Prologue: Head Pin [RW]

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The skies were a pitch black as the heavy rain fell, darkening the forest to his sides and limiting his vision of the muddied dirt road he trekked on. The ground giving in under his weight and sinking his boots an inch deep into the mud, making it a real chore to walk. He was drenched from head to toe, his heavy coat and water-resistant tarp around his upper body and head doing little to keep the water from soaking into his cotton uniform. He was cold, wet, and in dire need of some food. And yet, he continued on. He knew the town should be just ahead, and if he could survive bullets before here and live through six years in this damned crazy world...he could take a few more minutes in this weather.

After some more time slogging through the mud and cold, his destination was in view; a faint little back-woods town in the middle of who knows where to accommodate those who were headed North. He hurried his pace at the thought of getting someplace warm. Making it through the deserted looking town without much more difficulty, especially with the absence of the locals. There was not a soul in sight. No one dared venture out in this weather, all except himself of course.

That or he had already scared them all off.

He made his way towards the tavern, it was a simple two story building built in a style that reminded him of the towns built in the rolling hills back home, dark wood with a white plaster. Multiple chimneys spewed smoke into the dark sky with the flickers of burning embers from the fires within. At least it would be warm. There was a faint smell of alcohol and body-odor that wafted amidst the smell of rain and earth as he approached the building. As he stood before the doorway, he listened in on the muffled conversations and hearty laughter coming from within. The bar was definitely packed right now. This is going to be fun, he thought sarcastically. With his luck, he will have stumbled into a town of Earth ponies that would have no second thoughts at forming a mob.

He opened the door and stepped in, pipe smoke accommodating the other odors now. All the conversations quieted down to a faint murmur or died fully; its occupants preferring to watch him as he entered the warm room.

He studied the crowd of Ponies, Griffins, Diamond Dogs, and even a hulking Minotaur sternly while he scanned the hall for a place to rest down. He slowly turned and closed the door before marching down the isle of tables and chairs to a booth he eyed in the corner of the room, dozens of eyes on him the whole time. He took a seat, removed his soaked tarp and unbuttoned his heavy wool coat. Setting them next to him, and patiently waited to be serviced. He eyed the many service ponies who promptly looked away from the intimidating human.

How rude. He thought to himself with a frown.

A moment later, a brave Earth pony barmare came along towards his table, the staring stopped and the lost conversations picked up again. Though most of the crowd still gave him the stink eye.

"Uh...w-what could I get you, sir? Something to drink?" She quivered for a second, but recovered her confidence as she serviced him, if only for the sake of her job, and for maybe a tiny bit of fear for her life.

"Do you have any wine?" He had not had some since his time in Griffonstone, those Griffons sure knew how to brew a good set.

She was very surprised by the question, "Uhh...no sir, we have ale..."

He blew the air out his nose in disappointment, and the mare may have flinched, "That is fine. I'll have it with something hot..." He peered around to the few griffins enjoying a few pieces of meat on their plates, "You serve meat?"

She nodded, "We tend to keep some salted in the back to serve the more...carnivorous crowds." She forced a weak chuckle.

He nodded, "Hmm, I'll take some salted pork, warm if you would." Good, these taverns always had salted pork, sadly the only real decent meat dish he could get here.

She nodded, in almost a bow it was so low, before trotting off.

He removed his officer's cap and set it on the table before him, fumbling with the patch on it. It was dark with the water soaked into it on some parts. The Imperial Eagle and Swastika had a bit of grime on it from the lack of proper cleaning, but he could deal with that when he found a place to wash his uniform. He had lost his head pin awhile back, and he knew his Division commander would have his ass on a platter for it if he found a way home.

Somehow...

But he would deal with that when the time came. Now, he had to focus on survival. He took out his small personal shaving mirror from one of his overcoat pockets and studied his face. Rubbing around his cheeks and neck, he would need to shave the next time he stopped by a river. His lean face was also a bit dirty, and he had some light bags around his eyes from lack of proper sleep as of late. He sighed as he ran his hands through his dark blonde, almost gold, hair as he pondered on what his life had come to.

He looked up from the mirror at the sound of someone entering the tavern, telling by the sudden sound of the rainstorm outside. He eyed the direction of the door, peering through the crowd at the black cloaked figure closing the door behind them. Son of a bitch! He had swore he had lost this damned stalker two towns back. This pony had been following him since he left Buckingham and headed North. He may be the only human around these parts, but he wanted no dealings with shady figures, he had been asked if he was for hire to do some dirty work a few times, but he wanted no part of that. Funny coming from him. The cloaked pony eyed the crowd for a moment behind their large hood before moving to the other side of bar, disappearing from his sight.

His view was broken as the same yellow Earth pony came by with a plate of steaming food and a mug of cool beer. He thanked the mare and started on his meal, he had to get out of here while he could, before anything stupid had a chance to happen. He ate as fast as he could, while savoring the flavor; swallowing the pork he stuffed in his mouth and helping it down with a long gulp of beer. He stopped however when he felt a presence before him. He lowered his glass, cursing inwardly once more.

Sitting in the other booth across the table was the hooded pony, staring at him from behind the darkness of the hood. He slowly set down his mug and lowered his fork as he returned the favor, staring back into the darkness of the hood. The pony reached over and stopped a trotting barmare, "I'll have a beer, and a daisy salad if you would please." The voice was surprisingly feminine. Light and soft, graceful even, but stern and strong.

The baremare eyed him briefly before nodding and trotting off.

They sat in silence for a good while, long enough for the same barmare to come and give the stranger her order. She drank from her mug immediately.

He used the distraction to slowly pull his Luger from its holster and pointed it at her from under the table.

"I don't know why you see the need to have a pistol under the table." She said looking down into her mug, a neutral expression on her face.

"Give me a reason not to." He simply replied.

"Give me a reason why you keep running from me." She poked her salad with a fork she had brought out from her cloak.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Just a feeling I have some trouble lurking around..." He squinted his eyes at the pony.

She let loose a light chuckle shaking her head, "You think I'm trouble? Have you seen yourself...?" She pointed at him with her salad fork, "Ponies run in fear of you, not me. You bring trouble everywhere you go, I've seen it. Remember that stallion you robbed awhile back? You killed him, and with finesse if I do say so myself. People, all people, try to hire you because your a walking killing machine."

"You don't know a damn thing about me." He snapped, though her words held truth. He did kill that pony, he needed the money, as if he cared about the lowly races of this world anyway.

"Oh? I don't do I?" She reached into her cloak again but this time tossed something out onto the table.

His eyes widened slightly as he picked up the Death's Head pin. It gleamed brightly in the faint light of the tavern, the skull's lifeless sockets stared back at him. "Where did you get this...?"

She chuckled again before taking a few leaves of lettuce and daisy flower in her mouth, 'Patience my friend. First things first. I'll explain on the way.' He literally went wide eyed when she spoke fluent German.

"Where did you learn to speak that?" He muttered to her.

"What? Germane is a relatively common language, no?"

"I've heard this world's 'Germane', It sounds nothing like my German." He growled.

'As I said, I'll explain on the way.' She spoke in German again before taking a bite of her salad again.

'What makes you think I'll go with you, pony?' He asked in German, clenching the pin in his right hand.

She gasped sarcastically, 'Bringing race into the matter are we? I expected better of you...' She continued in German. He swore he saw her smirk at that statement from under that hood. The click of a safety sounded from below the table.

'What are you going to do? Shoot me?' She smirked.

'Like I said, you don't know me. I'd have no regrets shooting a mare sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.'

She raised a brow at that. Then just chuckled at his threat, shaking her head as she brought the mug up to her face, "How will you get home if I'm dead?" She drank.

He paused at that, much longer than he would have liked, as expressed from another chuckle from her after she downed the rest of her ale. A baremare immediately there to replace it.

'You think you can get me home?' He asked her.

"I don't think I can, I know I can."

He squinted at her, this mare was starting to piss him off with her lies, "That's some bullshit and you know it."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. You won't know until I explain everything."

"Then explain mare." He raised his voice more than he would have liked, as some of the patrons looked up form their drinks to look at him, just waiting for him to so something stupid.

'No, not here, there are ears everywhere. What I will tell you will be safe once we leave town.'

He was silent once again for a moment, pondering deeply the pony before him and what she had said. He held the feeling that he couldn't trust her to heart, he didn't trust her one bit. But if she could get him back home...

He flicked his safety back on his pistol.

"Good choice. Now that I have your cooperation." She pulled the hood down. Her perfect blonde mane flowed out and rolled down past her shoulders, almost hitting the table. Her fur was a pure pearl white, and her gleaming azure eyes that shinned in the dim light of the tavern stared right into his own blue ones. "The name's Aryanne." She stuck her hoof out over the table. He hesitated, clenching the pin tighter in his fist before holstering his pistol and taking it in his hand.

"Schindler. Emil Schindler."

They shook, though hesitantly.

"Well, now that that's over, how about I finish my salad, and we can head off."

He continued to study her as she ate her salad and drank her beer. "Are you going to stare at me the entire damn time, or are you going to eat that pork?"

He raised a brow at her suddenly hard demeanor, and the question about his pork.

"Well are you?" She asked again.

He nodded and returned to his meal. They ate in silence for most of the time they spent there, Schindler looking up to make sure she wasn't going to try anything. She eventually finished her salad and polished off her third mug and wiped her muzzle.

"That was good, could you be a gentlecolt and pay, I don't have many bits on me at the moment, though I can surely repay you later."

He said nothing as he finished his ale. Damn moocher. He was already starting to regret agreeing to this whole thing.

She flipped up her hood and moved out of the booth, "I'll be waiting outside."

"What of the storm?"

She smiled behind the hood, "I love the rain."

She turned towards the door, "Don't keep me waiting too long, and don't try to run away again. You know I'll find you anyways. This is as much important to me as it is for you..." She trotted off.

Schindler re-clothed himself properly for the storm outside and placed his cap back atop his head. He payed for their meals and drink at the counter, the tender only giving him the eye the whole time. Tipped the baremare, if only for the fact she had bigger balls than the rest of the staff, and exited the tavern; his Death's Head pin shimmering in its rightful place as the last ounce of light from the tavern was lost.

Chapter 1: All Quiet on the Western Front [RW]

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July 3, 1944

Somewhere in the French countryside...

Lee wiped his forehead of sweat as he lay on the mound of earth from which the large thick hedgerows grew. His rifle lay on the top of the mound where the hedges started, barrel through the leaves, a small pair of reconnaissance binoculars sitting next to it. He shook the sweat from his hand before bringing the binoculars to his eyes, scouting the open field beyond the hedge for enemy movement. Nothing. As it had been for some time now. More sweat replaced what he wiped. Lee had never minded the summer, hell, it was much cooler here in France than the summers back home, but he hated this damned humidity. Laying there for a few more minutes he tried to ignore the sweat rolling down his face by focusing on his task, but when it started to run into his eyes he forced his arm up to wipe away at his face with his sleeve.

"You okay there?" A voice asked him.

Lee rubbed away the stinging and glared beside him, where Davis was lying next to him, aiming down his scope. They only had one pair of binoculars, but Davis’s sniper scope worked just as well.

"Yeah, it's just this damn humidity that's killing me." Lee replied.

Davis didn't take his focus away from his scope, "Rain will do that."

Lee sniffed, "True. But that doesn't make it any less annoying." He wiped again, then turned his attention to his rifle.

"Just try not to think about it, we're all damn ugly out here, but you just got to get used to it, so stop bitching about it."

Lee glared at Davis for a moment, whose slender face was slick with sweat, and whose large, forward chin—that almost looked out of place on his slender face—glistened in the sun. He never took his hazelnut eyes away from the scope. Lee shook his head with a smirk.

"I'll try."

Davis's nod was barely noticeable.

Sometime later, the sound of chunking of equipment and footfalls caught their attention, Davis finally looking away from the scope lens.

Willis came down and crouched next to them, "Anything?" he asked.

Lee shook his head, "Not a single trace of the Germans."

"Good. Cause the Lieutenant just called for everyone to meet back with him for new orders. We'll be moving out in a bit."

“Are we finally moving up with the rest?” Lee asked.

Willis shrugged, “I’m not sure, he didn’t say. But it’s likely.”

They nodded, "You go on. We'll be right behind you." Davis told him, already moving to grab his pouches and knapsack.

"Well alright, meet you back there." Willis got back on his feet and moved through the small field behind them and disappeared behind another hedgerow.

It didn't take the two long to get their gear and get moving back to camp. It was less than a five-minute jog through a few fields before they made it back to their temporary encampment, a small abandoned farmhouse that had been left behind as the front moved East from the Channel. It was structurally sound, despite one of the walls being blown to hell, but it worked. The fields around it had a few craters that showed evidence of artillery strikes, though why they would fire on a small family farm no-one knew. Out front were a few of their fellow platoon members, conversing mostly, one of them smoking.

They moved in through a broken door on their side—they had come to face the side of the house—and were greeted with the smell of soot and body odor. They entered through the doorway into a kitchen. It wasn't much: a table, some chairs, a counter, and a brick cooking place, the shutters over the blown-out window swayed lightly in the wind.

“Hey Davis, Lee, good to see you too made it back." They turned to Johnson. He was looking over his gear while sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall.

"Johnson." Davis nodded his presence, "Just got back, hear the Lieutenant got new orders for us. You know where he's at?"

Johnson answered, "In the main room, just down the hall." He flicked his head to the hallway that lead to the other rooms of the house. Davis headed there.

"He brief any of you yet?" Lee asked him.

"No. He hasn't called for any of us yet, I don’t think."

"Hmm." Lee approached the small water outlet next to the counters; one of the rarer things to find was running water, out in the French countryside. He wet his face and savored the coolness it brought, rinsing away the sweat.

Johnson continued cleaning his kit.

Lee leaned against the counters and drank from his canteen, watching Johnson's small hands wipe at some grime on his Garand. He was a small man, skinny and lean.

"Did you spot anything out there?" He asked running the rag along the wood.

"If we did, you think I would be sitting here chatting?"

"No. We would be off to kill some krauts."

Lee smirked.

They sat around for a while. Lee drank from the cool reserve of water that the faucet provided for him. Johnson hummed a tune as he worked.

"Hey you two, Lieutenant’s giving the brief!" Davis called down from the hall.

Lee and Johnson followed him back to where all the men were situated in what was once a family room. The windows were of course blown out, and some of the furniture and other pieces of fragile belongings were scattered around. In the middle of the room was a small table with equipment thrown about it, as well as a small tactical map. Lieutenant Castillo, an average sized man with a gaunt face, and tired eyes, was standing over it. With him was Private Grauer, their field communication’s officer. He was young, and the newest edition to the group. His field radio was laid on the table.

"Alright people, let's make this quick. I just got word from Rodgers that the regiments are on the move again, and you know we have our orders. Rodger's men have already started moving along to the meet-up point for the Division, so we need to catch up to watch the flank." He pointed down to the map. "Vessel is little more than thirty miles North-east of here, and so long as we don't run into any opposition, we should make it there before tomorrow while we move up through the country. Private Grauer will let us know if any of the other platoons run into any major resistance, and if they do, we will have to change course to relieve them if necessary. Any questions?"

He was answered with the shakes of heads.

Castillo nodded, "Good. You all know the routine, grab your gear and let’s move!"

The group dispersed.

The rain began to fall again on the second hour of marching. It was a heavy rain that fell cold and hard onto the Earth below. After some time, the rain took its toll on the landscape, muddying the ground the men trudged forward on, making the march much more exhausting than it was otherwise want to be.

They now came upon more hedgerows; of which they had not seen many in the last hour as they moved through the rolling farms and hills of France. They had broken away from the maze of hedges a while ago and had turned to marching through the open farmlands where maneuvering was easier. They came to regret that decision when the rain started falling en masse. But thankfully, the fields gave them an almost disturbing lack of enemy resistance.

The hedges they came to were just as long and just as thick as those they’d had to move through awhile back, which came with the feeling of familiarity to the troops. Despite this, they were still just as unwelcoming and nerve-wrecking as such a sight had always been. At least for someone like Lee. He moved his gaze down the long line of hedges carefully, watching for anything that might be moving, though the task proved harder as the sheet of falling rain blinded him from anything that could possibly be moving on the other side, watching them as they slowly pushed towards the line. A few of the men were conversing over the howling of the rain.

Private Garcia grumbled, “For the love of…I wish this damn rain would have just stayed put. We could have been to Vessel by now if we weren’t caught in this shit.”

“Oh, quite your bellyaching would ya’ now? We know it sucks, but be glad it’s cool rain, and not the heavy hot stuff. Besides, we don’t exactly smell like the gifts of spring. I’m happy to get a nice rinse. Can’t remember the last time I had a nice shower. I think it was back on the ship, last I recall.” Corporal Herrera said.

Garcia rolled his eyes.

“We’ll take a rest before moving along again, by the looks of things, we might just have to enter the rows again if we want to beeline it for Vessel.” Castillo shouted back as he pulled his sunken foot out of the clingy, muddy, earth.

They eventually made it to the side of the hedges and the men caught their breaths. Corporal Madison poked his head through the thick hedge. It wasn’t a solid road as he had hoped. But it was what he expected, another open field between the hedge lines. He couldn’t see far due to the blanket of thick, misty rain, but he could make out the shell craters that littered it, a ruined two-story barn, an actual farm house, and a tree line. He pulled his head back through the hedge.

“Anything, Madison?” Castillo asked.

“Another field, sir. This one was shelled to shit. There’s a barn to the left side, a window facing us, a house on the right side, and what looked like a small wood on the far end. I didn’t see any Germans, sir.”

Castillo nodded, “Good. No krauts in the field. What about the barn? Or the house?”

“I couldn’t tell sir, they’re both about fifty yards out I’d say. Not far. But I can barely see right now. Damn rain.”

“Alright, we need to check them just in case. Miller, take your men up to the barn. Clear it if you need too.” Miller nodded, “Sergeant Moore, keep a hold here in case we need some support.”

“Yes sir.” Moore replied.

“I’ll take the house. If you find Germans, you know the drill. If you’re clear, wait for the others to signal before moving out of there, just in case. Squad Two on me!” The men broke off to their own squadrons of five men each. They all removed their heavy excess equipment belts and knapsacks and placed them in piles according to their squad and person.

Lee was in Squad One under Sergeant Miller, with him was Davis, Grauer, and Corporal Summers. After falling in on Miller, they cautiously began moving towards the barn house. Moving around the large impact craters and the mounds of earth around them. They watched the window with their breath held, ready to move.

No gunfire.

Castillo took his team forward, trekking forward twenty yards to their right. Miller followed up with them and made it to the front of the worn barn without any difficulty, one of its large double doors creaking as they swayed on their hinges.

Summers carefully pushed the loose door open with a hand and brought his rifle forward.

They crept into the poorly lit room. The air was thick with the particles of hay, dust and dirt that floated around, visible in the few streams of light that entered from outside. The floor was dirt and hardened mud, and there was a rank stench of manure and old wood. They stepped into the larger chamber where mounds of hay and a few stalls where live-stock had been kept lined the walls. They scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary in a ruined hay barn, such as German soldiers.

Lee followed up the group in the rear, scanning around and poking through a few hay mounds. In doing so, he noticed the ladder that the others must have missed somehow. He turned to alert the Sergeant. But the crack of a gun went off and echoed through the empty barn.

Summers found a bullet in the back of his head.

There was the sound of distant gunfire, followed by the blast of an explosion

Lee looked to Summers as his corpse fell forward into the dirt, brain matter and blood pooling under him. He didn’t realize that Miller was firing his Thompson at some unseen enemy until the thump of a body falling next to him broke his trance. He looked to the body to see it was a young Wehrmacht trooper covered in hay, a rifle still in his hands as blood pooled around him.

“Holy shit.” Lee breathed as he recovered himself.

The gunfire had ceased.

Grauer moved to check Summers, though he knew he they could do little for him. Davis proceeded to check the hay platform, patting Lee on the back before going up the rickety ladder. Miller said nothing but moved to the other end of the barn to check the stalls. Lee felt sick as he stared on at Summer’s corpse.

The platoon was gathered in the field between the two buildings they had just liberated from German control. They all stared down at the two mounds of dirt where Summers and Corporal Madison were buried. Paying their respects. Madison had been killed by a grenade, his legs dismembered, he bled out. Down a-ways, six other dirt mounds held the enemy.

“We lost two good men today, may their sacrifice not be in vain. And may God have mercy on them.” Castillo mumbled his usual short speech before stuffing their dog tags in one of his pouches. He turned away to face his men. “We still have some twenty miles to march people, and a small forest in our way and I would like to get a move on before it gets dark. Pay your respects and meet me in the house.” He said before walking into the ruined house. The silence lingered for some time as they stared at the mounds.

Moore was the first to join Castillo in the house, followed by Miller, with them being the most experienced they had lost many men before. The rest followed shortly after.

Davis stopped when he noticed Lee still looking before where Summers was buried. “Hey. We’re moving on. Come on.” Davis said.

Lee shook his head, “Son of a bitch Dave, I was supposed to take rear, I should have checked above. We even saw the window before we crept up to the damn place.”

Davis put a hand on his shoulder, “Nothing shot at us then, we didn’t really think too much of it because of it. Hell, I glanced back up there, I saw the ladder when we walked in. I didn’t see anything so I didn’t call it out. It wasn’t anyone’s fault he’s dead but the bullet that killed him and the kraut that shot it. Don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve seen men die in front of us. But it’s war Lee, it happens.”

Lee exhaled through his nose, “I know Dave. Hell, we're soldiers, I shouldn't be feeling like this. But fuck I know I could have done something about it. I honestly didn’t know Summers all that well, but I know him and Brown were pretty damn good friends. I know he’s probably hurting.”

"We was with us before you even got assigned to our little group, I knew him well. Most of us did except for you, Johnson and Grauer. Hell, even Madison was with us for awhile." Davis sighed, “The one main thing the Army told us not to do, and this is why.”

Lee turned to him, “What are you talking about?”

“The one thing we’re not supposed to do Lee, is care about each other. It's not an actually rule of coarse, but I know my commander reminded us more than once about that. But damn, no matter what you do, it happens anyways.” He gave him a warm smile.

