it on the surface. "What about some apologies for keeping you waiting? Garlic bread's a good appetizer these days."

"As in all days," Cheerilee blabbed as she grabbed the basket.

The two went to an empty table and sat down there.

Put the garlic bread basket down.

Sugarcube Corner was not filled up with customers. Instead, it was mostly filled up with empty tables.

Over there, at the corner, was a sulking purple Earth pony with an angled chin. His slick white hair made him look like a celebrity, and his glittery bowtie contributed to that. However, keeping to the corner, he only stirred his milkshake around with a spoon.

Over here, closer to the entrance door, were two more stallions: one suited and mustached, the other wearing only a striped bowtie. The both of them adjusted their clothes—the latter one, not so much since his only piece of clothing was that bowtie.

"So, Toe-Tapper," the first one began, speaking fast, "you're bringing your musical troupe to the front the day before Hearth's Warming!" He pulled out his notepad and ballpen. "Isn't that particularly dangerous? Surely, you've considered the risks and the costs of performing there where cannonballs can hit you and bury you deep before you know it!"

"We know," Toe-Tapper said, watching the reporter before him raising his hoof, ballpen poised. "But, we can't help it. On one hoof, there's a lot of popular ponies already having their own trips to the barracks, the billets, the camps, wherever they are. Countess Coloratura started it, then Sapphire Shores and Songbird Serenade followed. Now, everyone who could sing, strum a guitar, and have a heart is taking the stint."

The reporter furiously scribbled on the notepad.

"And, we could say the same for us. The Ponynotes are going to cheer up our poor pals who took up what I think is a greater risk: fighting for our beloved Equestria. You work for the news."

The reporter looked up.

"You've seen enough soldiers who went crazy, mad, or just plain depressed after all they've done. Not a lot, but enough. I've listened to my share of them—that's what I know."

He glanced toward the couple at the table with their garlic bread basket.

Half empty garlic bread basket.

Cheerilee gulped down a piece of the toast. Facing Big Mac: "I talked with Carrot Cake yesterday, and he said something about baking lots of this after Wrap Up. The fighting will get hot again, and it will be back to the same old work."

Big Mac leaned his head to the side. "Hm?"

"You may be wondering about what's boring with my work." She pointed to herself. "I'll still teach colts and fillies—young and growing minds in need of caring. But, if I were to be honest with myself, I'm not prepared to handle them if some big failure would...well..."

He raised and shook his head, closed his eyes.

A frown on his face.

"They're young," she said. "Without a father...or a mother...or both..."

Big Mac nodded, closed his eyes again.

Cheerilee took another stick of garlic bread.

Ate it.

---

While Cheerilee and Big McIntosh trotted away from Sugarcube Corner—which still looked pink and beautiful but now had lost much of its gingerbread style and its top floor was replaced with a huge replica of bread—they passed by Mayor Mare and a unicorn talking with her.

"You don't know how much it'll cost or...or how much time we have to spend on it!" the other mare argued. "What are we going to test it on? Who's going to approve it? Will it see the light of day?"

"I assure you that it will see the light of day, Blossom Delight," Mayor Mare replied nonchalantly, not turning her head to see Blossom's face.

"But, the Everfree Forest—"

"I'll send a request to Princess Celestia herself," the mayor said. "Don't worry about that. Worry about the defense system we must establish around Ponyville and, possibly, nearby towns as well."

"You should be talking with the top heads over in Canterlot, not me! What do I know about combat potions and spells? I'm a gardener!"

"From this day forth," the mayor said, "you'll be more than a gardener. You'll be a scientist, researching and experimenting on new ways to make sure nopony has to die anymore."

"But, the herbs you're asking for are in the Everfree—"

"I already said I'll request the Princess for guards. What you can do until then is wait and think about your plan with the other flower ponies. Roseluck already has some exotic plants and berries, so you won't have to stay in the Everfree for long."

