Memoirs of My War

by Antiquarian

Slight-of-Hoof

Interview Excerpt: Duke Golden Crown, former Prime Minister of Equestria

Politics is a slight-of-hoof game. Keep their eyes focused on the show, and they don’t notice the stallion behind the curtain. Before the War, it was a different sort of game. I wined and dined the movers and shakers, hosted auctions, opened galleries, ran galas; I was the master of the social game. True, many thought me a fop, but the disguise worked well. “Fancypants,” they called me, a compliment as much as a fond pejorative. They shook my hoof and did my favors and, thanks to my direction, ran Parliament exactly as Equestria desperately needed them to.

While they were distracted by the show, I made sure that the cogs turned behind the scenes – advantageous trade treaties; a robust industry; expansive urban and rural development; a hardy agriculture; a thriving economy…

… modern weapons.

You think it was an accident that we went from fielding a hoof-full of muzzle-loading rifles on the frontiers to second-generation breech loaders and first-generation lever-actions in time for the War? Or that we had the capacity to develop tanks and SAW Harnesses during the War? No, sir. Those were the result of bargains and deals I made behind closed doors; myself, and other like-minded members of the citizenry and Their Royal Highnesses’ Government who understood just how precarious the peace was. We Crown Loyalists, industry leaders, and nobles who still remembered what our titles stood for. We got our nation ready for the War!

Except… we didn’t. Not really. Nopony is ever really ready for war, I’ve discovered.

When the Equalists came over the border, the rules changed, but the game remained. Politics was still a game of slight-of-hoof, but now it was about convincing the populace that we were winning. Not an easy task in those early days, I can tell you.

A country which lacks the conviction to fight will die. A country which believes the cost is too high will capitulate. Sometimes, this takes the form of surrendering to the enemy utterly, which is an obvious death. Sometimes it means compromising with the enemy, negotiating a temporary peace and praying that the peace holds. This is a subtle death, one which may take many years as you convince yourself that the enemy won’t come back. But the enemy is under no such illusions. They will come back, and then you will die.

The Equalist philosophy is a monstrous one, promising liberty while ultimately being founded upon tyranny. It cannot coexist with a free society; if they meet, one or both must die.

In the opening months of the War, our danger was that of the obvious death – that our nation would be too frightened, to appalled by the bloodshed to fight. Then, once the tide had been turned through immeasurable sacrifice, the danger was in the subtle death – that we’d settle for a half measure and end the War before it was finished, only to fight and lose later.

We had to see it through.

And that meant I had to play a different sort of trick. Keep their eyes off the casualties, and on the victories. Show the sacrifice, but never too much blood. Demonstrate what prize that our soldiers’ lives had bought, and make into martyrs all who were burned upon the pyre of freedom.

I hated it. I hated every bloody minute of it.

Those soldiers were heroes, are heroes. They deserve their accolades. They’ve done more for this country than an old fool like me ever could. They deserved every honor we heaped upon them and more.

But, Heaven, how I wish I hadn’t had to use them like props in my act!

You know what the difference is between ponies like me and ponies like Celestia, Luna, and Twilight? What we have in common, after all, is that we’ve sent thousands, millions even, to their deaths. But what’s different is that, while they had the honor of fighting alongside our brave ponies… I gave speeches. I held rallies. I toasted the soldiers at fundraisers and called for war bonds and blood donations… but I never shared a trench with the stallions and mares I did it for. Never heard the crackle of bullets or felt the rumble of the artillery. I have the blood of countless ponies on my hooves, but not so much as a single speck of mud.

I can’t tell you how low that makes me feel.

It’s funny; before the War, I was “Fancypants.” Socialite. VIP. Fop. During the War I was the “Trumpeter,” who sounded the great clarion cry to battle, while never setting hoof in it. Now, I’m just a washed-up old war-monger; a bloody-minded extremist who sent young ponies to their deaths for political gain, or profits, or rabid nationalism, or any number of other slights they heap upon me. In truth, I’ve had personas placed on me like masks since I first began playing the slight-of-hoof game, to the point that I sometimes wonder if I’ve just become a prop in my own show…

I wonder, sometimes…

…Ah, well! I’ve left the world of slight-of-hoof to ponies younger and better suited to the task than I. Now, I can give my darling wife the attention she deserves and spend time with my children and grandchildren. Let the country remember me as a monster, if it wills. I’ve done my part. Horrible as it was, I played my role well, and saved many times more lives than I was responsible for ending. What ponies think of me matters little in the end. Only what I did means anything.