Lee smirked, “Well, it’s good to have a few friends when you’re trying to dodge bullets, they can be pretty helpful.”

Davis patted him on the shoulder a few times, “Come on. We don’t want the whole mission held up by two over emotional soldiers crying their eyes out.” He said sarcastically. They both saluted their fallen comrades before heading towards the house. Lee gave the graves of the dead Germans a quick glance before shaking his head.

They moved on.

Castillo glanced at his watch, 5:23 PM.

The wood the men stood before was made up of many thin trunked, broad-leafed trees. They were densely packed together, though. ‘The perfect ambush spot’, many of the men thought. It was indeed, the perfect place to hide. Men, guns, nests, bunkers, tanks. Anything could be in there. Or nothing at all. No-one could possibly know.

Castillo and Grauer were knelt down with the field radio and a tactical map. The rest of the men waited for orders, and took the time to rest and unwind by smoking and chatting. Some had started a game of cards.

"I raise. One gum." Moore said. They were not really betting at the moment, lest, not physically. But every man made a mental note of who owed who. The pot was currently 2 cigarettes, plus a piece of gum.

"Fold." Willis said.

Wilson scowled at Moore, "Fold."

"Call." Johnson said. Not knowing the loss he just committed too.

He showed his hand, a three of a kind with tens. He was alright at cards, but was new to playing with the sergeant, his experience lacking.

Moore nodded holding his poker face, "Not a bad hand kid." He showed his own hand. A full house.

"Son of a bitch." Johnson muttered.

Lee listened in to their game as he drew a sketch of the landscape he was facing, vast open farmlands, hedges seen in the distance along with the farm they had fought through. Davis sat along side him, watching.

After some time, Castillo stepped forward, his usual expressionless face scanning the men under him.

“Alright people, form up on me. Rodger’s group is caught up assisting James’s company in a little mess they got themselves into tailing some scattered remnants of a company part of the German 921st that was fleeing away. Probably towards Vessel. So they haven’t matched our coverage yet. But we have orders to head in anyway for the purpose of scouting the area out.”

“Wait, we’re going in there alone, without any chance of support if we need it?” Miller said, “We’ll be sitting ducks out there if we run into anything bigger than a company.”

“Yes, I see your concern Sergeant. But word is the Germans are on a full retreat East, Vessel apparently got shelled to shit and the Germans cleared out already, and the regiments are behind us by a few miles.”

Corporal Brown spoke up, “They may be retreatin’ but that doesn’t mean they didn’t leave behind a little something in our way.”

“I expect nothing less. We saw that by the few ones we just KIA-ed. But I doubt they would leave anything behind that’s big enough to fight elsewhere. The enemy is desperate elsewhere at this point; they won’t leave tanks to idle around in a small wood waiting for something to pass by.” He peered into the trees. “Besides, from the look of the trees here, this thing might be too much for armor to move through. Machine guns are still a possibility though.” Each of the men shared a look with the man next to him. “Orders are orders. Simple as that. Now gear up and buddy up. I want twenty feet between pairs, and move quietly. Spot something, get down immediately and signal the pairs next to you. We'll deal with the problems as they come.” He placed his helmet back on his head, covering his black short hair, and walked over to Grauer, who was packing up his large field radio to go on his back. The men geared up and found their wing-man, then made their way into the wood. Every man suddenly felt his stomach drop and a chill rush down their spine.

Chapter 2: The Forest [RW]

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The forest itself was, by the map, a very small pocket of woodland running for about eight miles North-east, and stretching about three miles from North to South, made up of tall broad-leafed trees that grew tightly together. Small, low growing plants scattered about the forest floor, growing close to their thick trunked kin, and here and there small patches of small, delicate flowers grew; this place was beaming with life. Almost enough to make him forget the pounding of guns in the distance and the distant howling of heavy bombers thousands of feet above the rain clouds, the rain still poured heavily; he almost felt at peace. Almost.

Castillo checked his watch. ‘6:52 PM’ It read.

Fire-teams of two men, twenty feet apart as ordered, moved along cautiously. With him, Private Grauer and Private Willis, both followed up behind him as he forged the path forward through the foliage.

"We would always take the subway up North."

"Up towards 5th avenue right?"

And they were both chatting up another storm.

"Yeah, they had this one little deli we would always go to," Grauer said, "Had the best pastrami sandwiches you'll ever eat."

"Was it that little place on the corner, same a-ways down that little Pharmacy there?"

"Yeah."

Castillo turned around and shushed them, they hushed up immediately, or at least Grauer did for a few moments.

“Sir, do you know our orders are after we get out of here?” Grauer asked him as he carefully stepped over the jutted-out root of a tree, doing everything in his power not to possibly damage the sensitive equipment on his back.

“Either we wait for the others to meet up with us at the rallying point or we backtrack and take the road. Should probably be a few other platoons using the roadways.” Castillo said in a hushed tone.

“I wonder how Rodger’s group is handling right now?” Grauer wondered out loud.

“I wouldn’t have put him in charge of the rest of the platoon if I didn’t have faith in his abilities.” Castillo said.

“No sir, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Grauer shook his head.

The conversation died for a moment as he moved quietly behind the Lieutenant, the silence looming beneath the sounds of a storm. The wet fallen leaves crunching beneath their boots as they walked. Castillo got a quick glimpse of Sergeant Miller and Private Johnson as they moved forwards to their left, then they disappeared behind the trees once again.

“Say, sir. I was just wondering, but, what made you decide to join the army anyways. Don’t you seem to be kinda’…I don’t know, old? For this sort of thing.” Grauer spoke up, , if just to hear himself talk. He was a very talkative person, he would talk all the time even if he was busy dodging bullets. Always bright too, Castillo thought. Willis stayed quiet as he watched the trees.

Castillo grunted at the boy’s question, “And aren’t you a little young to be?”

“Well sir, I did sign up as soon as I was eighteen, but…I had a bit of trouble getting in.” He chuckled, “Cause’ believe it or not, I was actually skinnier than I was now.” Grauer wasn’t just the newest member of the platoon, he was also the youngest of Castillo’s group, being nineteen, he was very lean because of it; despite lugging a field radio with the rest of his equipment. He wasn’t scrawny, no, but he wasn’t a giant in height like Herrera, or buff like Brown. Small, lean arms, a sharp face, and long legs doesn't give a man the idea of someone who would be expected to lug around an extra thirty-five pound radio strapped to his back.

Castillo raised a brow at that, though Grauer couldn’t see it, “I find that hard to believe. You being smaller than you are now.”

“It’s true, I weighed 138 before I got off the boat, but before I was able to join up, I was little over a 100.”

Castillo whistled, “The hell. I thought the Army lightened your load, not upped it.” He shook his head.

“Well, that was mainly my doing sir. After I was rejected entry into all branches, I spent the next year trying to build myself up. I didn’t stop trying to get in sooner though. I eventually got accepted into the Army, and got put up for field communications and operations. Don’t know how or why, I thought I was just going to end up a rifle or something.” He chuckled again.

Castillo nodded, “Well, at least you never gave up. If there is one thing I hate, it’s a quitter.”

“Duly noted sir.”

"Hey, It's fine being a squatter, the smaller guys usually have the bigger fight in em'." Willis said with a grin. Willis was among the younger troopers in the platoon, besides Grauer who was still the youngest, he was twenty-four. Well built as most of the men, with a slick face that screamed Bronx. Most of the men were in their mid twenties, excluding the Sergeant Miller, who was twenty-nine, Sergeant Moore, who was thirty, and Corporal Herrera, who was thirty-one.

Grauer laughed at his comment.

The men chatted amongst themselves while they ate their ration meals. Supper time. They were all gathered within a small area where the trees had not pack so densely, though trees were the dominant back board here. Private Garcia glanced around the area they were resting in, the rain had died down to a light drizzle, and warm sunlight beamed down unto the forest floor below to create a very relaxed feeling in the air; but at the same time he just felt…off, about something. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, an inkling in the back of his head that he couldn’t seem to shrug off.

“You should eat.” A voice told him, a bold voice.

Garcia glanced to his right, where Herrera was seated next to him against a tree. A giant of a man he was. Standing above anyone else in the whole platoon at six feet five; he was pretty brawny too. It was funny, Garcia thought, he was rather small in comparison at only five feet six, heh, the numbers flipped too. Most of the squad had gotten used to calling them ‘George and Lennie’ because of it, though Herrera was anything but stupid. Why command decided to make him an aid man and not a support gunner or gun chucker no one knew; at least until you watched him work. He had saved many men out in the field before numerous times in the short months he had been deployed; Garcia was one of them, took a bullet out of his shoulder once.

“I know; I just can’t shake this feeling I’m getting…”

He watched Herrera put down the can of meat he was holding in his huge paws for hands, “Yeah, I’m getting the same feeling I’m sure, like that little feeling in the back of your skull?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

Herrera shook his head, “Haven’t been able to figure out what it is. But I started feeling it almost immediately after we came into this place.”

Garcia just nodded as he ate.

Most of the others were just silently eating, though Moore decided to play a solo card game while he ate. On the other side of camp, Castillo was observing his small tactical map, and had his compass out on the ground. Though he had been looking and thinking of something else, he gently placed the photo back in his pocket before looking at his watch. ‘7:48 PM.‘ He restudied the map again, surely, they should be reaching the edge of the forest soon.

“I’m not crazy am I?”

“Now why would you think that?”

“Cause’ I swear these trees just took on a few more shades of ‘dark’.”

Corporal Harris looked around at all the trees and foliage around him. Some of trees did in fact seem to have taken on a darker hue to them, some of the bushes and shrubs had similar traits. The ground itself looked darker, as if someone had spilled some water unto the earth and it was just soaking in. though the grass maintained it's green hue.

“Hmm, they defiantly look a bit darker if you ask me.” He said as he put a hand on the trunk of the tree he had stopped next too.

Private Wilson whistled to his left. A moment later Johnson peaked his head through the packed foliage.

“Did any of you notice this?” He asked him pointing to the darker trees.

Johnson looked at the trees he was referring to, “I thought some of these things looked a bit strange. But I thought I was just going crazy…”

“Then it looks like we can all be crazy together.” Wilson chuckled.

Harris tried clawing some bark off the tree he was examining, only for the trunk to be as smooth as a baby’s bottom. So he pulled his knife and peeled some bark off the tree, it came clean off, like if you were gliding a knife along butter; and sprayed out some sort of sap out of the opening as he glided his knife along the dark bark.

“Did that thing just cut like a fruit?” Johnson asked.

Harris gripped the piece of bark, and messed with the sap that had gotten on his fingers, only for his face to scrunch up at the smell it produced, “Oh God, this shit stinks!” Harris yelled in disgust, he threw the bark into the forest beyond; trying to get the foul-smelling stuff off his hands and tunic, suppressing his gag reflexes as he did so.

Wilson was more open with showing his disgust as he gaged out loud once the aroma hit his nostrils, Johnson just decided to get the hell out of the area before he choked on the stench, running out of there. He went to inform Sergeant Miller about it.

“Oh g-good God, wha-what the h-hell!” Wilson croaked out between coughs and gags, "Let's get the h-hell out of here!"

They both ran out of the area, but the stench followed them, as Harris had the stuff stuck to his fingers and tunic.

Castillo suppressed a gag as he examined the bark he held in his hand, tossing it into the brush and rubbing his hands in a wet cloth. “Call in the men, we are definitely not somewhere we should be.” Castillo said to Willis.

Willis saluted before moving to his left to inform the runners in the other groups. Miller and Johnson were already with them, along with Harris and Wilson.

“Grauer, I want you to radio in to Rodger’s group, if you can’t, try as many frequencies that you can link up to, I need someone; anyone on that radio right now.”

“Yes sir!” Grauer saluted. He removed the radio from his back and began trying to reach Rodger’s group.

Willis came jogging back with Corporal Herrera at his heels.

“Corporal Herrera reporting in sir.” Herrera saluted. Willis had already gone for the team on their right.

“At ease, I don’t know if you noticed or not, but we are not in the same wood we entered an hour or so ago.” He said waving a hand around at the changed foliage.

Herrera nodded. “Trees and foliage have changed; the soil is different. Lots of rotting and decomposing going on. No, I would say we are sir.”

“Yes, yes. That’s why I’m getting the men back together. I don’t want everyone separated right now, because honestly, I don’t know what the hell Is going on.” Castillo shook his head as he rubbed his temples, his mind had been going a bit hazy, like it was allergy season back home. And he had the headache of the century.

“You alright sir?” Herrera asked.

Castillo shook his head again before nodding, “I’m fine, just got a bit of a headache is all.” He answered as he took a long drink from his canteen.

Willis had returned with Private Lee, and the men from the left flank had all returned.

Castillo explained the situation to everyone once all his men had returned and gathered many of their noses scrunched up at the strange, lingering stench in the air. “Alright people listen up! I know all of you have probably been confused as hell by the sudden change of image with this damned wood. Trust me when I say I have no idea either, Grauer is trying to reach anyone that can get us up to speed on the situation.”

Grauer spoke up, “Um, sir, there seem to be no frequencies to home in to…” he said taking the phone away from his ear.

“What?” Castillo said flat.

“I can’t seem to find any other allied, or even German links. There is just…nothing.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing? Not even static?”

Grauer shook his head, “As I said sir, there’s nothing.”

“The fuck…” Castillo cursed.

“I bet ya’ it’s the damn krauts that are jamming our radio!” Moore said.

Grauer shook his head, “I don’t think it’s the krauts, their on the run. They wouldn’t stop to try and jam our radios. Plus, these things are built for a small area of communications. I don’t think the Germans would waste their time with these.” Grauer said, now fiddling with the wiring inside the radio, “I can try and see if it’s something wrong with the workings.”

“What about this damn forest.” Davis growled, “I can’t even fucking think straight right now, I don’t know about any of you, but I’ve got the worst damn headache I have ever fucking had in my life. Just looking around in this damn place makes my head hurt like someone just took a hammer and beat the shit out of me with it!” he yelled. Some of the men nodded.

Davis walked away from the group, leaning up against a tree as he held his head. Lee looked to Castillo, who had fallen silent at the outburst and nodded. Lee followed and put his hand on Davis's shoulder, “Hey, you aright?”

Davis shrugged his shoulder off, “Yeah, I’m fine, just a little irritated is all.” He sighed.

Lee nodded in understanding, his head was hurting a bit too, but It wasn’t that bad compared to Davis’s if it made him burst out like that, he was usually able to keep his cool easier than the others, even in a combat situation. To see him just yell out in outrage like that was concerning.

“Alright, is anyone else here experiencing headaches? Foggy vision? Anything out of the ordinary.” Castillo asked the group.

Everyone raised their hands.

Castillo looked to Herrera.

“Could be anything really sir, something common like fatigue, heat exhaustion, dehydration, hunger, maybe even allergies. Or it could be something pretty bad. Malaria perhaps, though I doubt it, haven't been bit by one mosquito since we started out on this scouting mission, which is very, very strange. Hell, this could even be a little something left behind by the Germans. Though I pray I don't have to use this.” He tapped a finger on his gas mask bag.

Castillo shook his head, “Christ, chemicals are the last thing we need. Alright, everyone, I want everyone on full alert, you see something move, you point it out. You feel your head starting to get worse, apply your mask. Every man only has one replacement filter, remember that. If your filter goes out, and you already used yours. Tough luck, unless someone else offers you theirs. You understand?"

Everyone nodded. "Yes sir." They all said hushed, and didn't salute. Just encase.

“Grauer.” Castillo said simply.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the wiring and fixtures. It’s just dead.” Grauer answered.

Castillo sighed, “Alright, so we are alone on this one, for now at least.” He said under his breath. “New orders! We are going to continue on for a bit longer, if we don’t find a way out by then, we head back the way we came. Grauer, pack it up, let’s get ready to move.” Grauer’s radio was on his back in an instant.

Castillo checked his watch, “Alright, it’s past 2000, we will turn back when the hand reaches 2100. Let’s move!”

They treaded onwards.

They were defiantly not in the same place they were before, before the group was a river, a small one, but a river non the less. Castillo had ordered his men to stop and rest while he looked over his map. They had all applied their gas masks some time ago, but many had taken theirs off to drink from their canteens. The trees and foliage were completely different from what they were even before, their trunks fully black and their leaves a dull green. Vines hung loose from them and their roots grew outwards before digging into the ground below, as if just there to trip someone up. His headache was really bothering him now; he could barely hear himself think over the pounding in his head. The masks didn’t seem to be helping much, but he decided to keep it on just encase for now.

The whole situation puzzled him, no, it honestly kind of terrified him, being in a situation with absolutely no idea what in the name of God is going on. And he didn’t have any answers for this one. And the big taker? The sun had not moved from its position in the sky as all, despite it being past 2100.

“I don’t understand; I just don’t understand…” He muttered as he ran a hand through his black and grey hair. Often he would look away from the map he was staring into to look at the high sun.

“Sir?”

He pulled out his compass again, the needle spinning rapidly in a frantic circle. “What the hell…” he muttered as he watched the needle. It was hypnotizing as he looked at it, as if, by just looking at this simple gadget, all his worried were dissolved; he was off to his own little world. Images of his family flooded his mind.

“SIR!”

He was snapped form his trance, and realized all his men had surrounded him where he sat on the ground, Sergeant Moore stood closest before him. “What?” Castillo shook his head.

“I asked what the hell do we do now, sir?” Moore said.

Castillo looked back to his compass, there was no way to tell which way North and South were, the damned sun was glued in the sky.

“We stick to the plan; we head back the way we came.” He said as he got to his feet and reequipped himself. “Grab your gear, and form up on me! If you need water, get it here while we have it.”

The men moved around to gather their equipment, which they had removed to take a breather, and gathered their weapons. Some refilled their canteens in the river.

That was when it was starting to get really dark, really fast.

Everyone looked up to see the sun lowering itself down behind the horizon only for the moon to pass it up and replace it’s spot in the, now, dark night sky. Stars shone beautifully in the pitch blackness of the night, and it was literally black all around. No light what-so-ever, minus the soft glare given off by the large full moon.

They all stood there dumbfounded in the dark, silence filled the night as no-one had anything to say to what they just witnessed.

"Sound off!" Castillo shouted.

They all did so. Castillo let go of the breath he was holding, so this wasn't a dream, his men were right beside him.

"Alright, there is no way in hell we can maneuver through this hell-hole in this darkness, we will make camp and rest for the night. You know the drill."

They all saluted and began their work on pitching pup-tents and making small fires.

Chapter 3: Beauty and the Beast

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The small town was well behind them now as they headed South. He couldn't tell which way South they had been headed as he didn't recognize the road, but he knew it was back towards Equestria; away from the Northern borders he had originally been journeying towards. The rain had not let up in the past hours they had been traveling, ice cold as it fell from the Northern atmosphere. His great coat and the uniform under it was drenched as it had been before, and his pants slogged through the dense mud, his jackboots waterlogged. The waterproof fabric he had wrapped around his head deflected the heavy rain well enough, he had wrapped it many times around his head and neck; the many layers actually doing its job of deflecting and absorbing most of the rainwater, unlike then when he had simply thrown it over his coat, the thin layer being soaked beyond it's limits. So at least his head was dry. He did his best to keep his hands warm by stuffing them into his coat pockets, but they froze anyway. He couldn't feel them at all.

Emil did his best to keep up with the silhouette of the mare he had been following for sometime now, the black figure was barely a few feet in front of him, but she might as well have been a few hundred. He heard her call back to him for a moment, but the shear sounds of the storm in his ears deafened him. He also realized she had stopped for him. He caught up to find they had stopped before multiple forks in the road, two heading South and veering off either left or right, and the other took a hard left. There was a sign post that pointed out the roadways.

"Canterlot, 558 Miles...Manehattan, 1125 Miles...Vanhoover, 198 Miles..." Emil read them off under his voice, then looked down at the pony mare he had been following, "Why are we heading South-east?! What does Vanhoover have to offer us?!" He shouted to her over the rain. The mare shook her head, and motioned them down the road, where she continued on her way. Emil clinched his fists in his pockets, but eased them. What good would it do to converse in this weather? He continued after the mare down the road.

After an hour more of slow travel, the heavy storm had finally blown over; little more than low drifting grey clouds were left scattered about in the sky. The large full moon shone brightly down unto the land below, it's bright rays lighting the night sky past the dark clouds. They had immediately stopped to rest now that the rain was of no concern in a small clearing flattened out from decades of peoples stopping here. There had even been a small fire pit built before, it was mostly wore down, but the stones were quite intact; and a small stream ran strongly towards the ocean, shallow enough not to get swept up by the current, but just deep enough for fish to be caught, and bodies to be bathed.

Emil sat on the dirt ground, his back against a dark pine tree. He was stripped down to his dirty service shirt and his rest shorts. His boots he had washed the mud and dirt off and sat them to dry, where they shined in the moonlight even without polish. His officer's pants and field tunic hung on the low hanging branch of a smaller broad leafed tree, along with his officer's great coat. He always found it strange that they, broadleaf trees that generally thrived in mostly temperate climates, managed to grow this far North. His officer's cap he had laid on the thin blanket he called a bed, along with the few things he could call his own that he was able to carry in his small traveling pack he kept slung over his shoulder on his back, usually covered by his great coat. All he ever carried around were the necessities he needed to survive, few of which were preserved from his time on Earth.

He looked away from his petty display of belongings to the flowing stream to his left, the sound of the soft flowing water was relaxing. If he had to give this world one thing, I would be the sheer beauty it held. When you had come to drift as long as he did, you tend to see many things that many call a privilege to see in their entire lives, both the good and the bad. But nothing was to compare to home, he always told himself. Nothing was above home. He settled his head against the tough bark, and tried to remember; remember his old life back in Germany, for the first time in awhile he had the peace to do so. What came up was a few faded faces and some glimpses of strong memories.

He shook his head and looked down to his Luger, which was dismantled and cleaned, and began to resemble it, as he had hundreds, if not thousands of times. He had to use griffon gun grease, his German oil having run out years ago. He heard a disturbance in the water, the ripples flowing downstream. But paid it no mind, focusing on his pistol.