"But, it's the—"

Mayor Mare groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you, Blossom? You'll not be going there unless you have guards—I won't authorize it unless you have guards. Understand?"

Blossom Delight nodded.

"You're dismissed," the mayor said. "I'll be on my way to the Golden Oak Library. I have to see to the preparations for the big Hearth's Warming blowout on the day itself."

The unicorn turned around, leaving the mayor there on the dirt path sided with snow.

---

Inside the Golden Oak Library, dozens of temporary beds strewn about on the wooden floor, ponies either asleep or just resting. A good number of them were reading the given books from the shelves, poring over pages of treaties about dragons or of a novel about time travel or something else entirely. Several others were moving around, hanging up lights and wreaths and more holiday decorations, grooming the library for that joyful eve.

Bags of food, water, wood, paper, quills, inkwells, flashlights—all laid out on a long table by the stairs.

From the second floor onwards came the sound of livelier talk. Laughter, squeals, and whispers of another thing, another topic or two.

Mayor Mare brought a box down, accompanied by three ponies who also held boxes either on their backs or with their magic.

A lot of ponies ran to the boxes, opened them, and took out what's in the containers.

More holiday decorations along with canned food and jugs of water.

As they examined what was inside, others opting to get to work immediately and add the supplies to their bags, one pony looked at her.

An Earth pony. A stallion.

Surrounded by noise waking up more ponies to the morning and to the boxed presents.

"Th-Thank you..."

Mayor Mare smiled. "You're welcome, Pullhorse Porter. From...Vanhoover, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Your family's in Chillwater, so why are you here?"

Porter smirked. "Relieving the stress, mayor. I mean...what's worse than leaving home forever?"

Turned it back into a sullen pout.

---

Pullhorse Porter sat on the top of a snowy hill, overlooking much of Ponyville with all its houses, stores, rivers, trees—it all looked so little from this height.

A winter wonderland. A white landscape.

Canterlot in the distance.

He let out a chilly sigh, his breath a frost for a moment before it fell in the freezing wind.

"Do you want to know what I did?" the mare beside him asked.

He kept silent.

The mare gave him a curious expression. "You must have a head of hot air if you don't want to listen to me."

Porter shook his head. "I'm...I'm usually not in the mood for it."

"Usually?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "What? I'm bored."

"What I used to do wasn't boring," she said, pulling at her black mane.

No reply.

She gazed off towards Ponyville. "My official rank doesn't matter. They're going to have ensign newbies take it up when the war machine gets kicking and going by spring."

A pause.

"Yes, I'm an officer. Not 'was'. I still am an officer. Leave, break—whatever you wanna call it, I'm in it."

Another pause.

The chilly wind stopped.

"Being an officer was kind of boring. You didn't have to shout, but you had to. It was tradition because it worked. You did it because your superiors did it. They did it because it worked for them. That goes for a lot of things as well.

"My job was to make sure things go perfectly...which is impossible, so I get to as perfect as I could be. Make sure everyone falls in line. I even get to have a say in the strategy when the generals and brigadiers talk about it in their fancy HQ's wearing their monocles and moving little pieces on the map as if it's just nothing.

"Of course, everyone knows that those pieces represent lives. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. The good guys are the ones who always calculate the risks, not throwing themselves and countless others on every opportunity. Always moving forward—that's not a good idea.

"But, moving forward and making heroic charges at the enemy...that's what makes a story. That's what inspires tons of towns, brings in the drive for more recruits—I'm telling you, there will be more recruits despite the truth trickling in by less-than-official sources. By that point, it won't be about making a name for yourself and getting lots of honor and fame—well, officially speaking. I'm sure the Princesses already caught up with what's going on at the poster centers; propaganda's propaganda, no matter which way you slice it, and the Princesses...they're talking with the poster makers as we speak, warning them to not lie anymore."

She sighed.