And, who knows. If I’m lucky, perhaps history will come to remember me kindly.

Author's Note:

“No pony will ever truly comprehend the debt our country owes him; the sacrifices he made before, during, and after the Great War to ensure that we would not only survive, but thrive. He may not always have been the stallion that the country wanted, but he was the stallion we all needed. Words cannot express what an honor it was to know such a devoted servant of the realm. Nor can they express my grief at his passing.

May Heaven welcome you as its own, old friend. I pray that we shall meet again, some day, when War and Death are undone, and all the world is made new.”

—Princess Celestia, Diarch of Equestria

Comments

[Bronzedragon]

On the morning of Nov. 11 1918 my father dove into a shell hole to take cover from some German shells that were incoming. Unfortunately the shell hole was from a mustard gas shell. The morning dew had brought up the residue from the shell and he got some in his mouth, armpits, and groin. Obviously he survived but that was my dads Armistice day.

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

In the opening months of the War, our danger was that of the obvious death – that our nation would be too frightened, to appalled by the bloodshed to fight. Then, once the tide had been turned through immeasurable sacrifice, the danger was in the subtle death – that we’d settle for a half measure.....(and)…. end the War before it was finished, only to fight and lose later.

[FanOfMostEverything]

Politics. Almost as nasty as war, and scarring you in places where it doesn't show.

Also, very interesting to see the diarchs took the field directly. Was that in the Great War or just conflicts before it?

[Antiquarian]

9293042
How tragic! And how fortunate that he survived! That's the sort of story we don't hear enough. That's why this story is dedicated to him and his fellow veterans of the Great War - people can't be allowed to forget, and I hope that reading this will remind them to look.

[Antiquarian]

9293094
Future chapters will reveal.

[Antiquarian]

9293069
Thank you

[Venerable Ro]

The Art of wartime propaganda is a beautiful and monstrous thing. It takes on a life of it's own, persisting long after you would see it dead and buried.

But it is necessary. No good man wants to kill people, no good man should. But monsters? Fiends that will ruin his land and murder his family? He will kill those, he will fight to the end to keep the wolves from his children. So the propagandist tells lies for the best of reasons, and makes monsters of foreign men.

Us and Them, Them and Us. always there are sides, and We, of course, are the better side. We are right, We are justified, Ours is the better cause. The populace must be reminded of that fact, of the nobility of our past. If one listens closely, one can almost hear the victory trumpets already. We have only to push just a little harder, a few more arms, another company of men, another shipment of food, and those craven enemies shall break and flee.

The propagandist, the politician, the demagogue. In the name of victory, what is justified? The lies will never die.

[Antiquarian]

9293400
And yet propaganda need not demonize people; properly done, it can demonize an ideology without crossing that line. And, perhaps more importantly, it can build up confidence in one's own forces and the vital nature of one's own cause. There are ways to spin a tale without lying. But where is that line, and who draws it? These aren't easy answers. Keeping the populace invested in a war, even a just war, can be next to impossible. It was the iron will of Churchill that prevented the British from surrendering many times over - that requires talent and speechcraft. That's not to say Churchill was a perfect man (he wasn't), but his role was a necessary one. That's why I used Fancy for this - I figured people would be receptive to a good guy like him being placed in an unenviable situation and trying to do the right thing for his country. And I wanted them to think about what public image and morale really mean in wartime. There is no easy answer, but it needs to be considered all the same.

[Venerable Ro]

9293427

And yet propaganda need not demonize people; properly done, it can demonize an ideology without crossing that line.

Possibly, ideally even. But dangerous, very dangerous. If the soldier hates his enemy's cause without feeling antipathy for the enemy himself, he may then feel sympathy. And that is disastrous for morale. The enemy is not a person, he is a thing, an abstraction. The moment he becomes a person, with a job, a family, children, he becomes far harder to kill. And we cannot fight a non-lethal war can we? The enemy certainly won't.

[Antiquarian]

9293480
Hence the trickiness. To fight because you love what is behind, not because you hate what is in front. Dash's chapter touched on that some. I don't envy soldiers the challenge.

[Yutah123]

And, who knows. If I’m lucky, perhaps history will come to remember me kindly.

I hope that it will, Golden Crown, I hope that it will.

The price of being a leader is steep in war, when people don’t understand the kind of burden on you.