"Not a man of material are you?"

He looked up to see the still soaking wet mare trotting towards him. Water dripping from her hair as it clamped down to her neck. Her pearl coat shone with the dampness of it all. He took a moment to take her in; he supposed, to a pony, she was probably the pinnacle of beauty, but to him, she was just another mare in this forsaken world. At-least she wasn't a unicorn.

"No." he bluntly replied as he went back to his gun.

She dropped on her haunches before him on the other side of his blanket, ringing out the water in her mane. "Figured as much, wanderers and outcasts don't tend to be."

He harrumphed.

She looked over the items he had laid out, there was not much, it was a basic survival kit, few items were not of some utility or navigational use, maps and the like. She however, caught her eye on the long scabbard that was rested there alongside his bit pouch, which limped over pitifully from being mostly empty. The long, thick black material was rough with ware and was about thirty-six inches in length, but D-shaped knuckle guard of whatever blade was held with-in was in pristine condition however, the almost silver like steel glowed from the polish and the handle wrappings was of little ware. There was alongside it a small knife, that to a pony could almost count as a short sword, the scabbard was of the same black color with steel construction rings. The handle was curved quite strangely, and had a metal stamp on it, one that looked of an eagle. This one though, was of much better condition and had less ware, probably from spending most of its time out of the weather. Her eyes were drawn back to the sword again, how she had not noticed him wearing it before, she didn't know.

"What kind of sword is that?" She asked him.

He looked up form his pistol to gaze at the blade she spoke of, he figured a short story wouldn't hurt; leave out the details, "It was a ceremonial sword, I received it when I graduated from military school. I shouldn't have taken out to the field with me, but I am glad I did that day." He bluntly responded, placing the halfway-reassembled pistol on the mat. He reached for the sword, and slightly brought it out of it's sheath, just enough to see the blade glow in the light of the moon, "It has served me more than just an award sword since then, and served me well it has." He placed it back on its spot next to his service dagger and resumed assembling his pistol for the fourth time in the past half-hour.

She nodded, and reached for it, "May I?"

"No." He almost growled.

She hasty brought her hoof away, "Oh." They sat there, a silent awkwardness in the air. Emil cared not, he was focused on his pistol. Aryanne however, shifted awkwardly.

'So...' She started in German, 'What was life like in your world? Your obviously military, got any war stories?'

Emil said nothing.

'What about your time before you joined the army?'

He continued to assemble his pistol.

'Family?'

Nothing.

Aryanne sighed, 'Look Mr. Schindler, I am just trying to make this easier on both of us. We have a long way to go before we reach Port Royal, and even longer before we reach Vanhoover. And if I were you I would try try make this journey a little less harsh on both of us. Both physically, and mentally. Besides, if we are going to be working together, we need to learn to trust each other, and trust starts with the small things.'

'If you want to talk of trust and, "The small things", perhaps you should inform me on where we are headed overall, what is our objective? And what my role is in anything you have planned.' he responded, 'You said you can get me home, back to Germany, but I know you are not just doing this for me. You said you would explain everything once we left town.'

Aryanne put a hoof to her chin, as if pondering the idea, 'Hmm, I did say that. I suppose at the very least you have the right to know where our final point is. Very well, we are headed South, very far South; to the Bad Lands.'

Emil pulled back the loading mechanism on his Luger; releasing it, it snapped into place with a satisfying click; he said nothing for a moment, his stern face unchanging. But in his mind, he was pondering. He had never been that far South before, he had never been past the Capitol but once sometime ago, and he had never been that far again. 'What is in the Bad Lands?' he asked her.

She chuckled, 'Patience. That will come at a later time, once I know I can trust you more fully Mr. Schindler.' Aryanne replied, 'For now, that is all I can tell you. When we get to Port Royal, depending on whether we get a ship or not, I will unveil more to you, and do not worry, your involvement in my plans with become much more evident once we reach the Badlands.' She yawned and stood up, "I believe it is time for me to turn in. I would recommend you do the same." She trotted over to her side of the fire burning in the middle of camp and laid into her sleeping bag where she had kept it, along with her other belongings she carried in a small set of brown sabblebags. "Oh and one more thing..." She turned over, speaking English once again, "Don't try anything in my sleep, I may be an o-so small, defenseless mare to you, but heed my words when I say, I will make you regret it." She turned back over, away from the fire.

Emil suddenly found himself not liking the smell of whatever was cooking in that mare's head, he couldn't think of anything she would need him for. If she needed protection, there were much tougher, and possibly more loyal, people willing to take such a job. Perhaps it was because he was an officer? A man of tactician. No, no-one in this world he had ever told his rank, or position in the German military; the most anyone knew was that he was military, and he graduated military school, not that he was SS.

He looked over to his officer's cap, the Totenkopf shone brightly in the moonlight. 'You're a walking killing machine...'

He loaded his Luger and stuck it in his holster. Packing up his belongings, he retrieved his clothes and threw his great coat around himself, all having dried in the time by the fire. Aryanne had already drifted into slumber, or at least from what Emil could tell by the light snoring coming from the pony. He reached into his great coat pocket and pulled out his pocket Bible, of which with most of the other things in his pockets, was saved from the rain, for the first time in awhile and flipped to the bookmarked page. '...killing machine.'

The entirety of the rest of their journey had proven to be awkward, uneventful, and nothing less than annoying for Emil. The mare that had accompanied him was no less than any other pony he had encountered. While she had some very cynical, analytical, and mysterious outlooks on the world Emil could relate to; she was however nonetheless as talkative and social as the next pony, even if most of it had been her pegging him for information on his past life. Emil had come to the conclusion long ago that it must be a trait of the species, that social nature, but that didn't make it any-less annoying for him. Especially the topic.

They stood at the crest of a small hill, the road had taken on a more modernized look to it with it's stone pavings. There, in the horizon, the town could be made out about six miles out, tall towers that extended from the walls jutted out towards the sky. Smokestacks exhaled grey smoke into the air, and the sounds of commerce and bells could be heard even this far out. But what truly made up the sight, was the ocean. Sea birds fluttered about in flocks as the circled about in the sky, and rows of ships, both large and small, sail and steam, filled the harbors. The smell of the ocean wafted into their noses as a faint breeze blew inland.

"There it is, Port Royal. The only port you will find this far North on this side of Equestria, least you would have to travel across country to Manehattan. The, while quite debatable, most important port on this side of Equestria."

Emil harrumphed.

Aryanne shook her head, "What more did I expect out of you. Look, let's just go. The sooner we get a ship, the better."

They approached the gates leading into the town, one of three Emil had seen from the crest of the hill. Large stone walls protected it from all sides, ending at the coast; large stone turrets about forty feet in height, and fifteen feet of depth made up the gatehouses, the cast iron gate raised within the arched tunnel leading into the innards of the town. And the parapets were all lined with guards, clad in gold armor and wielding spears. There were a few houses on the outside of the walls, mostly small farmhouses, mills, and small workshops, and fields of wheat that blew in the ocean breeze. Back on earth, the soil here would have surely been too salt stained to grow crops such as wheat, but as with every problem the ponies ran into, magic was the answer.

Emil frowned. He despised magic, just as much, if not more than the many other non-pony races did. Just wish upon an star and it would happen, poof problem solved. No time nor labor needed to innovate, improve, and create solutions. Just magic the problem away and life will be all well. It was a lazy, ignorant culture. And the power of magic breed arrogance in the ponies, even more so than that of the griffons. He had bumped into a unicorn stallion once in a tavern in his early days of being in Equestria. The fool had threatened to implode his heart from within his body for spilling his beer. Emil had a knife to his neck in a second.

What disturbed him more than anything, was the ponies fascination with their Princess rulers, many of whom went to the extreme of calling them living deities, Gods. He had only ever seen them once when he was in Griffonstone, those times had been interesting, and from that time he could tell the sisters were no Gods, even if they did claim to move the sun and moon. He patted the Bible in his coat pocket.

They made it to the entrance to the city, an upon entering into the streets Emil was almost overwhelmed. There had to be hundreds of people in the streets, and of all races; ponies, griffons, diamond dogs, yaks, and few minotaurs. Venders and merchants shouted out to the people as they passed, hoping to gain interest in their wares. It was absolute chaos. Well, at least until the on-goers, least the common townspony, would freeze in place to stare at the tall human marching through the city streets, though with the tarp wrapped around his head to form a makeshift hood, many probably took him for a large minotaur. But for such a fragile race as the ponies, that was enough reason to look away. To his surprise there were sailors or mercs that would glare at him, or stare him down here and there as he passed. He honestly couldn't give less of a shit.

They finally made it out the main entrance market and found the closest to a calm they would likely get in a town such as this. Moving off to the side of the road, they continued, this time side-by-side, towards the harbor. The architecture of this town was of your stereotypical medieval Tudor style, but more of the French or English touch he supposed. The roads either of stone or brick pavings, and there was a stank of fish, salt, and body odor in the air. Least until they passed a bakery, the smell of bread replacing it.

Emil stopped suddenly from the poster he spotted on the wall in an alleyway. It was a wanted poster. A rough descriptive drawing of him was drawn in the center, the large words "Wanted for Murder" along the top, and a hefty reward for the turning of him in, alive. The royal stamp of Celestia was on the bottom, along with the symbol of the guard; and the paper looked pretty new. That surprised him; they wanted him alive.

He heard Aryanne whistle next to him, she had trotted up beside him and was staring at the poster. "That's a lot of zeros..."

Emil grunted, "I've killed many in my time here, but I knew the moment you brought that one up that there had to have been others. I was careless when I killed that stallion, and now I'm suffering for it. If my face is plastered throughout this whole town, then it will be not be long until we're compromised."

Aryanne shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to find a ship in a hurry then." She sighed in annoyance.

Emil ripped down the poster and stomped it into the ground, "Let's go then." He said, his voice filled with annoyance and anger.

They continued on their way towards the harbor once more, though they took more alleyways than streets this time. They made it to the docks where rows of ships were anchored, fishing boats unloading nets full of catch, trade ships, and huge three masted steam ships of the Royal Navy, cannon and all. Impressive, for such a primitive race. Emil thought. But where there was the navy, the army was soon to follow. The docks were littered with golden clad guards, blue uniformed marines, and navy sailors. All mingled in with the crowd.

"There is no fucking way I'm getting through that without getting noticed." Emil said to the white mare.

"I wasn't expecting this many guards here, but we might be in luck, they seem to be preparing to disembark. That's the only reason they would all be here at once." She put down her saddlebags and sifted out a pouch of bits, a pretty hefty one at that. "Here, take this." She said through her clenched teeth.

Emil took it and weighed it in his hand, "What happened to, 'I don't have many bits?'"

"Those are all the bits I have with me, yes. It may seem like a lot, but all of that is going towards the supplies we are going to need for our journey. The other one I have is to overpay for a ship. Here, I have a list." She gave him the piece of paper. He looked it over.

"What makes you think we can carry all this?"

"A couple of sacks worth of supplies. Not much, or is it too much for the big bad German?" She smirked.

He grunted and shoved the bits and paper into his coat pocket.

"Meet me at the Brewing Barrel Inn once your done, I should be waiting for you there. If I'm not, there should be enough bits in there to pay for a room." She re-equipped her saddlebags and trotted off, "And try not to kill anyone!" She shouted back.

He harrumphed and walked off, sticking to the shadows.

She trotted out into the open streets once more, her hood flipped up and her brown coat covered her saddlebags and coat well enough. She made out to the docks with little more than suspicious looks from the guards, whom made up most of the occupied spaces on the roads and on the docks. She needed to find a ship, one that hopefully would take her bribe to keep their mouth shut about the human.

She stopped as she spotted the Dock-master's building on the other end of the walk; the building was smaller than even some of the storage units around on the stone walk the docks were built into. It was mostly built of dark wood and seemed to have plenty of ware to it. The sign of the Dock-master swayed slightly in the breeze on its post. She made her way there and entered through the small, windowless door.

Once inside, she spotted an old, grizzly Earth-pony stallion asleep at his desk, his hind-legs kicked up on his desk as she snored. There was nothing else in the room besides the desk and two chairs, minus the one he was sleeping in. An oil lamp was lit upon the wall, lighting the small room rather well for such a small thing; and behind the stallions desk was a door, likely to his personal quarters.

She shut the door and trotted up to the desk. "Excuse me Sir." She said trying to wake him.

He continued to snore.

"Sir."

Snoring.

"SIR!", she slammed her hoof unto the desk nearly causing the stallion to fly back out of his chair.

"Huh!? Huh!? Wha!?" He shook his head and looked at the hooded pony before him. "Ya' Celestia damned punk, who in Tartarus do you-!?"

"I need a ship. One that is heading South, to Vanhoover preferably." She said bluntly, cutting him off.

The stallion settled himself back in his chair, the glare he was giving Aryanne could have killed a man, "And just who needs a ship ey? I don't deal with ponies that hide themselves mare, you need a ship? Well your gonna have to-"

She flipped off her hood, her long mane breaking free from it's prison. "Happy now." She said with a frown.

The stallion just stared for a moment, taking in the stunning mare before him, he opened his mouth a few times, but no words came.

"So about that ship." Aryanne set him back on track.

The stallion shook his head, "Aye, what was it you said? To Vanhoover?"

"Yes."

He reached under his desk and pulled out a large log book, a pair of spectacles made their way to his face and he flipped to the very back of the book. "Aye, there are a few. A few fishing cogs, a shipping frigate, and two ships taking upwards a' twenty passengers. Was it just you?"

"No, I have another with me, a non-pony."

He shook his head, "The Nautica is taking only pony passengers." He looked up to her, "The other is a griffon frigate, saving a few seats for passengers, of all race and class."

"We'll take the seats."

He blinked, "The entire crew consists of griffons, their not the kindest bunch ya’ know, and meat will be present—”

As he was rambling about the griffons, Aryanne fished out her bag of bits and tossed it unto the table, "That should be enough yes?" She might have lied about not having a lot of bits, but Emil didn’t need to know that.

The Dockmaster's jaw hit the floor, "A-Aye, I'll put you in the books..." He took an ink well and feather and flipped to a different page in the book, "What yer' name be miss?"

"Aryanne."

"And yer' friend?"

"Schindler."

He jotted down the names, "Yer' friend from Germaney?"

"Something like that." She retrieved the change bits and placed the pouch back in her saddlebags, along with the two passage slips the stallion had written out for her and Emil.

"The Talos sets sail at one today. You best get ur' friend and get on her soon. Or she will leave ya' behind."

She nodded, Thank you." Her hood up again, she exited out the door, the natural light shining through and blinding the stallion. Once it was shut he whistled. "Celestia damn, to bad it ain't season..."

The crowd did its best to part, and doing their best to not make it noticeable, for the large hooded being marching down the street; they failed at keeping it inconspicuous. But Emil didn't care, he had places to be, things to find. It was not much in theory, just enough food to last both that mare and himself till the end of their journey, a few essential survival tools, and some other miscellaneous stuff that they would probably need. He already had two sacks thrown over his shoulder, mostly food and their main kit. Now he was on the search for the last few items on the list.

He would restock his own personal provisions, but he hadn't the money for it. He figured they would be sharing whatever he had bought, so he brushed off the idea. That could wait. He continued through the market for sometime, picking up the miscellaneous items that was still needed. Once he had done so, he began trudging along to find the Inn Aryanne had instructed him to meet her. He checked the bit pouch she had given him and counted thirty-two bits left. A room would cost no less than ten.

"Perhaps I could restock my personals while we're here." He thought. He turned his head back towards the marketplace, and caught eye of a squadron of Royal Guards waving around a copy of the wanted poster with his name on it. Most of the ponies they were questioning shrugged in their ignorance, but one mare pointed in his general direction. Not him specifically, but it might as-well have been.

He turned around and picked up his pace, "So much for that idea."

He soon reached the Inn, having cut a few corners and down alleyways, he had gotten lost and turned around a few times, but he eventually just asked a passing towns-pony for directions. He had spoken truth. The building looked as all the others, the strange mix of English and main-land European Tudor. Though a few of the windows seemed of a bit more quality than that of the common houses, and the swinging sign with a barrel with steam lines rising out of it stood over the entrance. Blowing the nose out of his nose, preparing himself for the inevitable stares, drumming his fingers along the grip of his hidden blade, he pushed open the door and entered.

Most of the inhabitants took notice of him immediately as he entered and closed the door, trying to see past his hood and coat. Under the hood, Emil's eyes darted around the room, taking in the people and his surroundings. There was a bar with stools off to his right as soon as he entered, the rest of the area was comprised of tables, and booths hugging the other walls. A hall which led to rent rooms was in the middle of the far wall at the other end of the building. The room was mostly filled with ponies, some common folk, others travelers. But he did notice the small pack of griffons at on of the tables, they all wore a sailor outfit, black with gold trims in the hats and shirts. "Reminds me of our Navy." he thought. He also noticed a small pack of diamond dogs, about seven, occupying a few booths in the back giving him the eye.

He trudged over to the bar where he put his sacks down and sat on a stool chair, one that creaked when he did. He counted about five seconds before a brown earth-pony stallion, the bartender, came by.

"What can I get you stranger." He spoke in a baritone voice, lacking any fear of the hooded figure on the other side of the bar.

Emil opened with his usual question, "Got any wine."

The stallion shook his head, "Nope, can't say that we have any."

"I'll take the strongest Ale you have." The alcohol count in this world was nothing compared to that back home, he had never once got drunk off the strongest whiskey here, even after downing the whole bottle.

The stallion nodded and trotted down the bar towards the taps.

Emil sat there patiently waiting for his drink, and he soon found a mug of foaming beer before him. "Thank you." He told the stallion, who trotted off to service the other bar customers. Emil was there for awhile, enough to be on his fourth glass when he hear the sickliest voice he had heard in a long time speak up from behind him.

"Oy, you wouldn't happen' ta know about this thing?"

A paw soon slammed the wanted poster in front of him on the bar. Emil, having about to raise the glass up to drink, turned his head slightly to see a large, tan diamond dog standing over him, or, at least to his height as he was seated.

"No, can't say I do, Mutt." Emil said.

The diamond dog narrowed his eyes but a dark grin crept across his face, "Ohhh, ya here that lads? This mutant monkey wants ta make himself look like some kinda' badarse." There was hoarse laughter all around him, he was cornered. "But we all know he just a' little piece of shite that had ta' kill a weak little pony since he couldn't grow the balls to kill anything else. Well, I know a certain Princess that's willin' ta' pay a pretty price for ya'. She said alive," The dog at this point was right up against the darkness of the hood, "...but she didn't specify the condition, ey?" He heard a blade get drawn, and through sheer reflex, he smashed the glass mug in his hand against the face of the dog questioning him.

He picked up the stool he was sitting in and smashed it against another dog that was coming in with a knife, he stumbled and fell back into another table. He quickly threw his fist into another on his left. One managed to slice his coat on his right with a sword, he felt the sting of the blade contacting his arm. He could play like that too. The same dog tried to come down for another swing, but Emil rushed him and blocked the arm of the dog holding it, and proceeded to kick him in the gut, making it stagger back.

He looked around, all six dogs, excluding the once bleeding out on the floor with glass in his face, had circled around him on all sides. None of them moved, waiting for the first move by Emil, who chose this opportunity to unbutton his coat, revealing his uniform underneath, and with an, hopefully, intimidating slowness, pulled his service sword free of it's sheath. The steel shimmering in the light of the tavern, the blade itself easily larger than any of the swords and scimitars the dogs wielded. He held it to his side, blade down, as if to tell the dogs to come at him. And they did.

One dog, the one that had scored the lucky hit on his arm, charged him, blade raised, and tried to slice him across the chest. Emil easily parried it and knocked it off to the side, punching the dog in the throat. Another one charged and the same followed, he parried the attack and brought his sword back down, slicing the dog's arm off. He knew dogs had weak bone joints. The dog howled in pain as he fell to the floor, clutching his shoulder as blood pooled out at an alarming rate. The other dogs looked on in fear, then rage as they all charged him at once. Emil pulled his dagger and took a defensive stance. All the dog's attacks were erratic and of little thought, Emil blocked them easily even with his small service knife.

Most of the pony customers had fled the tavern or were taking cover behind the bar or flipped tables. But, the group of griffons looked on with clear amusement. Griffons hated dogs, almost as much as they hated ponies, so watching a gang of seven getting their asses handed to them by one human was rather entertaining.

After throwing a dog into a table, the dog smashing through it, sending wood and splinters everywhere, Emil blocked the overhead swing a dog tried to cheaply get off while he was distracted; he pushed up, staggering the dog, and sunk his knife into it's gut. He let it fall back with the knife in it's stomach as he parried the sword of another dog, slicing it across the chest.

There was a moment of stillness, the last three remaining dogs where battered and beaten, having already tasted Emil's fists or blade, they stopped to catch their breath. Emil had only received the one cut, and a bruise on the leg. He watched them from behind the hood.

Then, in one last desperate attempt to spare themselves...they dropped their weapons and bolted out the door. Whimpering and whining like kicked puppies, which they were.

Emil sighed, finally able to get a moment to catch his breath, he had been out of breath as much as the dogs had, he was just better at concealing it.

He sheathed his sword and looked around at the dead dogs on the ground, blood was splattered across the floor; broken, often bloody tables were scattered around the area they had been fighting, and the occupants of the tavern were just now getting up from behind cover. Well, except for the griffons, who were smiling and golf clapping at the performance.
The door suddenly opened, the outside light pouring in.

Emil turned his head to find Aryanne standing in the doorway of the Inn, a vicious look on her face. She closed the door and marched up to the human. "I thought I told you to try not to get into trouble." She said through clenched teeth.

Emil raised a brow behind the hood, "Trouble? What trouble?" He turned at walked towards the dead dog with a dagger in it's chest, "If you are refering to these mutts", He yanked the dagger out of it place, spraying some blood as he did so, "... they proved to be little of it."

Aryanne looked around at all the dead dogs littering the floor, she lifted her hoof up in mild disgust, it having been in a pool of red blood. "I...can see that."

Emil cleaned his dagger and re-sheathed it. "Did you get a ship?" He asked her simply as he made his way back to the bar, Aryanne following.

