> Four Comrades
>  by General_Pankow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Changeling lay in the snow. His lifeless eyes were still turned upwards, staring into the gloomy sky. The red stain of blood ran deep into the snow all around him. His young face was frozen, contorted into a tense grimace, as if he were just having a nightmare. A bullethole was visible on his overcoat, and a red ribbon tied around his hoof. The cold corpse's view of the sun was suddenly blocked, covered in shade as somebody stepped up to it. Another Changeling. He shook his head. He wore the same uniform, only his ribbon was not red, but white, with a black three-toothed crown imprinted on it. 

"Oh... You..." sadly sighed Volunteer Corps' Seventh Brigade of the Third Company automatic gunner Artis. He looked at the body for some time, thinking of something. Then he spat at the snow, said some expressive words, and seated himself just in front of the changeling's corpse, throwing open the flaps of its overcoat. In just a few minutes, all the pockets had been looted, their contents secure with their new proprietor. 
This changeling was not so lucky. Artis had only found some cash and bullets. There were a also few photos, a party card, and other miscellaneous documents, all useless. Looting wasn't exactly Artis' thing. He didn't like it, but just like any other soldier in the changeling army, he needed to survive. Troops from Artis' company were spread all over the battlefield doing likewise. On a nearby road were both supply and battle trucks, bearing white flags with Queen Chrysalis' crown. The soldiers on the tracks were amusing themselves. Their muffled laughs and harmonicas could be heard between the sounds of the motor engines. 

There were some volunteer brigades in the column, and Hauptmann Gynt’s regiment's quest was to conquer the enemy outpost on the main column's way. 

The operation resulted in thirty killed communists and about twenty killed and injured loyalists. It was hard and furious, the communists were caught by surprise and annihilated. Now, the brave anti-communists started looting the corpses with no care: overcoats were torn, and pockets and peakless infantry caps were turned inside out. Soldiers used their knives, jaws, and vigilance. Officers joined their troops by principle: “If you cannot stop something - lead it”. 

Driving his black thoughts away, Artis stood and looked around: to the right, he found Kulex - a soldier from his regiment - he was very small even for changeling. Kulex was looting a body, looking happier than usual. Artis noticed there was the small brass chain of a pocket watch, peeking out from his overcoat pocket. Looks like the corpse belonged to an officer. Finally, Kulex finished with the last pocket and took some money from it. Then, he took the officer's overcoat and tore it up to check for anything he might have missed. The poor communist was left lying in one white shirt and some breeches, whose pockets were also gutted by the dexterous Kulex. 

"You’ve got a nice body to loot, comrade." Upon hearing these words, Kulex turned around cautiously and found corporal Agrias behind him. They were good friends, but in the Changeling army, any friendship comes from army regulations and mutual responsibility. 

"It's my lucky day, and that's no secret," Kulex answered absolutely. He had nothing to worry about, since he knew that Agrias had also found a good haul and wouldn't let the commanders know about this marauding - the whole regiment participated in looting. 

"The Hauptmann said that we’ve got an order from headquarters. We're holding our positions until evening, and when night falls, we make our leave." 

"Then we have some time to rest?" Another voice sounded. Everyone turned to look at the new interluder - it was a gloom soldier with scarf on his neck. Two tired green eyes looked back at them from their place between the soldier's helmet visor and a piece of black knitted fabric tied around his muzzle. It was Rainis, always calm and laconic, famous and loved by his brothers-in-arms for his accuracy and ability to find or craft anything that was needed from

almost nothing. 

"Yup, we'll set the guards and have our rest, but only after formation and roll call," Agrias started told them, authority in his voice. 

"Squad! Come here!" Some grey figures headed up and started moving towards the corporal. Their sergeant had been killed in the battle and his duties and authorities came to Agrias. It was his first luck. He was already in good standing with Gynt and had actually expected to receive a promotion soon. 

Some dispersed soldiers now started grouping up in front of the blindage and Hauptmann Gynt. Looting is looting, but discipline is a must. Volunteer regiments couldn't exactly be called military units. They were more of paramilitary formations, made up of changelings of every kind - even criminals. Typically, they had less organization, worse supply, and even discipline was as bad as could possibly be. The brigade in which Artis, Kulex, Agrias, and Rainis served, however, was not so bad: it was mostly comprised of reservists, junkers, and trained volunteers. Every company had a machine gun and a good amount of ammunition, some of them even had some hoof-grenades and grenade launchers. In comparison, some less fortunate brigades might have even lacked rifles, equipped instead with pistols, and wore civilian clothes rather than military uniforms. 