"It's not sunshine and rainbows in high command, too. I haven't seen it, but I've felt it. Higher up's squabbling over a piece of the planning pie. Who gets the credit and who doesn't? All the while, I sit at my desk, dealing with papers and other bureaucratic stuff that keeps the operation going strong."

A pause.

Porter now turned his head toward Ponyville, gazing upon it as well.

"Papers aren't ponies. Everyone knows that. A foal knows that. He knows that the flat white piece of writing material isn't a pony. But, papers...they do something to us. Names on a paper. I know they're more than that, so I'm not going to throw them to the trash can. However, it's not the same for the generals who only think about what could win the war.

"Because...what's the use of winning this war if we're going to lose the peace?"

Porter turned his head toward her.

She turned her head toward him.

"Think about it. Taking all their territory isn't enough. What if we kill off too many of our precious ponies? Family, friends, co-workers...all gone in the span of...what? One year? Nah, too short. Two years? Hopefully, but too optimistic." She shook her head, throwing an imaginary object down the hill with her hoof. "Three to four years? Still too bright. Eight years? Maybe."

She smiled.

"Even one year would be devastating to all of Equestria. They'll get so mad about the loss of life—but, wait, what about the fact that we protected everyone from an evil empire under the tight grip of King Sombra?"

He did not reply.

"How many ponies would be left in 'everyone', I ask? Too few, and Equestria will be back to its former self in a millenium. A thousand years. About the same time Sombra took to come back. Then, we'll have a war, end it, and a thousand years. Then, another war, end it, another thousand years."

She shook her head again, standing up.

"It's very hard for me to not get jaded after what I've seen," she said.

Porter stood up.

A chilly wind came in, flapping their manes in its breeze.

---

Porter sat by a frozen river on a path leading out of Ponyville. The town itself was hardly many paces behind him.

It was near sunset, though, instead of an orange sky, it was simply bluer.

Bluer and darker.

He sat, eating from a bowl of hot soup on a little table he had set out before him. He hugged himself, shivering in the cold as he put on another thick cap.

Then, a pony cloaked in white walked up to him.

Porter turned around. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" Stood up, leaned his head toward her. "If you want to harm me, I got the strongest kick in town, so you better watch out."

The cloaked pony giggled and pointed somewhere. "I just wanted to borrow that book of yours."

He looked at his side.

A fresh book.

"You mean my 'Espionage and Why You Should Spy Out Sometimes' copy? Why? Are you a spy?"

She leaned her head to the side. "What a silly question. A non-spy would say 'No', and a spy would say 'No'. So, no."

"Right," he said. "But, to make it sure..."

He narrowed his eyebrows.

"Do you have an identification card?"

"Here," she said, pulling out such a card from her cloak.

Porter looked at it, turned it around and inspected it. Then, took a good look at the cloaked pony. "Could you please remove your cowl?"

"No. I'm afraid there might be a Crystal spy out there, spying on me."

Glanced to the left and the right, tightening her grip on the cloak.

"I can't show my face. All you need to know is that I'm a mere civilian, although I have plans to join the army—considering, but I'm undecided."

Porter nodded and hoofed the book to her.

Another gust of chilly wind.

Flapping his mane and her cloak.

She pressed a hoof to her head, holding it in place.

"How long will you borrow it for?" he asked, raising his voice above the small gale.

"By spring! I'm a bit of a slow reader, so give me time!"

And the cloaked pony ran out, away from the frozen river.

---

"You what?!" Mayor Mare shouted.

The two stood in the illuminated central foyer of town hall, surrounded by cabinet files.

It was nighttime. The windows showed it: that dark sky with its moon and its stars.

"You're saying Brooks was a Crystal spy?!" Porter yelled, pointing at the door. "And, I gave a book about spying to her?!"

"I'm afraid so!" the mayor screamed back, her glasses tilted to the side. Looking here and there, sweating. "We don't have a pony named only 'Brooks' from here or anywhere else in the area!"

She galloped out of town hall.

Could be heard crying out, "This is a disaster!"