"Yes, a griffon ship, the Talos." She said hushed, not wanting anyone to over-hear. "It will depart soon, we should probably get going.”

Emil nodded and retrieved the sacks of supplies, he reached into his pocket and placed the bag of thirty-two bits on the bar. "Sorry for the mess. Hope this will cover it." He looked around at all the ponies and griffons in the room, "And we were never here." He addressed them all, in which they all nodded in response, mostly from fear.

He looked down to the mare besides him,"Let's go. Before the Guard shows up."

They left the bodies to rot.

Chapter 4: Moving Forward [Unedited]

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As the night settled in, everyone used this time to go over their kit, and wash both themselves and their uniforms. A line of tunics were strung up on a thick piece of rope between two trees and the men gathered around the general area outside their pup-tents, clad in their white undershirts and jeep caps. It had gotten quite chilly outside with the coming of nighttime, and had abandoned making the smaller, more personal fires in favor of a larger one, which they now huddled around as they ate their supper. They didn’t know if there were Germans in this forest, but if there were the fire would hopefully be small enough to not be noticeable from a distance, especially with the sheer thickness of the foliage. They highly doubted there were however. Lieutenant Castillo had taken to eating out by the river, hoping to have some peace and quiet in this time as so to clear his head and devise a plan. So far, moving along the river was still the best solution he could come up with, but it was extremely risky if there were krauts here, no doubt they would be using the river for the same reasons they were. But it was much better than wandering aimlessly through the impossible thickness of the forest.

The compass bugged him, maybe even scared him, he didn’t know much about the natural way of things, but he knew enough about compasses to know how they worked, and for his to get so out of place as to start spinning like that, he didn't really have an explanation. The foliage that made up the forest sent doubts through his mind they they were in France. The way the tree bark peeled and smelled, the ferns, leaves, and even the few flowers they had encountered were not of the ecosystem of France, or anywhere on Earth even, well, perhaps in the Amazon, but then how would hey have gone from Europe to South America?

He stuck a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed it slowly, food supply was also on his mind, his troop only had their twenty-four hour meals, of which they had already eaten dinner and supper, they had but breakfast left, as they had eaten at the local canteen before marching off. They needed to get back to friendly territory before food runs scarce. Of course, they could always catch some game, he had seen a rabbit once during their march through the trees, but he couldn’t rely on one sighting to feed his entire platoon. And he sure as hell wasn't going to trust any of the plants to eat. This made him favor the plan of following the river, they could easily catch some small fish and prawn he had seen swimming about down stream. Surely the fish couldn’t be as bad as the forest their river resides in.

His headache had mostly gone away at least, perhaps he just needed to eat. None of his men liked wearing the masks, he didn't like it much either, but he had ordered them to keep them on just to be safe. They took them off of course to eat. Placing down his can of packet meat he took a bite out of a cracker biscuit from his B-Unit. That’s when he heard walking up behind him, and soon Brown was seated next to him, a cup of coffee in his hands.

“What do you need Corporal?” Castillo asked him.

Brown shook his head, “Just needed some time to clear my head.”

Castillo nodded, “We’re definitely in this shit of it right now, this whole place had my head turned around.”

Brown swirled his coffee, nodding his head lazily.

"How's your head."

"It could be better, still got a bit of throbbing."

"What about the others?"

"I wouldn't know, I'd be willing to say about the same for every man here."

"Well wouldn't be wrong in my case." Castillo gave a light chuckle, if only to kill the sour mood.

They were silent for sometime, Castillo continued his eating.

"I came to ask for Summer's dog tags." Brown said suddenly.

Castillo said nothing as he finished his meal, then looked across the river, “You seem to be taking Summers death pretty well.” He looked over to Brown who took as sip of his coffee. “I know you too were close even before the war.”

“We grew up in the same town together, parted ways after my family moved to Kansas." Another sip, "Went back to my hometown in Iowa to visit my Grandparents. We meet up at the old diner we used to get soda from, we didn't have a fancy pharmacy you see.” He swirled his coffee, “He helped me a-lot during our deployment. Almost got separated a lot too. Lose more riflemen than gunners I suppose. And then were were assigned to your platoon, together again, and now we’re here. I’m still alive and kicking, and he’s five feet under, worm meat.” He shook his head.

Castillo put a hand on his shoulder, “Look Brown, there’s a reason the Army tells you, warns you, not to enlist with friends and family, at least in the same company. That’s why they separate brothers into different regiments, hell, even battalions. Cause shit like this will happen, and it does happen. You loose your brothers, whether it be in arms, or by blood. People die in war, there is noting pretty about it and though some might try to tip-toe around it, many people give the ultimate sacrifice to serve their country. We're just soldiers, small pawns in the big game, here to follow orders and carry out the deed. But in doing so, we protect the ones back home, our family, our friends.” He took his hand off his shoulder and looked back over the river.

Brown said nothing, thinking on his words, “Is that why you buried those Krauts?” he finally asked.

Castillo looked back to him, “You can’t blame them. Their just like us, pawns. Yes, they killed. But so do we. I don’t agree with anything the Germans have done in the last few years, they started this damn war. And I would like nothing more than a bullet that Hitler bastards head. But if you let rage, and hatred consume you on the battlefield, it doesn't matter who you aim it at, you're in the wrong.” He said calmly, but the hard look in his eyes showed he meant every word.

Brown shook his head, “Not many of the others feel the same way Lieutenant. Myself being one of them.” He was silent for a moment, “About the tags.”

Castillo was silent for a moment, then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of shiny dog-tags. He handed it to Brown, who took it slowly, glaring at them with a fierce look in his eye.

Castillo blew the air out his nose, “I’ve fought enough to know that hating doesn’t get you anywhere Brown. It also doesn’t help to blame yourself over the people that are dead, those that are dearest to us. The best you can do keep moving forward, if only for them. Now go get some rest, we march out in the morning, tell the sergeants to get a rotation in order.”

Brown placed the tags in his pocket and nodded, “Yes sir.” He stood up and walked away.

"And Brown."

He stopped mid-step and looked back at the Lieutenant.

"I'm going to need those tags back once we get out of here. Got to report in the casualties. I can get them back to you after, alright?"

Brown nodded and continued on his way.

Castillo just stared into the night. It was hard, trying to contain all the anger and hatred he had bottled up inside himself, but it’s whats kept him sane, and it’s whats kept his men alive.

Most of them at least.

A full night's sleep behind them, their tunics dried, their guns greased, and stomachs full with breakfast, Castillo’s platoon marched down along side the bank of the river as they avoided the wood. They moved faster alongside the clear banks of the river, though more often than not a tree or bush grew alongside the bank, their roots collecting from the endless abundance of water the river offered them. The sun had just given the slightest sign of rising and the moon falling, they were moving at a much faster pace than back home, but at least it wasn't a rapid plummet over the horizon with a swift replacement as it had been the day before. No, this time, the sky was lighten by the bright warm colors of dawn as the twilight was driven out, retreating with the falling moon before it was lost over the treetops. It was peaceful. To some overbearingly so. One had come to feel two ways about the lack of loud noises in the army, you either embrace it whilst you can, or you pray it goes away, silence is never a good sign.

Lee was not one of those people, he enjoyed his peace and quiet when he could, if they were stationary he could be writing right about now, but he could settle for listening to the flow of the water, and the chirping of the early morning birds. He often had to step over a large root that crept towards the riverbank, and he almost tripped on what he could only assume to be a rabbit hole, thankfully Davis had been there to catch him.

“Careful there Lee, watch where your stepping.” He said through his mask.

Lee unlodged his foot from the hole and kicked some dirt into it, “Why do these damn rabbits always have to nest where it the least convenient for us? This is the second time this month I’ve almost lost my ankle to a random hole in the ground. These damn masks don't help.” He huffed.

Davis chuckled, “Not like any person in their right mind would come wandering out here.”

“So what does that say about us?”

“That we’re damn near fucking crazy.”

They both chuckled as they caught up with the platoon, “So how’s your head? You seem to have got cooled that hot-head of yours.” Lee said beside him.

Davis nodded, “My head isn’t killing me as much anymore if that’s what your asking, we were probably all just tired, hungry, and I for one ain’t afraid to admit I was scared back there.”

Lee nodded, “Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.”

Davis grinned, “So what about you? You feeling okay?”

Lee gave a sad smile, “About as good as I can be. Been thinking about Summers a-bit though.”

“Look Lee, I already told you it’s not your—” Davis was cut off mid-sentence when Lee bought his hand up.

“I know, I know. The Lieutenant would say the same thing. But I'm not thinking about him specifically, just the whole situation is all."

Davis raised a brow, not that you could see it through the mask, “The situation?”

"We should have know better.”

Davis said nothing.

Castillo suddenly threw up his hand and they halted, he pointed down and they dropped. There was a solid set of trees growing along the bank before them with some shrubs alongside them. Everyone crept up slowly to where Castillo was peaking around a tree trunk through the shrubbery. Lee and Davis slid up next to Brown and Wilson to get a look at whatever they had stopped for.

“The hell is it? Krauts?” Grauer asked hushed from behind them all, resting the useless radio on the ground.

Castillo lightly shook his head, “I don’t know what they here are.”

The men held varying expressions at the creatures before them, some wide eyed in surprise, others squinting in disbelief, and Herrera may have been too curious for his own good. Some ways away from them, were a pack of about seven dog-like or, at least they all looked dog-like things. Their bodies seemed to be made up crudely of sticks and twigs, large hollow logs formed the head, and fierce green and yellow glowing eyes were embedded into their skulls. They all drank from the river, their heads almost fully emerged within the water, shifting their back legs to keep balance.

“The fuck are those things?” Wilson asked.

Castillo kept watching them carefully, “I don’t have the slightest clue. Herrera?”

“Why the hell are you asking me? I’m a medic, not a biologist. All I can tell you is that they look canine or even feline related, and their bodies seem to be made of a hardwood of crude sticks stuck together.” He could tell this with the binoculars he was holding.

“So, they're wolfs made of wood?” Garcia asked, skeptical.

“Unless somebody took a bunch of poor dogs and tarred them with sticks and shoved bulbs in their eyes, then yes.”

“That’s the most bullshit thing I’ve ever heard.”

Castillo looked back to him, “We are literally lost in a fucking dark forest made up of the sickest trees I've seen in my life, my compass spins like a goddamn merry-go-round, and the moon falls out of the sky. I think this world could do with a little bit more bullshit.”

All the Timberwolves suddenly lifted their heads from the river, water leaking out their closed mouths and turned to approach the treeline. Everyone ducked as they turned, hoping they didn't smell them. Their bodies reeked of sweat from the marching, and the morning was warm, the air thick. The wolfs gave some growling, and a few snaps of the jaw, then they scurried off into the unknown. Lee was the first the raise above the large tree root that grew next to the shrubs where he rested his head against, he held his rifle ready to draw, and peaked through the breaking in the leaves. That's when he gazed right into those terrible yellow eyes. A wolf had apparently stayed behind, curiously staring around as his pack moved ahead, his head must have just been swiveling towards their direction when it made eye contact with his, but that was all it was, they meet eyes.

They stared for a few seconds, but it felt eternal to Lee, like looking down the barrel of a gun, the only thing between you and the Almighty. The wolf growled, its wooden chops rising to show its jagged wooden teeth, and turned and sprinted off. Lee let go of the breath he was holding.

"What the hell..." Lee muttered. Perhaps it was more fearful of them than they were of the pack. A bunch of grown men with guns and gas masks can be a pretty intimidating sight.

Castillo poked his head through the shrubs a few moment after he saw Lee do so, and stood up fully.

"All clear, let's move." Castillo ordered.

They got to their feet and were on their way. Lee doing his best to forget the eyes staring into his soul a moment ago.

Sergeant Miller took his knife away from the tree and cleaned it on a ripped piece of cloth. The tree leaked with the initials, "U.S". The smelly sap glowing slightly in the darkness, making the men glad that they were still wearing the masks. Everywhere around them the forest seemed to consume them, miles and miles of thicket, the darkness of the trees and bushes were like that out of a horror novel. They should surely be lost, but those initials shone like a beacon through the darkness, they knew the way back. Miller went forwards once again, his squad behind him.

They were on the hunt for, well, something.

"It doesn't matter, be it a rabbit or a deer, we need something to give the men." He had told him. So here they were, moving as silent as one could through the rugged foliage. The sun was readying to set by the few glimpses of the open sky through the leaves of the trees.

Sergeant, I think I saw something off to the right." He heard Davis call behind him.

The all took cover behind some trees. Davis peaked and signaled movement with his fingers, and distance.

Miller peaked around the tree and spotted a silhouette moving a few hundred yards behind the trees. Davis sure had a sharp eye.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, it's just a shadow from this far out, but I saw something moving."

Davis took out his scope and secured it to his Springfield, he brought it up.

"It's a deer sir, a buck."

"Damn our luck, can you hit it from here?"

Davis said nothing, then he pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out and echoing throughout the forest.

"Got it sir." He said as he ejected the smoking casing.

"Good work corporal, lets go get our kill and head on back to camp, we'll be eating good tonight." He looked to Lee, "Stay here while we grab it, we'll be heading back to camp once we do."

Lee saluted, and leaned up against a tree, keeping a look out as the Davis and Miller moved to secure their kill. It was risky taking it, that shot must have been heard form miles around. He was just hoping no Germans would be close enough to hear it. If there was anyone else even in this God forsaken place.

A chill suddenly went down his spine, he suddenly felt he was being watched. He looked around at his dark surroundings, there was a rank odor, one that the mask failed to filter, one even worse than that came from the tree sap.

"Lee, check out the rack on this one—the hell is that smell?"

Lee shook his head, "I have no idea, "He took in his surroundings once again, "I think it would be wise to get back to camp, I've got a bad feeling."

"Doesn't everyone?"

The dusk had settled a calm upon the forest, a breeze blew every so gently, and the clouds glided slowly across the orange sky as the sun set. It had been non-stop marching for the past few hours, and only now had they taken to resting, and only resting. Castillo was still pondering whether they should continue on for the rest of daylight, it would be a waste after all, but, they had found another nice clear area along the bank to camp. These were rare he knew, having only seen the one they had camped prior. And so the men sat around on fallen logs or where a bit of soft grass grew along the treeline. They had all removed their webbing and knapsacks, and their weapons leaned against logs and the trunks of trees. They were hungry as well, having eaten their last rations this morning, and had already consumed what they had saved. Sergeant Miller and his squad had gone into the forest to hunt and forage for something to cook and hopefully not poison the entirety of the platoon.

There was some rustling to revival Sergeant Miller, a decent sized buck on his back, followed by Lee and Davis, Grauer had stayed behind with the radio.

The men crowded around them, the buck being taken to skin.

"Seems like you found us supper and then some sergeant. Hell, if only we had some salt we'd have three days rations just off this thing." Castillo patted the buck.

"Thanks to Davis, him and his sharp eye." Miller chuckled, patting Davis on the back.

"Was nothing sir."

Miller chuckled again, "I bet it wasn't, he nailed the sucker at a couple hundred yards through the trees. If that ain't something."

The men ate well. Lee didn't mention the smells.

It had been a few hours since the nighttime settled in, guard rotations had been assigned to the men to take watch, Lee had been assigned for the third hour rotation. He had taken It had been hard to focus with his headache, but he would pull through. He sat against a tree on the right side of camp, a small fire burning before him, just enough to give him some light, and keep him warm in the seemingly freezing temperatures this place had dropped to during the night. It was supposed to be summer, but he wasn't complaining, he preferred the cold. All the years if California heat had made him grow fond of the chillier degrees. He had taken his mask off, it didn't seem to be helping much anyways, and he had noticed a smell a-mist the air; it was a strange smell, one of earth and the vegetation of the forest, and the stench of sulfur.

His fire flickered as a slight breeze blew from the river, the luminescent yellow light around him flickering around with it. The sounds of the forest dominated his hearing, as did the the soft following of the river. The stars were fully visible, hundreds of thousands of them could be seen accompanied by the beautiful glowing moon. It was intolerably quiet; and he gripped his Garand tighter because of it.

"Christ, what the hell are we doing here..." He said to himself softly, sighing after it. Lee took out his small notebook and pencil. Nobody but him knew what he wrote in there, not even Davis, no-one even knew where he got the damn thing, but that wasn't really important, the others were usually too busy trying not to get shot most of the time to really care. But right now, he needed to clear his head, even if it meant slacking off on duty, the Lieutenant would understand, hopefully. At-least the deer had been good.

He didn't know how long he had been writing, not long, as he had not been switched out yet; but he was broken from his trance at the sound of some shifting bushes to his right.

And a similar, horrible stench.

He looked up, scanning the area the rusting had come from while trying his best not to gag; he put the book and pencil back in their proper pocket and stood, rifle in hand. More rustling. He readied his rifle, pointed towards the area of the sounds, and took a few short steps forward. Finger on the trigger ring, ready to react.

He noticed the silhouette of something, and vicious those glowing eyes.

His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to call the alarm, but Lee was shocked to stillness as the creature came into the light. It was the same wolf of wood that had seen him through the bushes. Big and bulky, it reached up to his chest, its eyes pierced the darkness, and the stench it produced smelt of wet leaves and rotting wood, though also that of feces and rotting meat. It was absolutely horrible.

It growled loudly, and time seemed to slow as it leaped towards him, mesmerized by those beaming yellow eyes; in a fit of panic, he unloaded his entire clip into the beast. The shots echoing for miles around, and the flashes lighting up the dark world around him. He could have sworn he hit it, he thought he could see splinters fly and sap flow. But the large wolf, the alpha, was still soon upon him, it's huge wooden paws reached out and swiped.

Then pain.

Chapter 5: One After Another

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They had been following the trail for some time now, and they knew they were getting close. It had been a few days hunting these damn things, and it was really starting to become a real thorn in her side. But orders were orders, and if it was for the betterment and ensured safety of her fellow ponies, and the town, then, well, she could go on forever if need be. She readjusted the arm on her back, and flipped the cap up out of the way of her eyes, as it was a bit big on her, to give her better visibility. Not that there was much to see at the moment. After all, the Everfree was not known for its visual charm.

It had been the same thing going on for miles and miles. Getting lost in here would be real hell, and for a lesser pony, just by being here would have them struggling to hold on to their sanity. But not them. They marched on through the foliage, following the tracks in the mud. They had a mission, and she'd give up her wings before she killed her streak.

The platoon eventually came across a clearing, there was a pungent smell in the air, and a few small carcasses laid about.

"Welp, colts and fillies, looks like we found their nest." She said, her platoon-mates nodded.

They slowly moved into the clearing, ready for anything that would see to pop out and surprise them. Nothing did. The moon was still high in the sky, they still had time.

"Seems they've gone out on a hunt." One of her troopers said.

"And in multiple directions." Another one pointed out that there were, in fact, multiple trails branching off in different directions. She knew this pack was tricky, they seemed to have caught on to the presence of their hunters, and it didn't help that they were smart as hell. These had even gone as far as to cover their trials at some points, sifting them into the dirt; but they always found them again, and the hunt continued.

"Well, looks like we'll either have to choose one or sit here and wait." She said.

"I don't think that would be a great idea, ma'am." One of her support troopers stated. The others nodding their agreement.

She nodded, "Yeah, I suppose not. Alright troops! Let's dig in, hopefully, the bastards will come back just in time for us to show em' what happens when you mess with The First!"

Her troops saluted and began finding positions best suited for them to wait out until the pack's return. It had proved to be getting quite chilly during the night now, even back in town, where the weather was controlled and regulated, the temperature had started dropping slowly, but steadily. Not many of her ponies had a problem with the cooler temperatures, mainly her brawny earth pony troopers; but she, with her light frame, found the chill nipping at her wings. So she tightened the uniform around her, and, pulling off her bags, threw out her standard coat, wrapping the thick wool coat around her frame.

She sighed as she laid against the trees, the coat breaking the wind and chill she had. Not to mention she always thought it looked good on her, the grey a good contrast to her mane and fur.

"You going to be okay there Major?"

She turned to find her Sergeant there, settling his rifle between the branches of two trees, the sight flipped up and aimed.

"As good as I'm going to get Bristle."

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the sight.

There was silence for a long time. She had zoned out as she fell into her routine scout mode, watching the trees all around them for anything. Wolf or not. This forest had tons of weirder, and more dangerous, creatures her platoon had to be on the lookout for as well.

The sudden echo of a gunshot off to her right broke her trance—another came, and another. They could not have been more than a few miles off.

"What in Tartarus is that?" Sergeant Bristle asked, "Doesn't sound like any gun I've heard before."

There were multiple shots going off now, all from different sources. It was like someone was having a firefight.

"Who the heck would be out here right now? And with that many guns?"

She shook her head, "I have no clue. But it can't be anything good." She stood up, shaking her great coat free of leaves and loose dirt. "Platoon! On me!" They all filed out into the clearing again.

"Orders Major?" A trooper stood towards her.

She listened to the gunfire a few seconds longer until it ceased. "Come on, we're going to see who's out in the forest at this time, and why the hell they have so many guns." She slung her rifle over her barrel, securing it to her back.

Her platoon shared salutes and followed up behind her as they marched towards forwards through the thicket. Then there was suddenly a bright glow in the distance, a brightness that suddenly pierced the darkness of the forest. Her eyes widened, and she broke out into a full-blown gallop. "Double time ponies!" She wished she could fly, but all the damn branched would ensure her meeting wood and earth no matter how good she was at flying.

They followed the light, a plume of black smoke rising above the trees in the distance confirmed her worries.

The large wolf threw its body into Lee, slashing at him with its claws and snapping with its jaw. He fell onto his back, the wind knocked out of him as the wolf pressed its forelegs into his chest, the knife-like claws sinking in, and put all it's weight forwards in hopes of breaking his rib cage. He kicked at, what seemed to be, the wolf's stomach and abdomen, hoping to throw it off, but to no avail. He grit his teeth at the immense pressure on his chest. It brought its head down to look at him, its face twisted by the structure of the twigs and leaves that made it up, and its breath rank of rot. Time seemed to slow for him as he lay there, hypnotized by the eyes staring back at him; why it had not ripped out his throat yet he didn't know. Perhaps it was toying with him, letting him feel that he had been bested by a wild animal. He was pretty sure that if animals could gloat, this one would be doing it right in his face as it prepared to crush his chest and stab his heart. It hurt from the amount of adrenaline it was pumping.