Here in Hurornd, high command had grouped the best brigades, alongside the jaegers of Colonel Ersatz. There was a great reason for such preparations: the last chord of war was about to be strung. The main forces of the communists had retreated to the forest near Hurornd and entrenched themselves in some lumberjack villages, forming a defence line of outposts. Small groups of Gold Muffin’s communists had broken through the border and hidden in the woods, steppes, and mountains of Yakyakistan. Catching all these groups seemed to be an impossible task thus far, so the loyalists were searching directly for an enemy base to strike at. Finally, Intelligence reported a large concentration of Rotfront’s forces in "Area 18”. 

The complete destruction of enemy forces in this area was very important to prevent possible problems in future. General Larynx couldn't stop everyone, but he was going to stop as many as possible in this nest of wasps. 

At this time, about a hundred soldiers waited around the road - the post-battle roll call had began. Injured soldiers were being transferred to the rear, all the corpses were piled up and covered with snow - there was neither time nor enough ponypower left to make normal graves, echelon troops would do it. 

"Sergeant Ascalaph died in combat, are there any officers left in his unit?" Gynt surveyed his soldiers through the round lenses of his glasses. It was plain from his posture that it was only yesterday that he had been a desk officer. 

"I am, Herr Hauptmann!" Agrias bravely took a step forward from the line. 

"Very well, corporal. You will perform his duties, and the battalion commander will decide what to do with your unit. It is a pity, of course, that it happened. I did not think that this attack would end with the death of a worthy officer..." Gynt said this with such a tone as if Sergeant Ascalaph had never even existed. "Well. First platoon goes to guard, third platoon takes this side of the road and the second takes the opposite one. You may consider this the announcement of a halt. The officers must rouse you at ten o'clock tonight. And now — at Ease! Disperse!".

Agrias' squad was conveniently located in a dugout that served as both a barracks and a firing point for the local garrison. It was well dug: it was dry and warm, and there was a metal stove in the corner, but soldiers still had to sleep on the ground. His squad quickly brought firewood, and someone had good, dry paper for lighting. It was early November, but it was freezing. The changelings had no need for ordinary food, but they were very sensitive to heat. Here, around the slowly heating stove, a dozen soldiers sat and laid down. They had a long and grueling march behind them. Some sat with their backs against the log walls, while others were already trying to sleep, their collars pulled up and helmet pulled down to the tips of their noses. There wasn't much to talk about, they just wanted to forget everything and rest. 

"It was so lousy for our sergeant…" Artis quietly said. "He would better have been shot in the head, but the bullet hadn't spared him. He suffered until he bled to death…" 

"Bad way to die," Kulex replied, stifling a yawn. 

"We have nothing to do with it anyway..." Artis paused and curled up by the stove, his head on his satchel, helmet pulled down over his face. A minute later he was sound asleep, following the example of Rainis, one of the first to fall asleep. 

Kulex looked at Agrias, who was half-sitting with his back against the wall of the dugout. His head was thrown back, and his eyes were fixed on the exit from the shelter, where the gray sky was visible, framed from below by a wall of dense forest. He was not asleep, but thinking about something. 

"You are a strange man, Herr officer. You got lucky and are making a comedy..." Kulex chuckled to himself, settling comfortably among the sleeping. Fate, working in its usual mysterious ways, seemed to cross the paths of these four at random. They were from different hives, from different families, but the war had brought them together. They had become soldiers, and now they were facing a either common victory, or a common grave. The changelings slept like the dead, as they had for the last time. 


 
There was a tense silence in the room… The clock ticked, and faint sounds came from the street. White plaster, a plain wooden floor, a desk, a few chairs, and an expensive gas chandelier. On the wall hung a large and detailed map of the area, dotted with various points, arrows and lines. Several staff officers were gathered here, all in a state of heavy expectation. General Larynx was among them, pacing the room. After another round of the room, the General would stop and pull his watch out of his jacket pocket. It was already ten minutes to six in the evening. There were no news from the forward brigades. The first echelon should already be in position, the second should be on the march. There was only a telephone connection available, and it was expensive to pull the wires behind the rapidly moving parts, so messages were often delayed. Earlier that day, at noon, the report came that the enemy barriers on the road had been removed and the way was open for the columns. This was the last message that reached headquarters. As they advanced, the volunteers had no way of maintaining a constant telephone connection, and messengers could take an endless time to reach the headquarters, for various reasons. 