He wasn't going to have it, no. He reached for his knife. Just as he felt the thing get ready to end it, he plunged the blade into the side of the things head. There was a sudden crack, and the wolf's head exploded into a mess of wood and sap. The body fell lifelessly atop him, trapping him under its sheer mass. He grunted as it did, his hand still holding onto the knife as it stuck into the remains of the alpha's head.

"Lee!" He heard over the now noticeable hail of gunfire sounding off. The rest of the platoon finally seemed to have gotten their acts together and were currently lighting up the forest, which was infested with Timberwolves.

His hand went limp on its grip, lost as the pain overran his brain as the adrenaline wore off. There was a familiar warmness pooling below him. He felt colder, his vision blurry. Davis fell next to him, Herrera and the Lieutenant falling close behind, rolling the body off him. They winced when they saw the condition of their comrade.

"Fix him up as best you can, we'll give you cover," Castillo said to Herrera, who nodded, before moving on to get the men in order.

"Don't talk, try to breathe steady," Herrera ordered, moving to work on his multiple wounds.

There was silence between the three of them, killed only by the resounding gunfire accompanies with the whines and howls of the wolves that had seen them as supper. Oh, how they proved them wrong.

Lee looked on to see that Wilson had restarted the fire, basking the area in a much-needed light, and Brown was holding a rather large, burning branch in his hand, his B.A.R gripped by its handle in the other, it's barrel smoking.

"Let's burn out the bastards!" He yelled as he chucked the branch into the thicket, catching some of the dry leaves and twigs with it. More followed suit. The few timberwolves still hiding in the brush were burned out, crying and whining as their wooden bodies were set ablaze. Their sap was flammable apparently. Dripping from the holes being burnt into them and catching more of the forest ablaze. Lee couldn't help but grin as he watched the spectacle as time seemed to slow around him once more. The forest burned.

It was an absolutely beautiful sight.

Lee’s vision blurred, his hearing deafened, and his eyelids shut. This was it.

The fire started to die down not long after Lee lost consciousness. An area had been burned out, leaving only the crooked, burnt remains of the trees and the scorched earth behind. They had managed to quickly collect all their kit and equipment and move them closer to the bank of the river before it could all catch, thankfully. But that wasn't the first thing on his mind right now, or on the minds of any of his men for that matter. They were all huddled around Herrera and Davis, of whom were knelt down next to Lee's body.

"We managed to stop the bleeding and set his arm, but he's got a few broken ribs and some internal bleeding from what I can tell. I'm afraid there is nothing I can do for him now." Herrera motioned towards the forest surrounding them. He glanced at Davis, who had been silent for the most part, with a sorrowful look.

"You did what you could Herrera." Castillo said, taking off his helm, his brown hair slick with sweat, "The least we can do is ensure he doesn't die in vain." The others nodded sadly.

Davis finally spoke, "You make it sound like he's already dead."

Castillo shook his head, "Look around you, Corporal. We're lost in God knows where in some damn forest where wood comes alive and kills my men! Lee is dying son, and he'll be dead before sunrise."

Davis rounded on him, looking him in the eyes, "Not if we get him out of here first."

"And just how do you suggest we get out of here before he bleeds out Corporal?"

"We stick to the plan sir, we keep following the river."

"And how will that stop his bleeding?"

Davis said nothing.

She crept up through the brush, the fire she had seen before had seemingly already died down to barely a few flickers, a huge spot burned into the overgrown greenery of the forest. She couldn’t hear her platoon creep up beside her. Good, least they weren't getting sloppy. Silently moving up towards the edge of the thicket, pulling back some branches, she peaked through, mixed feeling swelling in her chest at what she saw.

It was a camp. A line of small green pup tents were pitched by the bank, along with equipment strewn about, seemingly moved in a hurry. A fire pit burned, lighting the immediate area, but her face still enshadowed by the heavy brush, and there was a large pile of timberwolf corpses, those that seemingly hadn't the chance to break apart. She had only seen bullets do so.

But what really racked her mind, was the group of uniformed bipeds that were gathered at the far end of the bank. They were armed, and defiantly human—but she had never seen any humans with uniforms like those before.

Chase crept up to her side, the Lieutenant squinting to see through the darkness, "Are those..."

"Humans. Armed ones, and they don't look like any of ours." She whispered.

"But, how?"

She shook her head. And looked on, intent on watching the strange humans for a bit longer. They seemed to be on high alert, likely from the timberwolves that had attacked them if the pile was anything to go on, and she didn't know if she should smile or scowl as two of them lifted the mangled body of the alpha dog and carelessly tossed it onto the mound.

"Why are they all huddled up?"

"Don't know, they're probably spooked after the wolves attacked."

Chase nodded, "I noticed it too." Eyeballing the mound of wood and sap.

There was a sudden upstart amongst the group, one of the humans standing to face another. She tuned in on some of the dialogue thrown about; they were defiantly military.

She backed away from the brush, falling back towards her platoon, Chase in tow.

Her ponies held about, waiting for her return and their coming orders.

"The pack's dead." She said.

They all looked to her, some with smiles on their faces, "So that's it then?" one asked.

"No," Their smiles fell, "We've got another situation on our hands." She began dropping her bags and unnecessary kit on the ground, and let her wings stretch out and do a few instinctive flaps.

"Situation?" Bristle raised a brow.

She nodded, "Humans. I counted eleven of em', most are armed. And they sure don't look like the others."

Bristles eyes widened, "Humans? But I thought—"

"Apparently not. They're wearing uniforms, weird ones. I couldn't recognize their weapons."

"What are we going to do?"

She placed her cap back on her head, having removed it to brush back her mane of the sweat it had collected, "I want squad's one and two in the brush, be ready for anything. Squad three, up in the clouds, I want eyes on them at all times. I'm going out."

Chase's eyes widened, "Are you nuts?!"

She scowled at the mare behind her, "We have no idea who these people are, or why they're here. We can't attack them outright. If anything, they did us a service by wiping out that damned pack. If they try anything, gun em' down. Simple as that." She marched up to her and stuck her face in hers. "And I don't want to be hearing any fucking lip again from you. Are we understood Lieutenant?" She stated calmly, but she might as well be putting them on the chopping block.

"Y-Yes ma'am! Won't happen again ma'am!" Chase replied stock still.

"Good. Alright ponies, squad up and move it!"

Davis scowled at his commanding officer, the one he trusted with his life, the one they all trusted, the one they looked to for guidance every day they were in this shit, the one they could all consider family, had told him to forget it. He didn't think he could hate anyone more than he did the man before him. Even his platoon mates didn't make a peep, seemingly agreeing with the Lieutenant. The Germans he didn't know, they were nameless to him, meaningless to him; but this man, these men he thought brothers—he knew. And that's what angered him the most.

He looked back at Lee's barely breathing body as he lay there in the dirt, hanging on to life by a thread, who could be mere minutes away from death, and fought back a tear. He picked up his rifle off the ground and pushed past the men and marched towards the pile of wood that was once living. None followed him. He took out his Zippo, doused them with all the fluid it had, and struck a match.

He sat down, content on watching them burn. He had failed, and his face streaked with his guilt.

Another face revealed itself from behind the flame.

The human was crying.

She didn't know how to go about this, the pile had been far enough that she could sneak behind it and not be seen. But when it suddenly lit up, a human having come to sit by it, she knew that her plan of sneaking up would be folly. She moved out from behind the flames, but she wasn't expecting to see the human, his hands over his mouth, tears streaming down his lean cheeks. She had found another opportunity had revealed itself, and she was going to take it.

The human had not reacted, not really, to her reveal. He sat there, his mouth agape, staring at her. It was all very anti-climatic.

She cleared her throat, might as well start the act, "Do you speak Equestrian?" She asked him simply.

The human took off his helmet shakily, revealing his buzzed short hair, and blinked, "I-I..."

She was starting to get a bit annoyed by the lack of communication so far, "Look—"

And...there was a gun at her head.

The human had drawn a pistol on her faster than she could blink, the coolness of the metal colliding with the warmth of her fur. Her facial expression didn't change, she wasn't afraid, this man would be dead before he could squeeze the trigger.

"Don't you fucking move." He said, almost in a whisper.

"Does talking count?" She asked sarcastically.

"You're a fucking talking green horse..."

She raised a brow.

"First we end up in the middle of some forest straight out of Hell, then we get attacked by some fucking living wood, and now a god damned talking horse just strolls on in like nothing fucking happened!" He yelled, more to himself really, and he was crying again for some reason.

She found herself quite confused at his ramble, seems they had never seen a pony before.

"Davis, what the hell is going on—" Brown paused as he caught sight of the small equine with a gun to its head. "What the fuck is that?"

"I'm a pegasus. What? Never seen a pegasus before?" She made to show her wings, but she felt the barrel of the pistol force itself harder against her noggin.

Brown backed away, "Lieutenant!"

Castillo, along with his two sergeants, came rushing over. Their reaction were as you would expect.

"I'm honestly not surprised at this point."Castillo shook his head.

"When you all are done gawking, I'm here for a reason." She said, annoyance tracing her tongue.

Castillo raised a brow.

"I've never seen humans like you lot before. I found my curiosity to get the better of me."

Castillo shook his head, then nodded, "What the hell? Not like this day can get any shittier. First we get fucked in the middle of the night, now I'm down a man." Castillo simply had to look at Davis for him to holster his Colt, before marching away towards were Herrera was overseeing Lee. The others having caught on to the situation and crowded the strange creature that had spawned out of the forest. He couldn't care less.

He sat next to Herrera, who was watching the strangely clothed pony from his place next to the mat he had moved Lee unto. "We're all going to go insane at this rate."

Davis said nothing.

"He's going to be fine Davis, don't stress over it."

He sighed when Davis said nothing.

He didn't know how long there were like that, sitting in silence as they watched Lee slowly breath out his bloody nose, field dressing worn around his head and torso. It all seemed for once, so peaceful. If there was one thing about the forest at night, it was the peace that he liked. Lee was just the same.

There was a sudden, bright red light that was shot into the air, enlightening the sky as the flare burned through the clouds. Shot off from behind him. Herrera said something, and he heard something land hard behind him.

He turned slowly to face whatever had dropped behind him, finding another pony there. It's uniform and helm looking quite familiar...he suddenly found the need to kill it.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

The pistol was in his hand, it's barrel smoking, the pony down on the ground, and he could almost hear the casing hit the ground before a bullet hit him. There was lots of yelling. He fell hard.

He never took his eyes away from his dying friend as he lay in the dirt.

At least they'd go together.

Chapter 6: Through the Eyes of the Enemy

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Beyond the border of the Everfree forest two men stood watch. All was silent but the soft whispers of the wind, and the leaves it took with it. In the darkness of the night they watched with trained eyes the dark foliage of the forest no sane creature would dare enter alone, least, any creature not human. There was a wide array of creatures that spawned within, deer and hare for example, but there was a reason this place was feared by the locals, within bred creatures that would see to ending you in ways that made your stomach churn just thinking about it. Mutants and magically altered specimens that would see nothing more than your body disemboweled so to eat you from the inside out. Horrid creations never thought possible by man, and ones that the ponies often found themselves facing everyday. It's a wonder a community had been able to thrive within the area of the Everfree, but it did—somehow. And they saw to keep it that way.

The crack and echo of a bullet broke out as it found it's mark just within the brush of the forest about forty yards away. Killing the silence seemingly never ending, and the two men thanked God for it; as did every pair of troopers as they stood up in their watchtowers. Never let anyone tell you silence is a good thing.

He racked back the bolt and the hot casing ejected from the chamber, hitting the wooden floor of the room with a metallic thunk. He brought down his rifle from the long narrow window slit and replaced the spent bullet with a fresh one. The man besides him busy surveying the remains of the Cockatrice he had reduced to paste.

"Damn good shot. Blew the poor thing right in half." His partner said, not taking his eyes away from the pair of binoculars he held up.

Cockatrices weren't known for their durable bodies, it almost felt like he wasted that bullet on such a small and pitiful thing, but seeing as he hadn't the chance to shoot something in months, and that it was his job to kill anything that wandered to close to the border, he found it just. Plus the damn things were just creepy, and he doubted anyone fancied being turned to stone.

"When have mine ever been anything else?" He inquired.

"Good point."

He leaned his rifle against the wooden corner beam of the tower and pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. They were beautiful gryphon things, imported at the price of the Royal Treasury. He opened the bronze tin and took a whiff. Absolutely beautiful he thought. He made to pull one but stopped his hand mid reach and frowned. Within were two finely spread and rolled cigarettes. Only two. The frown deepened as he remembered the delay they had been waiting out. Those damn turkeys were supposed to arrive three weeks ago with a shipment of many goods, ammunition and lube kits being the main assets, that and his cigarettes.

He stared at the tin for a while, probably a lot longer than he should have. Not like anything ever really happens, he thought. Shrugging, he pulled one of the brown beauties from it's place in the tin and brought it to his lips. Striking a match he lit the end and took a long draw on it, blowing out a cloud of white smoke to be carried off in the chilly winds. Autumn would be upon them soon. The ponies had already begun preparing for the coming weather. They would soon be ordered to join them, not that he and his comrades wished to partake in such strange and, unnatural, activities at first. But as the years went by he, as with every man here, in search of something to pass the time and ease the pain that came with the end of every year, found it all growing on them—and they found themselves excited to go. And what proud man could not look forward to the parades?

"Could you not?" His trance was broken by the man besides him. Turning, he found that his smoke had been carried into the face of his watch-partner, who was busy waving his hand before his face to disperse it.

"Sorry." He apologized bluntly, moving the cigarette in his mouth.

"It's bad enough I have to deal with the others. I would appreciate if I could keep that stuff away from me."

"I said sorry." He blew the smoke right out the slit to his right, the smoke drifting out this time. "How long until sunrise."

His partner looked back out into the forest, "Oh, four hours. Five at most."

"Wish we had a clock in here."

"You’re telling me. Why you want to know anyways?"

He took the bud out of his mouth and flicked it out the sill where it plummeted to the dark earth below. Pulling his last cigarette into his mouth he lit it, "Because I'm out of cigarettes." He answered bluntly, placing the now empty tin in a webbing pouch.

"Oh."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." He said before taking a much shorter draw, he wanted to savor this one.

"Can't you just get some more?"

He blew the smoke out, "Our shipment still hasn't come in."

"What? It's been three weeks."

"I know, that's why I'm pissed."

"I'm sure they have a reason."

"I'm sure too, but it better be a damn good reason."

"Why do we buy from them anyways?"

He huffed, "It's not like they make our damn ammo or anything."

"Bullets are easy. Besides, we cache enough out of the Everfree."

"Yeah? But what about the guns? You forget about those?"

"They're primitive, any Equestrian factory could make them."

"Equestria has factories?"

His partner said nothing.

He finally brought the cigarette to his mouth again and sucked in sweetly, "Besides," He blew the smoke, "It gives me and the others an excuse to get these babies for free. Nothing better than free stuff."

His partner honestly couldn't argue with that one either. "Well, you're still not supposed to smoke on duty."

He gave a deadpan stare at the man across from him, "Seriously?"

The man shrugged.

"Christ, you need to learn to lighten up Richard. I can't believe you still care for the small things."

"You know how strict the Colonel can get." Richard warned.

"The Colonels not here is he?"

"Well...no."

"Then get that stick out of your ass and calm down."

"Fuck you Don."

"Not until the Colonel get's his out of yours first."

Richard simply shook his head and took up the lenses again. Don grinned.

"You know Richard, you really should try and live a little. Learn to appreciate the little things."

"Like your cigarettes?"

"Yes."

"No thanks, I'd like to keep my lungs in tact. I'll take a beer any day."

He chuckled at that, "Keep the lungs, but take the liver."

"Hey! You can't tell me every man here ain't an alcoholic by now."

He shrugged, "I can name a few. Like that artist fellow. Good drawings he does."

"Hüller?"

"Yeah. That lucky bastard with the bike."

"I've seen him at the tavern before."

"He won't drink anything but cider though."

"Yeah."

They went quiet after that. This summed up the general conversations held by the pair when stuck in the tower, often they found themselves mentioning the habits and actions of their comrades in arms, discussing the goings of the ponies, or when they felt risky, to talk behind the backs of their superiors. All of which got old after awhile. It was boring. Those who had all these years ago, with the urge and feel of duty to fight and serve, would never had thought for a second that they would be stuck within a whole other realm of reality for so long as to eventually resort to belittling their superiors and getting into drunken brawls, if only for that little bit or a chance you may be caught and to get a slice of action.

Then you had the ponies in the First. At least they knew what they were getting into. Not that much of them really had a choice, you see.

He sighed as he took up his rifle, the cigarette still in his mouth, and sat on the small stool he had dragged up to relax his legs.

"You really shouldn't be sleeping on the job either." Richard said.

He gave his partner a glare.

Richard smirked, "Sorry if I do things by the book."

He said nothing as he rested his head against the wall of the tower and closed his eyes, taking little puffs on his smoke now and then. He wasn't tired really, there was not much he did on a daily basis that would make him feel drained, but his eyes were starting to get a bit heavy, and if it was pitch black outside, it was darker in the tower with little beams of moonlight creeping in through the narrow sills. That and the light from his cigarette. He couldn't say he was looking forwards to taking this last one, but hopefully those Birds would get here with their shipment soon, or he might just have to make a pit large enough—

There was a striking red flash that suddenly flooded the room, he threw open his eyes and gripped his rifle and looked out towards the source.

"That's not good..." Richard said, the binoculars away from his eyes, them wide in surprise.

He had to squint his to see out, but felt himself on edge when he spotted the cause.

"No. No it's not. Can you get down the cords?"

Richard moved quickly off to his right and opened a small compartment, revealing a map and a box of Mauser cartridges. Taking the map he looked back out to where the flare flickered and fell miles into the forest. He made a large mark on the map and gave it to him. Muttering 'Shit!' all the while.

"Here. Now go! I'll keep an eye here."

He took no time to open the hatch at the back of the room, revealing the ladder into the tower and the dark dirt below. He moved so fast it might have looked as if he just jumped down the hatch and when he felt the earth on his feet he let go of the ladder and sprinted through the complex. His equipment clattering as he ran he probably woke the entire base up. A guard making his rounds tried to stop him in the road, but quickly let him go on at his words, "Red Flare!" Even the guard was surprised.

His cigarette flickered and died as it lay in the cold road.

There were not many things that could best the pure ruthless nature that was the Everfree, not many things were capable of dominating the land of which the forest grew, not much which gave off the sheer feel of power so much that not even the widely feared manticores of the Everfree were willing to challenge such a beast. Spewing a black cloud behind it, the roar of it's engine deafening, it's treads clattered as they worked to haul the twenty-five ton steel behemoth forwards. Nothing stood in it's way. Under its tracks cleared away were the overgrown foliage of the forest floor, the entangled thorned creepers that ran along the ground and grew between trees; it's reinforced hull made short work of the tall trees that grew clustered, uprooting them out of their shallow anchors and loose soil. It was still a dangerous task, even with the enchantments, but it helped to have such a competent crew.

"God damnit!" Lieutenant Saxon cursed as he nearly fell out of his commander's seat as the tank hit a decent sized rock, "You're going to throw the damn track Ehren! And it's going to be your lousy ass to get out there and fix it!"

Ehren was having a good time. Despite his not so great start to the day, having fallen off the top bunk in the barrack when the Lieutenant came barging in a few hours before shift, he was not looking forward to the coming day.

That was until they were told to get their asses outside and crew their steel beauties and prepare to move out. Now, he was just savoring the moment. It had been a long while since he could take the old girl off-roading, even if it took a red to give him an excuse. He stepped on the gas as they smashed aside a particularly large tree, causing the tank to stall for a moment before pushing forwards once more. "You got is sir!" He called back to his commander over the deafening sound of complex working machinery. He made sure to hit a particularly large stone, causing Saxon to nearly fall again. Surely not his fault, it's not payback for giving him latrine duty last week or anything.

"If you so much as dent my tank Corporal, I will have you licking up motor grease for the next month!" Saxon threatened.

Ehren grinned and shifted the gears, moving off to avoid a boulder. The tank veered out of the way barely, the boulder an inch away from scratching the paint.

"I'd listen to the Lieutenant Ehren! I'd prefer not smashing my head against the wall!" Lukas, their loader, shouted down into the hull.

"I'll keep his threat in mind!" He shouted back.

"It's not a threat, it's a damn promise! This old girl has seen me through four fronts, I won't have her getting abused!"

"This is exactly what she was made for sir! Besides," They struck down another thick patch of trees, "She's had worse!"

Saxon grunted and peered out the copula, "Looks like we're about to hit water, get Geert on the radio and tell them the river is coming up on the right!" She shouted down into the hull.

Bernd, their radio operator, got to work. Saxon pulled out their navigation map, "We're about ten minutes out from our mark if we keep up this pace!" He frowned, "They better not be dead by the time we get there..."

The world was still lit up in red when the shots rang out. She barely had enough time to see one of the humans fall flat on his back, holding a pistol, and see Lieutenant Chase reloading her gun before she felt the barrel of a pistol at the back of her head. There was a lot of yelling back and forth. Her ponies had their guns trained on the mystery humans, and they on her ponies, problem was, they had bigger guns than she did. Not to mention whoever was behind her could blow her head off whenever they wanted.

"You fucking rat bastards!" One of the human sergeants, Americans they called themselves? Yelled out at no specific pony in particular.

"He shot first! He shot Brawn!" Chase yelled back.

There was another round of outcries and yelling. Pure ferocity shown on many of the American's faces as they so desperately wanted to pull their triggers. She felt the gun barrel press harder into her head.

"Tell your...ponies to lay down their arms." She head to Lieutenant command from behind her.

"So you can kill us? After I offer you and your men help." She responded.

"And now another one of my men are dead. Lee's going to bleed out now, and Davis has a bullet in his fucking chest. I think you and your ponies have helped us enough Major..."

"They're coming you know. What will happen to you when the Heer get here? Who will vouch for you?"

If the barrel was pushed any harder against her skull it would dent it, "What the hell did you just say..." The Lieutenant nearly snarled. He knew their uniforms looked too damn familiar, but he couldn't really confirm anything, especially since he doubted the Germans had sapient ponies to use as soldiers, not in his wildest dreams would he ever thought such a thing, but at that one word...he felt himself slowly losing the restraint on his finger.

"You heard me, that flare was to bring our boys in as soon as possible. I did it cause I knew your private is dying, we can give him the medical care he needs, we can save him. But if you want to blow my brains out I'm not stopping you, just let me wish you good luck. They'll have a whole damn company on us soon."

Castillo narrowed his eyes. If what this pony said was true, that they had a whole company of krauts converging on their position soon, there was no way in hell they could fight them off, especially if they had heavy weapons. He also knew that if they didn't get Lee and Davis care soon, they surely would die. He didn't trust this Major at all when she and her group had emerged from the forest, and now that he can confirm these ponies were working with the Germans, he should have put a bullet in her head by now, and have his men kill these damn quadrupeds. But something was keeping it all at bay. Something was keeping his finger from squeezing that extra little bit it needed, something was keeping his from giving the order to his men, something was telling him to give in.

He looked across the clearing in the wood at Herrera, who was working to stop the bleeding in Davis's chest, pouring the powder and warping the wound in gauze, only for them to overflow with blood. They were nearly laying side by side, him and Lee, the pair inseparable even in the eyes of death. He knew then that he wasn't going to let these men die, not here, not in some God forsaken forest in some God forsaken world that they had only just been plunged into, he wouldn't see their mothers cry as the flag is passed. Not again.

"Sir, what the hell do we do!?" Castillo was broken to see Sergeant Miller, his Thompson still trained on a uniformed pony, look to him for him for orders.

He took in the standoff before him, his men in a defensive circle along his side, ponies in the opposite of them, a few in the air. He leaned down to whisper into the Lieutenant's large ear, "You promise to see my men's lives saved, to see to it they get the medical attention they need?"

The Major nodded and made a few motions with her hooves, "Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye."

He raised a brow at that, but questioned it no further, not that it mattered now. He pulled the pistol away from her head, "Stand down." He ordered.

His platoon looked at him like he was crazy while the ponies smirked.

"8th platoon on me!" The Major hollered, "Corporal Silktouch, assist Corporal Herrera with the wounded, I have a promise to keep!"

The white stallion simply saluted and hurried off towards the medic, who said nothing to the stallion as he approached, neutral faced. Silktouch looked over the body of his fallen comrade first, checking his pulse, nothing. He shook his head and pulled out a black body cover and threw it over the body and made his way towards the fallen humans.

"Don't you fucking touch them!" Brown yelled, ready to rush the pony medic but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder.

"The Lieutenant said stand down Corporal." Miller grunted, he was just as sour about the situation as any other man here. But orders were orders.

There was a long drawn out moment of awkward silence amongst the two groups. The only ones to speak out being Herrera or Silktouch as they did their best to save Davis's life when asking for some assistance or muttering curses. Castillo gathered his men to organize the camp and they did so, watching Herrera and the pony work by the tents the whole time. The pony major had her troopers watching the forest for anything that might try to jump out at them. It was all eerily silent as they all waited. The men of Castillo's platoon dreaded the moment they found out what for.

First there came the rumbling, the loose earth shaking and shifting in itself, and then the distant sound of an engine cutting through to scare away any birds that inhabited the trees, a flock making off into the sky in the distance. The men knew the sound and the symptoms all too well and found their anxiety and fear getting a better of them. They formed up about Lee and Davis, who by a miracle had stopped bleeding and was breathing, and made ready for that what they knew was coming. The major stood indifferent, along with her ponies, but she did cock a brow at Castillo and his little formation.

"They won't kill you." She said turning to them.

The men glared and clinched their guns all the harder.

She shook her head and stood waiting, counting the seconds and tapping her hoof in the dirt. "I'm waiting..."

The earth was really rumbling now as whatever was making it's way towards them got ever closer, and closer, and closer even.

A few trees suddenly found their lives ended as the steel behemoth bulldozed through their comparingly thin trunks and uprooted them, twenty-five tons of German steel thundered into the clearing, its grey color barely visible amongst the piled roots, leaves, vines, and green covering it. It's tracks clogged with the dirt and mud of the forest.

"A fucking panzer!" Garcia yelled, taking a few steps back. It took every man all their willpower not to reach for their grenades and anything else to make the thing go boom, but they knew they'd probably be dead before they could pull the pins. They did make ready to lift their guns at a moment's notice though.

The tank rolled to a stop mid-field. The roaring of it's engine thundering through the air as the Major flew atop the turret as the copula's hatch opened to the German commander within, a thin faced man, a scar along his check, large enough for Castillo to see it from where he stood.

"Major Dust! It's good to see you are well and sound." The commander surprisingly saluted, one which the Major returned as she stood atop the metal monster, she was tiny in comparison.

"Thanks for reviving our call so soon Lieutenant Saxon, I hope the Colonel decided to get his ass out of bed and trek along, we have a very...unique situation on our hands and hooves. One that I think should be addressed as soon as possible."

Saxon shook his head, "I wouldn't want to catch myself speaking of the Colonel in such a way Major, especially around the 352nd. But to answer your question, no, he is not."

She swore, "Damn, I'm not surprised honestly. But one can hope. Is the Lieutenant Colonel on his way at least?"

Again, he shook his head, "No ma'am. Once the rest of the response team arrives, command falls to you. They should arrive any minute now."

She nodded, "Alright, then let me give you the short brief. We have a pony down and two wounded humans that need immediate attention." She pointed out Castillo and his men, all of whom glared at the two.

Saxon eyed them, there was something oddly familiar about their uniforms, the patches on their tunics, and the weapons they held, and the way they looked at him told him they might not me much on the friendly side.

"They're soldiers?"

She nodded her head, "Apparently so. From a place called America, the United States to be more precise. They call themselves Americans."

Her words racked the Lieutenant's mind, why did all those things seem oh-so familiar?

"Are they hostile?"

"Potentially, but I told them I'd have you all gun them down if they try anything." She could feel the glares at the back of her head harden.

"Hmm, we shall deal with them as you command Major, but I feel like the Colonel would be quite interested in these...Americans. Though I would propose disarming them sooner rather than later."

She nodded and shouted the order to her ponies, obviously his men put up a fight, but Castillo knew it was the best idea to comply, so he handed over his Thompson and pistol without much fuss, though the knife in his boot remained untouched. Their weapons were gathered behind the tank and guarded by two uniformed ponies.

Soon, the convoy arrived. Four trucks worth of German soldiers and ponies came through to secure the area and found the Major giving the orders. Castillo and his men were searched once again, every trooper, human and pony, eyeing them with curiosity and caution. They were given the time to pack away their camp, get properly uniformed, and say a few final prayers before they were herded into the back of a truck at the Majors command. Castillo had just enough time to see Lee and Davis placed unto stretchers and hoisted into the back of a truck, Herrera with them accompanied by that pony medic, Silktouch, before two very surprised Heer troopers filed in after them to play guard. The panzer lead the convoy, their truck following behind and Herrera's truck right behind them, followed by another and a motorcycle escort.

Castillo felt his stomach sink as they were rushed away from their campsite. He had a very bad feeling.

Chapter 7: The Voyage, Part One

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He followed the cloaked mare through the crowded streets hastily moving towards the dockyards. There were many times when, should they cross a rather crowded street, he would lose her amongst the sea of individuals moving to and fro, luckily she was always easy enough to spot standing in an alleyway or somewhere else where the crowds did not hinder his view. They passed through some of the same alleys he had taken when searching for the tavern from the market square, even having passed the quaint little bakery that emitted the nostalgic smell of freshly baked bread. Eventually, he found himself being led through an unfamiliar section of the city, and while the building style themselves changed none, he recognized none of the roads or the shops. But Aryanne assured him they were heading the right way, so he simply readjusted the sacks over his shoulder and continued on, his makeshift hood and neck cover kept him from being called out directly in this new sector.

They made it with good time the section of the harbor where their ship was docked and waiting. He honestly found his interest peaked when Aryanne had told him the ship had a crew of griffons. He liked griffons more than ponies, he always found he could relate to them much more. They lacked magic outright and relied on mechanical devices and engineering for their needs, they were industrialized and war-like, their culture largely relatable to the kingdoms of old and were highly religious and prayed to many gods. They enjoyed good food and were not afraid to fight to protect their kin and country. He can honestly say the time he had spent in the Empire was pleasant to say the least, even if it was short. Though to say he would take them over his own people would be a sin.

They found the docks and made to search for their vessel, many eyes on them as they did so. There were guards everywhere, but none of them stopped Aryanne or himself as they moved along the piers. They eventually came upon the Talos, now, he didn't know much about ships, especially those from the age of sail like this one, but he could tell that this ship was rather official just by looking at it.

The hull was reinforced by plates of hammered out steel fastened to the wood underneath and painted blue, he counted perhaps two decks, all sporting at least ten gun-ports. The three masts rose high into the sky above, their grey sails hung about waiting to catch the wind, the colors of the Empire and the Imperial Navy fluttering atop the crow's nest. Many griffons mewed about the main deck, flying about making adjustments to ropes that seemingly to him had purposes unknown, or swabbed the deck and prepped supplies in preparation for their voyage, which looked to be nearly ready to set forth.

"This is it." Aryanne said, "Let's go before we're left behind."

They moved down the pier towards the docked frigate passing many other ships of various types and functions and their crews along the way, most of them pony. Standing beside the gangplank was a grey feathered and tan-furred mariner dressed in light steel armor, a kettle helmet atop his hawk head, a sword at his side. He also carried a long and rather primitive looking gun slung on his back. The griffon moved towards them as they approached.

"What business do you have here?" He asked, his voice gruff.

He didn't respond. Aryanne simply pulled their papers out and handed them to the marine. He spent a long time looking them over, often this eyes glanced to him as he hid under his hood, but he cared not.

"Everything looks to be in the proper order." He folded the papers up in his talons and handed them to Aryanne, "Sorry for the delay Miss, the Captain is in no mood for counterfeiters and stowaways, please, let me welcome you aboard the Talos. As you are to be sailing with us these coming weeks, I would recommend, as I have our other passengers, to speak with the Captain or his First-mate, they will give you a tour of the ship and where you will be bunking. Let me not keep you." His entire rabble was directed towards the white pony before him rather than Emil.

"Thank you, come Emil," Aryanne said, he shrugged the supplies on his shoulders and followed the mare, the griffon marine nodding his presence, his eye on him even as the tall human passed.

They crossed the gangplank and hopped down unto the deck. They stood there for some time, watching the uniformed griffons move about and often eyeing them while working. Emil immediately recognized the style, black with gold trim. Just like the griffons at the tavern...

"We might have some potential trouble soon." He whispered down into Aryanne's ear.

She looked up at him, "Then we'll deal with it when the time comes, if it's about what I assume it is, but we are already here, no excuse to leave now."

Emil simply nodded, a hand on his sword under his coat.

Soon a rather finely uniformed young griffon approached them, "Ah, you must be the last remaining passengers. Good, now we can haul anchor and get this girl moving." He stuck out his talon, "My name is Peck Dawnaway, I am the Captain's First-mate. He will be pleased to know you have finally arrived."

Aryanne shook his talon, "Yes, we wish we could have arrived sooner, but, we ran into some, complications..." She glared at Emil.

The griffon nodded and made to shake Emil's hand, which he did if only briefly, "Yes well, shit happens—as they say." He turned to a griffon sailor rummaging through a crate, "You! Go inform the Captain that the final passengers have arrived and that we are ready to set sail on his command!" The sailor saluted and moved across the deck into the Captain's quarters. "Now then," He tipped his cap, "Let me give you two the tour of the ship and see you to your room." He led them to the well down into the lower decks and they started down.

They moved down into the first deck and passed through what seemed to be the first gun deck, large crates of ball and shot scattered about. "Don't mind the cannon, and please, don't pester their crews about such things, in fact, don't pester the crew at all, especially when they are trying to carry out their orders, same for the Captain. If you need something, find a marine or even myself, I'll be happy to help you, and they will tolerate you. Just… don't mess with the sailors." They moved down along the corridor into what looked to be a small kitchen and mess room, "Just to clarify, this is a griffon ship, meat will be served at every meal, breakfast, lunch, and supper. If you get hungry between these meals, ask the cook about getting you some hard-bread, we have barrels of it to serve as rations and for emergencies." They moved past the mess room and into a small storage space and descended down into the second deck. This area was the quarters, many trunks and rows of hammocks lined the walls, a few griffons lazed about, the night crew.

He rounded on them, "The bottom deck is storage, you are not allowed down there, no passengers are." He squinted his eyes, "If we catch you down there, you will see Imperial justice." He led them to the back of the quarter, where they found a little area blocked off by a door. "One last thing, don't wander the decks at night, we need a clear deck then." They entered.

Inside was a corridor that led to four separate rooms. They were led to the last one on the right, inside were two well-off cot beds and trunks, a desk for writing, and another door off to the right. A closed porthole let little light in through it's seems.

"Not the coziest of places, but I'm sure you would come to prefer this over sleeping with the crew," Dawnaway said to them as he entered the room and opened the extra door, revealing a small bathroom, simply a toilet and bath. "Running water is something many of the griffons on this ship here wish they had."

They came back into the small hall, "There are five other passengers with us, all ponies. Feel free to socialize with them. If you need anything, or have any questions. As I said before, find one of the guards or myself." He opened the hall door, "We will be setting sail in a few, I would get settled if I were you two." He closed the door and left Emil and the mare standing in the doorway of their small room. They looked to each other and disappeared behind the door.

The ship had set its course not long after they were taken in and was now rocking gently in the waves, they stayed in the cabin well into the night to settle in. They were called for supper not long ago, and Emil and his pony companion were currently making may up the decks towards the cook's kitchen. There were crew-griffons everywhere, eyeing them as they ate their own meals in their hammocks or over a game of cards. Emil wore his large overcoat and his tarp hood covered his head. Anyone that noticed his skin under the cloak, if any actually did, didn't call him out.

They reached the mess room, a small open space, barely bigger than the cabin they were given, merely a place for the crew to mingle before obtaining their portion of grub, and took in line as they waited for their turn at the pots. Many griffons eyed them from afar or briefly glance at them before turning back to their own conversations.

They did not have to wait long, soon enough there was a fairly large, brawny griffon handing them some bowls of hot stew.

"You want meat, pony?" He asked, indifferent.

She glanced at Emil, then nodded.

The griffon reached below the table where the pots were set and tugged to reveal a thin slice of jerky before her and slopped it into the wooden bowl. "Thank you." She said before moving off down the line.

"What about you?" He turned to Emil.

Emil nodded simply.

The griffon grunted, "You two ain't much for chat are you." He gave Emil his slice of dried meat and ushered him down the line.

They made it back to their cabin without much hassle and ate in silence. The stew was decent for simply being a mixture of broth, peas, and carrot, and when Emil tugged on his jerky, the other piece he revived from Aryanne sat in his bowl, he found it to be pretty damn good, pork, salted before dried, with ever a hint of game.

"Boar jerky." He said more to himself as he looked over the thin slice.

The next day, Emil stood running his palm along his, now, hairless cheeks and chin where he had shaved off the hairs that were growing there. His reflection stared back at him from his small mirror that was leaned upon the small shelf installed over the wash basin that counted as a sink, his knife and a small bottle of grooming lube rested on its rim. He sighed and cleaned the basin and drained the foamy water within and watched it swirl down.

Taking up his things and exiting the bathroom he was met with the chill of a cool ocean breeze that blew in gently through the open porthole to his right at the back of the cabin. His uniform was laid upon the white sheets of his bunk along with many of his other personals. Their supplies had been stowed away in their trunks and under their bunks away from peering eyes, and, from what he knew, none of the crew suspected him nor his companion of anything.

The fact that he was human was hard to hide however, he had been confronted by many griffons on the ship about his being. He had yet to met any of the other passengers, or even the Captain for that matter. But, he really could care less, the fewer people that approached him, or came down to the cabins to bother him, the better.

Such was the reason for his grunt as the door was met with a few reps from beyond it. He looked to it and waited for any sign that it was Aryanne who was knocking, when her voice didn't demand he open the door and or throw a threat his way he made for the door slowly and unproved the latch and peaked the door open, just enough for him to eye his visitor. He had flicked the safety off his pistol on the march to the door, and held it firmly against his thigh.

"Yes?" He spoke gruffly.

Beyond the door was a young sailor griffon clad in a uniform that he hadn't seen before. It was of a violet purple with gold trimmings, and the griffon's feathers were clean and slicked back atop his head, a simple sword hung at his side. "The Captain calls on seeing your presence." The boy asked.

He raised a brow at the griffon, "What for?"

The griffon's confidence seemed to dwindle slightly at the tone of his voice, but stood straight and regained his posture not a second later, "He told me not why, just that I am to fetch you."

Emil pecked out to look down the short hall, the door to it closed, but saw nothing but the small griffon. "Alright." He stated simply.

The boy smiled, "Let us post haste, the Captain is a patience griffon, but he has a short temper."

"Let me get my things." Emil said before shutting the door. He dressed himself as formally as he could, which meant ditching the makeshift hood, the greatcoat could stay however. He equipped his sword and holstered his pistol to his side. Now, with his crusher's cap atop his head, he opened the door once again to see the young griffon still there waiting.

"Let's go." He told him. The boy was a bit taken back as seeing the human for the first time in full, he was certainly much different from the minotaurs of the North.

"Yes, lets." The griffon replied.

They made their way through the decks, griffons looking at them, some curious of the duo, some seemed to be sneering at the griffon lad, but most were watching Emil as he marched along behind the boy. They soon found themselves on the deck, the salty wind of the sea filling their nostrils and beating against their faces. The sun was bright out, high in the sky.

They made their way to the large cabin at the end of the ship, and Emil could pick out Dawnaway at the helm. Strangely enough, the First-Mate was responsible for keeping the ship's course, rather than the Captain himself, Emil always found the fact strange. They came before the cabin door, the insignia of the Empire etched into it, and a plaque that read, 'Captain's Quarters' shinned etched into the brass.

"Wait here," The boy told him, "I will inform the Captain that you are here." He knocked thrice then opened the door and peaked in, saying words muffled by the thick wooden door. When he brought his head back out, he opened the door and motioned him in.

The first thing Emil noticed was the heavy stench of pipe tobacco in the room, a luxury much too expensive to import to Equestria, that and it's ban in many major Equestrian cities. Nonetheless, it was a smell that had Emil's head swimming with nostalgia of his time in the Empire, and before all this back in Germany.

Stocked on the walls and lining the floors were a mighty assortment of things: jars, barrels, books, roping, old flags, small novelties and knick-knacks, it was a jumbled mess. Certainly not something Emil was expecting of a Captain meant to be representing the Griffon Empire. That's when he saw the Captain himself, and his neutral facade was replaced with one of bewilderment.

"Mikal?"

The finely uniformed griffon turned away from the larger observant window to face the human, the feathers on his body a matte grey, and his fur a golden tan, both dulled with age. His tired eyes looked upon Emil, and they seemed to regain some of their lost life at the sight of the tall, uniformed human, even a small arch formed at the end of his beak.

"Emil, good to see you again."

Chapter 8: Prisoners of War

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The suspension on the truck was working overtime trying to smooth out the ride over the crudely cut path made over by the panzer ahead of them, he could almost feel every little nook and cranny on the forest floor as they drove through, and it was really pissing him off. Not that he wasn't already. This was the worst situation you could find yourself in. Captured, prisoners of war, with no idea as to where the enemy means to do with you, with little more than the uniform on your back. They had taken their kits and all their weapons, including their helmets, leaving them with their woolen caps. They were totally and utterly defenseless.

He looked out past the two brawny Germans to see the other Opal trucks following suit behind them, their chassis hobbling and bouncing as their suspensions bounded and leaped, their headlights nearly blinding in the dead of night. He caught a glimpse of the lone motorbike driving along besides the truck behind them to the right, he couldn't imagine that was fun to ride through this shit.

He brought his focus back to the interior of the bed, which was covered in a light green covering with small holes cut through the frame to form window ports of sorts, and the benches they sat on were painted wood with a hint of splintering age, but otherwise well cared for and sanded. Miller was sat across from him, his face neutral, his hands on his lap. Brown sat next to him, his face contorted with anger, and across from him was Garcia, who looked more nervous than all of them. They were flanked on both sides by four Germans in full kit, the two up to the end, the first ones out to lower the wall bed, and two more next to Brown and Garcia, up against the cabin. One wielding an submachine gun rather than the bolts, and held the markings of Squad leader.

They sat there in the silence for sometime, the thudding of the wheels against the earth and the roar of engines being the only sounds heard around for miles. The moon was still high in the sky. Their two brawny captors, he saw, kept sneaking glances at them, but their eyes were mostly guided to their uniforms than anything else.

"Sind Sie sicher, dass Sie sind, wer die wichtigsten sagt?" One of them whispered to the other, speaking in German.

"Amerikanische, sagten Sie?" The other responded under his breath, "Klingt vertraut, dass wort."

He nodded ever slightly, "So funktioniert Ihre uniformen, und die flagge."

"Sie Gemeinsame sprechen."

The squad leader rose his head over Garcia, "Ihr zwei! Ruhig sein!" He snapped. The other two went rigid at his command.

Castillo could only look forward and do nothing, Fucking Krauts. He thought.

After what felt like many, agonizing, slow, hours, Castillo was shook from his thoughts as the truck jumped and the ground under them smoothed out. He looked out the back of the bed, to find that they were now on a dirt road. Where it lead, he obviously didn't know, but it couldn't be anywhere good. They stopped alongside the road to let the other trucks and the motorbike regain formation, then they set off once more.

"Where you think they are taking us, sir?" Garcia whispered to him, a slight strain on his voice. He had heard many things about German P.O.W camps, mostly bad, very bad, and little good. Castillo could feel the terror in his gut.

"I don't know." He simply answered.

Far behind them, in the bed of the last truck, Herrera was seated looking over Lee and Davis. They had both been stabilized for the time being, and Davis was no longer bleeding profusely, and had been covered with thick grey wool blankets the German medics had brought. There were only two, and both of them were seated across from him; their white helmets and tabards, both painted with large red crosses, stuck out pure from their grey uniforms, and they found a great deal of interest in his wounded comrades along with himself. The pony medic besides him, Silk Touch, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but paid little mind to Herrera after they had finished working with Lee and Davis. Then there were the two bed guards, and two more towards the cabin, but they, just as Silk Touch, paid little mind to the Americans, preferring to watch the road behind them, scanning the edges of the forest.

Then he noticed something hovering far behind them, small black silhouettes drifting through the air, just below cloud level. He remembered the winged ponies up in the clouds, almost invisible as their grey coats blended with the night sky, the gleam of their helmets and glare of their guns the only way to make them out.

"That is the Major and her rear guard. Not everything in the Everfree is grounded, you see." He heard Silk Touch's voice, it was on the lighter side for a male, but he couldn't imagine the name could push any more feminine.

He looked over at him, "So you can stand on clouds too?"

Silk Touch shook his head, the helm tottering ever so slightly, it was just a little too big around the ears, "No, only pegasi. You saw them flying earlier."

"I can't say I was believing everything I was seeing at the time."

"You still aren't." Silk Touch pressed.

The guards didn't seem to mind the two talking, Herrera noticed. Perhaps it was because it was a human-pony conversation, the medics also didn't care it seemed, but they were all listening intently.

"I can't say that I am."

The truck stopped suddenly, and they were left motionless for a moment, there were some distant voices yelling back and forth ahead of them he could hear, calls, and then they were back on the move again. He strained his neck to look out the peak slits in the canvas, it was just trees for a second, then it opened up to a large, clear field, then his stomach lurched at what little he could see and quickly looked to Silk Touch, then the guards, then the medics across from him.

"Welcome to Teutos." One said.

They passed through the gate, and the darkness of the forest beyond was slowly cut out of view as the large steel doors creaked to a close.

The convoy lumbered its way along the smooth dirt roadway, the roar of engines and the cluttering of tank treads were sure to have the whole fort up, especially as they passed a few barracks that had been sectioned along the road, a few soldiers, all being human, were already out the door, looking on at the convoy that had woke them at such an hour. Guards cleared the way for the line, as if the sight of a throttling panzer wasn't enough to make them clear out. At one point, the medical truck had veered off down another path.

They were soon all met by a large courtyard, large enough to let the entire convoy move freely into position, with the trucks lining up side by side, their hatches faced into the yard, and the motorbike set just a few yards faced back at them, Saxon's panzer lined up horizontal to the vertical line of the trucks, surely there to keep his MGs trained on their prisoners. And once the dust had settled, the ramps were lowered.

Dust and her escort watched from the high clouds above as her platoon exited first and formed up along Saxon's panzer, followed by two platoon's worth of mixed baggage, ponies and humans, but all separated into small groups of two to three, likely by assigned platoon or company, as they all bore, while oddly similar, quite different patches and symbols on their uniforms. Lastly came the trucks which Castillo and his men were held. Two German guards each lowered the walls and hopped out, while their American counterparts were moved out and into a small formation, and were promptly escorted away into a by-building.

She jumped from the clouds no soon after, spreading her wings wide, she glided down to her platoon of ponies, and was met by Saxon as he appeared from his copula.

"The prisoners are secure, Major." He stated, a salute at his head.

She eased him and nodded, "Good, now here comes the fun part."

"Informing the Colonel?"

She looked to the large, administrative building just across the courtyard, "Yep, that and a whole lot of coffee."

He grinned, the thought of hot, fresh coffee was a welcomed one, "Let me get this old girl back to the depot, and I shall join you, I'm sure the Colonel will want a full report, even if you can give him most of it."

She looked back to him atop his behemoth, "I'm sure. I will be giving him the news on the wolves, that should give you enough time to reach back."

Saxon nodded and saluted again, before disappearing into his tank. The engine roared one more and the steel monster was off, spewing black smoke and dust into the air as it went. Dust wouldn't lie, those things scared the shit out of her, and while she really, really , loved flying, she wouldn't mind having a few more inches of armor to bounce bullets, or enough firepower to level a small village. She shook her head, she was part of the First damnit! And she'd never give that title up for all the steel in the world. Still didn't stop you from envying the guys in the Panzer Corps.

"Your orders, Major?"

She turned to find Lieutenant Chase waiting there at attention, along with the rest of 8th Platoon, well, minus two.

"Go get some rest." She answered, "All of you, you've earned it."

The ponies broke and began making their ways back to their barrack, but Dust found Chase still there, an unsure look in her eyes.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Dust raised a brow.

Chase met her eyes, "Ma'am, about my actions earlier—"

Dust cut her off, "What's done is done, Lieutenant, we will review your actions another time, but right now, go join the others, get some rest."

Chase's ears dropped a bit, but perked back up at the promise of review. She saluted, and made off to join the others. Dust shook her head, and started towards the administrative building, her trotting kicking up a bit of dirt that caught in the valleys of her shoe soles.

They were corralled together after stepping from the beds of the trucks, and were met with the dreading sight of the complex. Rows and rows of barracks and other buildings lined all along the edge of the massive courtyard, minus the openings where the roads began and ended here. It did not take a genius to realize this was the center off all operations in this fort, and Castillo was quick to pick up on the fact, and how deep in the shit he and his men were in.

"Forward!" A German yelled, an accent on his lips, and with the machine guns trained on them, they were complied to. They were escorted towards one of the long, barrack-like buildings and pushed inside. It was dark, the small windows that ran along the sides giving just enough light to allow them to see where they were walking, but they could tell the building was rather surprisingly empty, then they were greeted by another door, this one opened by a pony sentry already stationed there, revealing a small staircase that lead down to another door.

They were greeted to a small outcrop of a room, with barely any space for a desk and chair off to the side, but passed forward to a barred door. Rows and rows of cells laid beyond it, all minimally lit by a few low hanging light bulbs that ran down the stone dungeon.

Fuck me. Castillo swore inwardly.

Passing many smaller cells as they were led through the stone halls, they soon found themselves shoved into a larger holding cell, just big enough to house the nine of them and with a heavy thud and click, they were sealed behind the bars. Castillo watching them turn the key.

Brown waited for their guards to leave before kicking the bars hard, "Fucking rat bastard krauts!" He hissed.

Garcia found a corner of a cell to stand against and slid to the cold ground, and thought he kept a straight face, his legs were terribly unsteady and he found his head swimming.. Castillo slowly watched as the rest of his men followed, looks of defeat and terrible uncertainty plastered on their faces.

Moore moved up behind Castillo, "So, this is it then."

Castillo made to retort, but Grauer beat him to the punch, "We aren't dead yet. We can get out of here!"

Moore grunted, "Stuck in a damn dungeon in the middle of a nazi fort. Hell, they'll gun us down the moment we make a move. We're good as dead." He retorted.

"He at least have to try!"

"The boy's right," Miller defended, "We ain't gonna let some damn fucking krauts fuck us. If we're going to go down, we make them fight to take our last breaths."

Moore rounded on him, "So what if we escape? Where would be go? Back into that damned forest? We have no supplies! No guns! Fucking jack!"

He looked to Grauer, who was shrinking under his outburst, "And what about Herrera? Davis? Lee? You forget about them, huh? Who knows where the fuck they've taken them. They're probably already dead. Shot dead." He willowed.

"The Major promised them no harm." They had all turned to Castillo, who had not moved, but Moore was steaming again, his sudden anger fueling his resolve. Even Brown couldn't help but flinch.

"She sold us! Right into the hands of the fucking krauts! You think that fucking abomination will keep her promises!?" He bellowed.

There was silence before Castillo spoke, and when he did, he was turned to his men. "No, I do not. But our only hope of getting out of here alive is to pray she does."

Moore nor Miller was convinced, "We need some sort of plan, even if they don't check us out right away, we need to get out of here before they do." Miller reasoned, "Any ideas?" He had turned to the men along the walls, they were murmuring amongst themselves, their words of action driving them on.

"I have this." Castillo said as all eyes turned on him. In his hand was his G.I knife.

"How did they not take it off you?" Miller inquired, considering all their other kit had been taken.

"I always keep it in my boot, damn krauts never pat your bottoms. If it comes down to it, we jump the first guard we see and make a break for it. Not a solid plan, but it's a start." He carefully replaced the knife into his boot, and covered it once more.

"How long are we gonna' wait?" Johnson asked.

Castillo declared, "As long as we need to."

They sat in the dark, and waited.

Chapter 9: The Voyage, Part Two

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Rain came down hard upon them, the sound of it battering their coats and the ground around them deafening, as they slogged through the mud. They needed to find shelter and fast. With the storm seemingly never ending in it's onslaught, they could easily find their food and supplies soaked and useless soon, and the cart they pulled would no doubt get dipped in the muddy road.

"How far to the next settlement!?" One asked over the volley of drops peppering everything about them.

"Oh, six miles!" The other answered.

"Fucking hell."

They grunted as the cart lodged itself into a rather deep patch of mud, and with no little amount of stubborn strength did they bring it out of the catch.

"How you holding up Emil?!"

"Just fine, Mikal, just fine!" Emil snorted.

The griffon chuckled over the rain, and they continued on their journey.

"How much will this load be again!?" Emil hollered.

"Oh, about 400 Crowns for this one!"

"400 Crowns!? For this stuff?!"

"Hey, barely is expensive! And we griffons love our brew!"

"I can't argue there!"

They continued pulling the covered cart of sacks down the road for another hour in the rain, and with the ground softening, the cart was finding itself stuck more and more in the mud.

"God Damnit! Push!"

Emil and his griffon companion pushed with all their combined strength to get the cart's wheels turning out from the dip it had been sunken into.

"Well rip my beak, we're bloody stuck." Mikal grunted once their eighth and final shove failed. They were left panting, their breath clouding in the coolness of the dark air around them, soaking from head to toe and talon in the mud, alone in the middle of a deep, dense run of woodland in the back roads in one of dozens of the northern kingdoms. Now that Emil thought about it, the more he realized that this was a very, very stupid idea.

"Emil?"

"Yeah...?"

"We're being watched."

Emil lifted his soaked head up over the edge of the cart and scanned the road before them, then into the darkness of the rows on their sides, he squinted.

"Oh Lord..."

There were shadows moving all about them, to and fro through the bushes and through the trees, their silhouettes highlighted just barely by the bit of sunlight that shone through the dense storm clouds above. Emil drew his service sword. Mikal besides him, pulled a crossbow from under the wagon he had always kept hidden, and drew the arms back in the mud and notched a bolt.

"Bandits. Probably about 20 or more, knowing ‘em."

"Are we surrounded?" Emil asked.

Mikal eyed the wood behind them, "No, they left this side open."

They stood silent for some time, the rain pelting their faces as it started coming in strong with the wind.

"Think we could fight them off?" Mikal asked.

Emil shrugged, gripping his sword a bit tighter, "Maybe."

Mikal smirked, "That's some pretty good odds."

Emil held his sword against the cart, then pulled from under the tarp, his machine pistol. His last full magazine already locked into place beneath it, and held it against himself, "I've got about thirty rounds in this."

Mikal said nothing as he raised his crossbow and fired into the forest, missing intentionally.

The bandits did just as he had expected, with their cover and hope of surprise blown, they came rushing at them grouped up.

They made it about ten feet before Emil had his gun trained on them, and unleashed a hail of gunfire, the cracks ending in thumps as they pierced the crude leather armor and flesh of the griffons charging them, all on foot. They fell to the ground all lifeless or dying. The ones left in the trees got over their shock and rushed them once more, all of them this time. Emil felled eight of the them before his gun clicked, it's limited use finally come to an end. Emil tossed it aside, it landed in the mud and was washed over, lost, and useless if ever found. They thought the sheer devastation from Emil's volley would have scared off the bandits, but after stopping for only a moment, they continued their charge. Emil readied his sword once more.

Mikal, meanwhile, had felled two of their chargers with his crossbow, but pulled his broadsword when they were in close. The remaining bandits, seven in total, came in, axes and swords in talon, and began trying to hack their supposed victims to pieces, eyes strained in rage and spit foaming at their mouths. Emil's instincts kicked in, and he parried an axe blow away and swung to slice the griffon across the chest, who staggered as their leather armor took the blade but not the blow. Another griffon came in and sliced him with a sword, leaving a rather nasty wound on his arm. Emil grunted and parried the next blow, cleaving the smirking griffon's beak nearly off, who fell to bleed in the mud.

The axe griffon came back in to hit him in the back but Emil dodged and swung to have it parried, then he swung again. The griffon dodged this time, and tried to charge him. Knowing he wouldn't be able to bring his long service blade up in time, Emil pulled his dagger from his coat pocket and let the griffon tackle him, they both went down hard, the griffon trying to cut him with axe and talon, but found a dagger sunk into his throat. Emil pushed the gasping mass off him and reclaimed his dagger, the griffon clenching his throat in agony. Mikal was currently fending off three griffons at once, them having ganged up on him, presumably seeing him as an easier target, but they had underestimated him. He parried a blow and sliced the offending griffon in the arm, nearly dismembering it, then stabbed the griffon in the neck. All done with a certian amount of swift finesse that even Emil had to compliment.

Emil meant to rush and help his friend, but found himself tackled to the ground by another bandit. They fell into the mud with a thud as they fought for dominance, the mud clogging his ears and smearing onto his face as they rolled and thrashed and clawed at each other. Emil managed to pull his knife once again and rolled the griffon into a pin, and made to stab him in the heart. The griffon brought his talons up and grasped Emil's wrists and struggled to keep the blade away from his bare feathered chest, to no avail, Emil, while on the ground, was quite larger than this griffon, and with all the weight bearing down he couldn't have hoped to hold on long. The griffon's eyes bulged as the dagger slowly sunk into his heart, his beak open in a silent scream of pain. Emil laid there for a moment to ensure his opponent's death, and now looking into the griffon's now lifeless eyes, those green iris's dull in their lifeless sockets, he knew his job was done.

Emil made to stand, but found the most sudden searing pain erupt in his left thigh and he fell back down again. Lifting his head out of the mud, he was welcomed to a nasty sight: there was a bolt stuck in his leg, the head having punctured the flesh rather cleanly and was erupting in blood. Emil hissed as he tried to move his leg, needing to stand, but his effort was in vain, and he simply slid down into the mud again, the pain overwhelming.

Mikal came rushing to his side, his three opponent's long since felled, "There's a whole lot more of em' coming in close, alot more. We need to get out of here!" He shouted.

"F-fuck, I ain't standing with this fucking bolt in my leg!" Emil half grunted, half yelled.

Mikal sheathed his sword and moved to Emil's side, a few bolts striking the ground about them, the bandit's archers were terrible shots, "Come on, put your arm on my back, let's get the hell out of here!"

Emil did just that, and brought his good leg to stand, letting out a small cry of pain as some hard pressure was put on his wound. Then, with the help of the griffon besides him, they began limping their way towards the opposite side of the treeline, the one the bandits hadn't thought to cover.

Emil pulled his Luger from it's muddied holster and turned ever slightly to see a few bandits making for their limping forms. He brought the pistol up as best he could from the angle, and fired at them through the heavy throbs of sharp pain fogging up his senses. Two griffons fell dead in their tracks and the others nearly slipped in the mud from the cracks of the gun, giving them enough time to push through the brush and into the trees.

The ground was just as slippery, if not more, in the forest as is was on the road, with grass and twigs and leaves all mixed in with the mud and whatever else was washed up with the rain. It was hard to keep an even footing with it all, but to Emil, he found it harder not to pass out from the sheer pain that was racking his body, he had never been shot before, not by anything more than stones, but he was willing to bet that this was similar enough to being hit by a bullet to sympathize. At least, that's what he thought at the time. He re-holstered his pistol so to not drop it in his, more mechanical, movements as instinct took over the action of his leg moving to drag his nearly useless one forward with Mikal, who was doing his best to bear the weight of the human nearly twice the size he was, leaning on his back and shoulders.

"I...told you this was a bad idea." Emil grunted.

Mikal huffed for a large breath, "Hey, 400 Crowns sounded well worth it to me."

Emil nodded, "Yeah, but now all those Crowns are in the claws of some greasy highwaymen."

Mikal seemed to...smirk. "I wouldn't say that."

Emil grunted, "W-what did you do?"

"Oh, just set the whole cart alight before I had to drag your sorry carcass out of the fight."

Emil couldn't help it, he chuckled much more that he wanted to at that.

They hobbled for a few minutes, Emil counting every second of it as he lost feeling in his upper leg. Mikal eventually let him drop against a tree and came down to look at the wound. "This is going to be a crude dressing, but hopefully it'll keep you from passing out before we can reach the closest village." He said, placing one of his satchels against the tree. They always traveled with most of their gear on, for situations such as this one, and they thankfully had just enough supplies on them to keep going for a few days, including the medical bag Mikal had just deposited onto the muddy roots of the large broad-leaf tree. The steel colored griffon looked Emil in the eyes and gave him a warm smile...right before ripping the bolt free from his thigh.

Emil went to scream, his face contorting in pain and his mouth opening wide, but, remembering the bandits not far off from them, brought his hand up to silence himself instead, some small amount of blood escaping his maw as he bit into his sensitive flesh.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" Mikal said as he tossed the bolt away, and produced some wrappings and a temporary disinfectant pad from his medical sash and began wrapping Emil's wound, who sat there with the face of a man who really, really, needed a drink.

"Come on, up and at'em." Emil found himself riding Mikal's shoulder again and they were limping through the mud once again. They could hear some distant shouting, but it was far off, and seemed to be moving away from them. For awhile, there was a calm silence. They eventually came across a winding river carved into a small ditch a few feet down, it's rapids running hard, but the water seemingly quite shallow.

"You can swim right?" Mikal asked.

"So long as we don't try going up or down river."

"No, just crossing."

"I should be alright."

"Here, I'll lower you down, cause I sure as hell ain't gonna carry you—"

Mikal let out a loud, pained squawk as a bolt pierced his right leg and they went plummeting down into the misty water below. The water was much too strong for Emil to fight with his leg, and it carried him along with the current, bashing him against rocks and bank walls and the river bottom, everything went black. Emil never saw Mikal again after that.

"What's wrong Emil, you look like you've seen a ghost." Mikal joked.

Emil took a small step back, "That's because I have. I thought you were dead."

The griffon chuckled and sat in the large, well crafted chair behind his desk, motioning Emil over to the other two much simpler chairs faced on the other side of his desk.

Emil hesitated for a moment, then relented and moved forwards and sat on one of them, they were suprisingly comfortable for being some wood with padded cloth nailed to it.

Once he was seated, Mikal waved away towards the door, and the young griffon left them in the dim light of the cabin.

Some time passed as Emil sat still, bewildered at the sudden reunion with the griffon sat before him. Mikal, much to own delight, had a wicked smile on his face, mainly from the look on Emil's face. He looked down to his cluttered and junk-strewn desktop, Emil's officer's cap breaking the flow so suddenly as it was rested upon it, and pulled a long pipe match, struck it across the end of the desk, and put it to his pipe, already filled with smashed, dried griffon tobacco. The smell once again hit Emil like a hammer to his nostrils, the strong stench of the smoke and the burnt shag in it's bowl much stronger than any tobacco the ponies, or any other races for that matter, could hope to cultivate, and it left Emil salivating.

"Ah, where are my manners?" Mikal spoke around the pipe in his mouth, and the smoke flowing from his beak. He reached into an unseen drawer and pulled out a small gold tin, opened it, and revealed a set of seven brown cigarettes. "Been a long since we've shared one, eh Emil?" He pulled one from it's slot and presented it to Emil, who took it with little hesitation. Mikal snapped the tin shut once more and placed it away again for them to be used during some other occasion.

Emil examined the brown paper roll in his fingers with an almost scrutinizing look, "I got over my addiction years ago, Mikal." He said, but the butt never left his fingers.

There was that smile again, "Ah, come on Emil! If it's been so long, one log wouldn't hurt you none. Unless you got too old to smoke one with this old war-bird?"

Emil looked down to the roll again, memories flooding back by the thousands, he never even realized he already had the cigarette in his mouth and was leaning over the table, "Light me." He said. Mikal was quick to do so.

Emil sucked on the cig, the smoke rough against his throat, but smooth coming back up, it was a feeling he knew all too well, and had longed years for deep down, even if he didn't want to admit it. It was, in his honest opinion, the best cigarettes he had ever had the pleasure of smoking. And his addiction be damned, he was going to have one.

They sat in a comfortable silence together for sometime. Emil sat there counting the times the ship rocked with the battering ocean, and he was sure Mikal was doing it too, it was all just so...strange, seeing the griffon again.

Emil finally spoke, "How the hell are you alive?"

Mikal chuckled, "I asked myself the same thing when I checked the log book." He took the pipe out of his mouth, "I searched a long time for you, you know. Wandering from town to town, asking about you. But nothing. Like you just upped and disappeared from the face of Equis." He sat back in his chair, "I honestly hoped that you had maybe found a way back home. Germany, I remember you called it. I thought the Gods had finally smiled down on you and gave you a way back." His smile lessened slightly, "But I see that is not the case. How long has it been? Ten years? Fifteen?"

"I stopped counting long ago." Emil said from between the roll in his mouth. "But ten sounds about right since that day. You never answered my question."

Mikal huffed, "Washed up on a bank outside some pony settlement. They kept me alive long enough for me to strike out and look for you. Ran into some trouble here and there, times were tough, but I never stopped looking, and even when I did, I never did stop believing you were still alive."

Emil said nothing, for once, he was content in his position, and let him go on.

"After awhile, I got picked up by some navy boys looking for some simple crew: cleaners, runners, aids, that kind of thing. I was in the hole with but two coppers in my pocket, and I hadn't been able to find a job in awhile. This was around the time I stopped looking for you religiously." Mikal gave him a sad smile, "Anyway, I figured that, besides for the money, it would at-least let me travel, and maybe I'd see you along the banks of some foreign shore somewhere." He started packing more tobacco into his pipe, "After a few years, I managed to get it in pretty good with the crew and the Captain. It turned out it was a merc group the whole time I was on for, they were just contracted with the navy as supply runners. A contract I'm holding up to this day."

"Doesn't explain how you're a captain."

Mikal chuckled, "Heh, that's a whole 'nother story. But I promised the crew not to give many details, since most of them have been on this ship since they were born, and knew the old cap even before they could fly. Let's just say I was more favorable compared to the snot that would've inherited this old girl, and I was well liked, so they said, how would you put it? Fuck it."

Emil snorted.

"Hey! Believe it or not, but I'm captain of this ship, and that's enough for most people."

"Right."

Mikal huffed, "As hard as a dragon's nut sack. Never did you change Emil." He lit his pipe again, "What about you? What's your story?"

Emil emptied his lungs, a decent cloud misting off towards the ceiling, "Woke up on a bank, similarly to you, but I didn't stumble on any towns right off the bat; had to forage around for a few days trying not to bleed out, and when I was strong enough, I continued on."

"Did you at least try to look for me?" Mikal questioned.

Emil seemed almost offended by the question, "Of course I did. But after the first year, I got into some trouble with the law. Had to leave the Empire. Then it was off to Equestria, cause I sure as hell wasn't going East. And at first I figured that maybe things would be a bit different there compared to my welcome in the Empire."

When Emil didn't continue, Mikal broke in, "And was it?"

Emil huffed, and flicked the bud into the bin besides Mikal's desk. "Hell no. It was worse."

The two talked for hours, sharing stories from during their time apart, drinking and smoking, though Emil knew it would be good for him to stop after three cigarettes, last thing he wanted were to go through those damned withdrawals again.

They stood looking over the port of the ship, the sun had barely made it to twelve o’clock, and the wind was strong in their faces, so the ship was slow moving, most of the crew milling about at the sight of their captain’s current casual stature and attitude.

Mikal spoke after some time, “I saw you were headed to Vanhoover.”

Emil nodded, “Yes. Got work out South.”

“Would it have anything to do with that young mare you’re running with.”

“Perhaps.”

Mikal shook his head, “All these years and you still can’t be straight with me, Emil.”

“I’m a wanted man, Mikal. It doesn’t help that you’re a squawker.”

“When was the last time I ever said anything you told me not to?”

“I can name a few.”

Mikal smirked, “Well, if you say so, friend.”

“Besides,” Emil said sternly, “Just because you won’t talk, does not mean no one else on this ship will.” He motioned towards the other crew.

Mikal looked up at him, “What I say goes with all of them, they know not to go spouting out confidential information, they have too much respect for me.”

“What about the passengers.”

“All but one of them are running from something, Emil. They already got enough on their platters.”

Emil looked back out towards the dark sea, “I don’t doubt that.”

There was not but a moment of silence after that before they heard steps from behind them, they turned, and found four griffon crew members before them. Emil recognized them as the ones from back at the inn he had fought those diamond dogs in.

“Excuse us, Cap’n. We just wanted to speak with your friend, if that is alright with you.”

Mikal grinned at their leader, a brown and tan griffon, as base as griffons come in terms of colors, “Of course, Loi, but I’m sure whatever you have to say can be said in front of us both, yes?”

The griffon saluted, “Yes, of course Cap’n.” He turned to Emil, “Me boys and I just wanted to say that was some mighty fine brawlin’ you did back at Port, Mr.”

Emil nodded, “Thanks, I suppose.”

Loi gave him a mock salute, “Well, let’s get down to business then, eh? You took on all those mutts, but I wanna’ see how you do in'a real fight.” He looked to Mikal with his most stern, and respect filled face he could muster, “If that is alright with the Cap’n?”

Mikal looked to Emil and smirked, “I don’t know Loi, my human friend here is really a big softy, I don’t think he would be able to match such a griffon as you.” He nudged Emil.

Emil said nothing in response, but rather, removed his coat, folded it and placed it on the deck, followed by his cap, then his tunic, leaving him in his trousers and his dirty white undershirt.

“A man of action eh?” Loi commented, “I like that.” He also began undressing his uniform, and by now, a small crowd had begun looking on from a distance, but they would close in once the sparring started.

“Here’s the rules eh? Notin’ sharp, no claws, no knives, no nothin’. Nothin’ below the belt, as they say. And no motherly insults, aight?”

Emil simply nodded, and got into a stance, as did Loi. The crowd was gathered now, and Mikal looked on in amusement. He was going to enjoy this.

Chapter 10: Conversation, not Interrogation

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The administrative building, generally known as "The Nest" by many of those in the Heer, was not what many people would expect from such a place of importance. She moved up the few steps that lead to the double door way and entered the small two story building of red brick and came into the dimly lit entrance hall. The lamps and heating fixtures had already been lit, and their subtle glow gave the room and its halls a warm feel. She didn't bother approaching the front desk, as there was no one to greet her, and instead made her way down the long, slightly cramped, hall to the right where the uppers had their offices and spare rooms.

She came to the end of the hall, a large window illuminating the shadowy corner where a lamp fixture just above had lost its effect as the moon settled low in the sky. Still the light shone on the group of brass plaques screwed to the door with the names of the regimental commanders engraved on them. However, she had her eyes on the larger bar above them all, one that read, "Lt. Colonel Seelman" upon it. She entered and was met by a staircase, which she cleared with a flap of her wings, and was greeted with the second floor: a short hall with a few doors opened to offices on each side.

She trotted along the hall until she found the door to the Colonel's office and entered with a knock. The room's interior was just as dark and had that same warming feel as the others with it's low light. Despite being the Colonel's office, it was much, much more cramped than the halls and many of the other offices she had been through in this building: filing cabinets lined the walls, most nearly overflowing with reports and other administrative documents, few paintings hung upon the dark varnished wood walling, a single lamp hung in it's lonesome above a simple oaken desk strewn with papers and record books, all sat next to a radio top. A coat rack lay just besides the door, a great coat and cap already hung there, both signs that his assistant was already well up and about.

She trotted to the desk and peeked around the door just behind it, there was some shuffling, and the sounds cabinets being opened and closed. "Carson?"

The shuffling stopped, and in the doorway Carson appeared. He was a large man; his shoulders as broad as a truck and a face thick with aged muscle, and stood nearly as high as the ceiling was tall. "Major." He gave her a lazy salute, one she returned, "I already got the call. Some mystery men had to do your job for you, eh?" He had the jolliest smile a man could ask for.

She couldn't help but return it, damn his smiles were contagious, "Well when you say it like that..." Then something hit her nostrils, a smell that made her ears perk and her nose twitch.

He chuckled a hardy one, "Got some Arabian export brewing, it's the only one the Colonel will drink. I know it's strong for you stubs."

She shook herself out of the haze on her senses and reapplied her mask of a professional soldier once again, "So the Colonel is up?"

"He was as soon as that flare went off and the yelling started, those damn things are bright." He nodded.

"That's the point of a flare, isn't it Carson. Is he willing to take my report?"

"He's been waiting since the trucks made off, go right on in."

She nodded her thanks and turned into the thick door down a small out hall to the left besides the back room. She found herself a bit squeamish standing before the door, she always did when addressing the Colonel. She insured that her coat was as straight and clean as it could be, and she insured the combat helm at her side was secure and the cap on her head finely tuned then steered herself like she had done hundreds of times and finally knocked confidently.

"Enter." A muffled voice answered.

She did. The room was barely lit, a small window letting in just enough moonlight for her to make out the desk and chairs before her and the small ornaments that lined the walls, and for the first time during her walk through this building did her hooves creek on old floor boards. She made her way in fully, closing the door behind her, and trotted up to the desk with a stock face and her body at attention, there was no one else in the room it seemed at first.

Her ear flicked towards the sound of footsteps and she gazed to her right where a door opened to a small bedroom of which little she could see, but it relieved the Colonel fully. He was dressed in full uniform, an old crusher cap upon his head, and a grey coat that had seen better days, all originals from his time back in Germany. His old face was gaunt and sharply sculpted, and his blue eyes beamed with an energy that most people find lost once they get to such an age, but they still moved in alert watchfulness that told of the battles he had fought. "I've been expecting you, Major Dust." His voice sounded surprisingly young and enthusiastic for one such as him, but also carried almost a grunted end to every sentence he spoke.

"Yes sir." She answered with a salute.

"At ease." He moved over behind the desk and sat in his chair, the legs creaking ever slightly as he did so, "Come, sit. We have much to discuss." He removed his cap, salt and pepper, but mostly salty, hair revealed underneath; another sign of his growing age.

She lowered her salute and made to sit in one of the chairs next to her, forced to unclasp her helm and place it on the ground, she also removed her cap, as a sign of respect. "The termination of the rouge timberwolf pack was a success, sir. The operation has come at the price of one casualty, and some spent munitions."

"Killed or wounded?" He inquired.

"Killed, sir."

"Who?"

"Private Brawn, sir."

He did a mixture of a grunt and a sigh, "You have my condolences. It's not everyday that we lose someone from The First. I otherwise congratulate you on your platoon's success, and in such short time, nonetheless."

"Thank you, sir."

He put his hands on the desk, then locked together in an inquiring pose, "Now, I am not going to beat around the bush here Major. Are the reports true? Did you find more humans in the Everfree?"

She took a short breath, " Yes sir. We found them out by the River Greene, close to the borders of Ponyville, where they had made camp and, seemingly, had been attacked by the pack we were hunting, but managed to destroy them."

"They were responsible for their termination?" He cut in.

"Yes sir. They were armed, very well armed. Semi-auto's and automatics were common modes in their arsenal, their weapons were collected by Lieutenant Saxon and the other members of the response group when they surrendered to us. I'm sure he could tell you more during his report."

She waited to ensure he agreed, which with his nod she continued, "They had wounded with them it seemed when we found them. After learning of their ability to speak Common Equish, I approached on, and was met with initial hostility. But I managed to persuade their leader, a man named Castillo, that we could help them revive their wounded comrades. I sent out the flare, and..." She was silent for a moment.

"Speak up Major, and what?"

She steered her line of thought straight again, "Two of them shot at each other, that was when Brawn was killed, and where one of my ponies shot one of them. We were stood off for some time, and Castillo held me up. I stalled them for some time, I don't know how long it was then, felt like no longer than a few minutes, then I managed to convince them to come with us."

"They seem well prepared, are they of military origin?"

"It seemed very likely when we first found them, yes. They had all the standard base equipment given the troops, weapons, combat uniforms, helmets, survival kits, everything. And they seemed to have a very uniform structure of command amongst them. When I managed to speak with Castillo, I learned that they he was a Lieutenant in the United States Army, and they they were all, what they called, American. He didn't tell me much after that, sir, not even his first name, he seemed more willing to ask questions rather than answer them."

She saw something change in the Colonel's face when she mentioned the United States, his eyes slightly widened, and his jaw seemed to clinch. She didn't know why, but he returned to his same, stoic face as before almost as soon as she noticed it.

"What of their wounded, how many of them were there?"

"I believe one before the shoot out." She answered, "They were dying, and I am sure the Lieutenant and all his men knew that well enough, so they let down their arms, and then Saxon and his response unit arrived."

"And here we are." He finished for her.

"Yes sir."

They were quiet for a moment, the Colonel sat back in his chair, his mind in thought, and Lightning Dust sat rigid, at attention, waiting for his response.

"Then our next course of action is simple." He said after a long time.

Dust looked on at him as he stood slightly from his chair, and pressed a small button on his desk. A small containment unit opened on the side, and from there he grabbed a small wired phone from it and, turning the small crank on the box, held it to his head. Inside the small infused gem whisked to life, it's glow running through a small window that also illuminated the frequency display.

"This is Seelman, patch me through to containment, I want that Lieutenant..." He covered the mouthpiece, "Did he say what his name was?"

Dust nodded, "Castillo, he said his name was."

Seelman returned to the phone, "I want Lieutenant Castillo held up here before dawn, get Angsar on it." He placed the device back into it's small unit and closed it to a click.

"Sir, If I may ask, what are you doing?" Dust asked, honestly confused by the request.

The Colonel stood up and dusted off his coat, "My dear Dust, a content prisoner is, after all, an informative one."

Down in the darkness of the dungeon, Castillo's platoon was in a tense state, everyone mingled as best as they could to keep their minds sane, Moore had even managed to keep his playing cards on him, but the game just wasn't the same with their tense fates being unknown. Castillo remained close to the bars, against the stone faced wall to the right, silently waiting for what was to come.

What first came was a light, one much brighter than that of the bulbs, and before their cell came a squadron of guards, a new type of pony, of which had a horn protruding from it's head that projected a bright orange orb of light, was the first to closely approach, followed by a German soldier who unlocked the cell door.

"Which one of you is the Lieutenant?" The accent was heavy on this one.

Castillo stepped forth, and two guards entered and brought him out and moved him down the halls and into the darkness. The others gathered at the bars to watch them take their brother away.

"Sir, I don't think this is wise."

A few minutes after making the call to the Containment Quarter, Lieutenant Saxon returned from the depot and gave his short, and to the point, report. But also found out that the Colonel had ordered one of the prisoners brought into his personal office for close interrogation.

"It's not an interrogation, Lieutenant, I'm going to have a civil conversation with this man." Seelman replied.

Lightning Dust said nothing throughout their short lived debate, but she knew that what the Colonel suggested was a needless risk. She was confident that the American lieutenant wouldn't dare attempt anything with all the guards in the building, along with Carson right outside the door, but her gut had a sinking feeling about it all.

Eventually the escort came through with Castillo in-tow.

Seelman nodded, "Thank you, you are all dismissed."

The guards left, which left the four of them in the room. The tension was so thick one could cut it with a knife, and Castillo was as stiff as a brick, looking on at the room and creatures before him. He noticed the Major there again, he knew she would be partially, if not fully, responsible for him being dragged off. The panzer man was there as well, but this new face sitting behind the desk was a stock one, and he knew he was important. A ticket out, he would just need to buy his time...

"You two are dismissed." Seelman turned to Saxon and Dust.

"Sir, I—"

Saxon was cut off, "That is an order, Lieutenant."

Reluctantly, the two soldiers gave their final salutes and left, leaving Castillo standing alone before Seelman at his desk.

The Colonel motioned towards one of the seats,"Sit, we have much to discuss."

Castillo moved towards the desk, but did not sit.

Seelman nodded, knowing the man's reactions would be reluctant, and prideful. "Carson!" Seelman shouted.

Carson came in with a large kettle of hot coffee and a small set of cups, and managed to squeeze past Castillo and all the other junk in the room to put down the set. He then left when Seelman nodded thanks, and dismissed him.

"This is expensive coffee, it's imported from Saddle Arabia far to the South-East." He said pouring a glass for himself then one for Castillo, which he offered, placing it on the pad on the desk just before Castillo.

Castillo did nothing, letting it get cold where it sat.

Seelman drank it straight away and poured himself a second, "My subordinates report that you and your men destroyed an entire pack of timber-wolves alone. Is that true?"

He received silence for an answer.

The Colonel set down his cup, "Lieutenant, I think it would be wise that you cooperate. One of my Majors promised you help for your dying men, and that is what they are going to get, but only if you work with me." He brought the cup back to his lips took a sip, "I understand your frustration and confusion, trust me, I have been in your boots, but, trust me when I say this, you will only make it harder on you and your men if you don't comply with us." He took a moment to finish his coffee.

Every instinct within Castillo told him that there should have been a knife to this man's throat by now, and he could be walking out of here, shouting his demands, but he knew that it wasn't the right time, and with his men being down in the hole, nothing he could do right now was not going to get he nor his men anywhere close to getting out of here, so he elected to listen to what this Nazi colonel had to say.

His face said it all, "I'm listening." It said.

Seelman got right on to business. "You are not in Europe anymore, Lieutenant, nor are you in England or the States. Home is far from you now, and whatever doubts you have about this fact you must drop, cause this is all real, in flesh."

He got up and moved towards the small window, it would be any minute now that the largest point to his argument would be demonstrated. "Time also works very strange here, American."

The moon, just as Castillo had witnessed the night before, came floating down out of the sky, the sun moving alongside it to form sunrise and twilight all at once, then it was as if it were morning, with the sun at nine o'clock.

"The days are longer, the months shorter, and the years are all but blinks in this world." Seelman moved to bring out a calendar, and placed it before Castillo, who took it up. Only four months. "Four months to every year, one month for each season, and every season is made possible by magic, something I am sure you have doubts about as well. But that can be discussed further on another time."

He took out a small log book from one of his drawers, "How long do you think we have been here, Lieutenant?"

Castillo had to backtrack a moment. The Germans were well established in this place, they had equipment, vehicles, a surplus of well armed personnel and a fortress. Many of those things could be readily supplied within weeks, but this fort...

The first words he spoke to this Colonel, "A long time." He simply answered.

Seelman oddly smirked, "You would not be wrong, Lieutenant." He opened the book, "I have been very logistical in tracking my time in this world. If we do the math, we have been here over 70 pony years."

"Pony years?" Castillo asked.

"Yes. But, you see, this can not entirely be applied to us: humans.” Seelman emphasized, “Magic here in this world, the magic that controls everything, including the very nature of time and life and death itself, does not apply to our bodies. We do not age at the rate that this world does." He flipped a few pages in his book, "And if my calculations and analysis are correct, then, when applied to human systems, we have been established in the world for more than twenty years, yet our bodies have not aged more that five." Seelman said, almost as a sigh.

"Twenty years..." Castillo muttered in disbelief. It couldn't be true.

"You think I'm lying." Seelman stated bluntly.

Castillo was noticeably irritated, "Of course you are, how could you have been here for that long, when even the clothes on our backs were not even sewn!"

Seelman was not affected by his outburst, "The year we were all flung into this world was 1943. What year was it for you?"

"1944, July." Castillo grunted.

Seelman hummed, and looked out the window once more, soon Teutos would be a-buzz with life, and his work would begin pilling up like it had for many years.

Meanwhile, Castillo thought on the Colonel's words, he knew he was lying, he had to be, at least about time. But, with all the things he had experienced these past long hours, he feared not his words, but the fact that anything, and everything, this Nazi colonel had told him could be true. That is what scared him the most and filled his heart and mind with a nauseous uncertainty.

"Why are you telling me these things?" Castillo questioned.

Seelman said nothing for a moment, electing to continue looking out past the glass, but he soon turned to him sharply, his hands behind his back, "Because I need you to understand that we are not your enemy. Not anymore." He articulated, "Every son of Germany here has not seen or served their fatherland in over twenty years. Most of them do not even remember it's hills and forests, the faces of their wives and their daughters...much less the wars we waged in foreign lands."

He paused to take the coffee pot that had been cooling on his desk and poured himself a cup of the, now much colder, brew.

"All we have left is the uniforms on our backs, the arms we wield, the flags we fly, and the oaths we took left undone. There is no Germany anymore, no Europe, no more men to kill. We only have each other now. We have no reason to fight you, nor do you have any reason to fight us."

Castillo tensed, memories of his many battles and friends lost flooding his mind, of all the blood spilled by his brothers-in-arms and the families that were torn, and he dared to say they had no reason!

"I know your face. You hate me. Resent me and my people, the cause we fought for and the one man whose face we all clearly remember." Seelman drank from his cup, "You have every right to be. I'm sure there are many people, friends, whom were lost before—"

"Do not speak of them." Castillo hissed.

"You think I haven't seen the carnage!?" Seelman seethed. "I was at Verdun! I watched my men die in the mud! Barbarossa? Me and my men were on the front lines fighting those Russian dogs! I saw the French fall beneath our treads! The blood spilled for it all! I served my country as I had for years. Others did their duty, paid it with their lives! Do not think that you have any right to speak of the dead that others can not!" He leveled himself back in his seat, having stood up during his outburst, spilling his coffee all over his desk. He noticed this and began cleaning it with a small towelette he took from his coat.

Castillo looked on unnerved, but he listened closely to his words.

"You can hate us. But that does not change the fact that we are here in this world together, and nothing can change that but death. I am giving you and your men a choice. You can stay here in Teutos, we can teach you the ways of the world: it's people, it's customs, it's rulers, and still have some feeling of familiarity, even if it by the face of your enemies."

He threw the towel in a small bin besides the desk, it landed with a clunk, "Or, you can leave. I won't stop you. Your arms and ammunition, along with maps, supplies, food, and water; these we can give, and a pat on the back. These will be our good graces. But, I cannot say the same for the First Corps." He looked hard at the Lieutenant across his slickened desk. "Your men killed one of their own, a pony of the First Regiment no less. Word will spread through the barracks, and they will demand justice. As their commander, I can only stall them for so long, before they span out to find you and your men. And find you they will. I can't guarantee anything after that."

Castillo let the Colonel's words sink in. He did not know what the First Corps was, though with his talk of ponies he could only guess, and while he actually offered to let them go, it sounded more like a trap, a ruse, he practically threatened capture, and likely death, later anyway. They could try to fight them off, maybe find a good vantage point and hold out for the storm to blow over. But what good would that do them? Seelman promised supplies and munitions, but how would they get around? Where would they go? He knew nothing of this world or anything in it outside of that damnable forest, and he sure as hell was not going back there. What if any of them were mortally wounded, what if they encountered any other strange entities and hellscapes disguised as woods? They would be thoroughly and utterly fucked...

Lee and Davis came to mind.

There was a long silence shared between the two men, one sipping cold coffee and the other blank in deep thought. Then Castillo spoke.

"What are your demands?" He assented.

We're Not In Europe Anymore...

by GeneralChaos345

Prologue: Head Pin [RW]

Chapter 1: All Quiet on the Western Front [RW]

Chapter 2: The Forest [RW]

Chapter 3: Beauty and the Beast

Chapter 4: Moving Forward [Unedited]

Chapter 5: One After Another

Chapter 6: Through the Eyes of the Enemy

Chapter 7: The Voyage, Part One

Chapter 8: Prisoners of War

Chapter 9: The Voyage, Part Two

Chapter 10: Conversation, not Interrogation