Then, the distinctive rattle of a motorcycle was heard from outside the window. A minute later, hoofsteps were heard on the stairs and the floor below. Everyone brightened, and Larynx beamed. A changeling entered the room, wearing a leather jacket and a hard hat with motorcycle glasses. Everyone at headquarters already knew him. This was a messenger-orderly, who more than once helped out with his timely appearance. The soldier saluted. 

"Herr Colonel-General! There is a report from operations headquarters!" With that, the rider pulled a sealed package from the lapel of his jacket. Larynx saluted and nodded, as a sign of respect. 

"Very well, we were waiting for you." The General took the folder and put it on the table. The courier remained standing at attention in the doorway. 

Larynx opened the folder and took out its contents. It contained a map and a note. 

First echelon takes the position, the second one is already coming. In a few hours, the last reserves will be drawn up. 

They made visual contact with the enemy, who went on the defensive. Ersatz's Jaegers are combing the area, and there are several reports of shootings with Communist patrols. The enemy is gradually retreating from the area in small groups, Colonel Ersatz has sent detachments to intercept them. The fact that the enemy is gradually withdrawing from its trap is of course unfortunate, but on the day of the attack, fewer rifles will be directed against us and there will be fewer losses. According to intelligence data, there are about a thousand enemy soldiers in this area, a number that is decreasing almost every hour. We learned from enemy troops that their main leadership had fled. All the positions indicated by you are occupied by the forces of four brigades without significant resistance. By dawn, the enemy should be in a tight semicircle if everything goes according to your plan. Telephone communication with headquarters will soon be established, but we would like your presence on the front line. The morale of the personnel is excellent. 


Front headquarters of Volunteer army report, brigadiers Kimex, Tisbe, Canaris and others. 11.11.1006. 

The map accurately depicted the loyalist disposition and the supposed areas of concentration of the Rotfront. Larynx closely acquainted with it. Then he took a fresh sheet of paper from the table, and wrote: 


I am coming to you immediately. Continue with the mission, as according to plan. 
General Larynx. 11.11.1006. 

When he finished, Larynx put his instructions in the envelope the messenger had brought, re-stapled it, and handed it back. 

"You can go." 

"For The Queen and Fatherland!" The motorcyclist saluted, turned around, and started down the hill. Larynx gave the staff a look of dashing enthusiasm. He smiled, but it was more like the grin of a hunting predator. A few days, the General had spent pent up in that damn farm, away from his soldiers… Now he would see them again, lead them again, this time to the last battle of this war. He wanted to personally put a fat end to this shameful conflict. 

The changelings put on their greatcoats and caps. It was freezing outside, and a bone-chilling wind was blowing. In the courtyard of the folwark was a deployed operational headquarters. Several vehicles were on duty on the clock along the road, ready to load officers and equipment for relocation at the first order. Everyone turned their attention to Larynx and his companions. The General ordered them to wrap up their business, and in half an hour the staff was ready to leave. General Larynx himself got into a black car at the front of the column. Two armed bodyguards sat down with him. It would take them an hour and a half to get there. 


 
"Get up! Line up!" These words woke the sleepers as they had thousands of times before. Grey figures were rising from their seats, haversacks were being put on, weapons were being examined for the last time. The smouldering fires were extinguished, and the kerosene lanterns were lit. The changelings formed into their squads, then squads formed into their platoons and marched to the road. Another night's march was coming. There was no peace on the road: trucks with guns attached to them were moving along the road, old three-inch guns of the equestrian license, manufactured in the first vraksian factories. Slow-moving trucks covered the front and rear of the infantry units. The trucks' headlights shone brightly on the soldiers ahead. The third platoon had already formed up, but had to pass the incoming artillery, thus serving as the last rearguard of the loyal forces. Artis carried a heavy water-jacketed machine gun, his number two carrying zink and cartridges. His assistant didn't stand out much and did his job well. It so happened that Artis and his assistant never developed a friendly relationship, but this did not prevent the calculation from working as a whole. He took his place at the end of the line, among other machine-gun crews. They always went last, as in a dense "box" lineup their bulky burden very much interfered with others. The rest of his squad, with satchels and rifles slung over their shoulders, waited for their comrades to pass. The soldiers walked quietly in the night. There were no songs, no conversations, no proverbial harmonica, just a quick and graceful step. Night marches were a grueling and often used maneuver, which the soldiers covered behind their eyes with all sorts of terrible curses. 

Here the column went forward. After waiting for some time, the platoons of the 3rd company came out on the road, formed up, and Gynt came forward. 

"Get to your units!" And the soldiers began to reform into that notorious "Box" - a marching column, where a dozen soldiers marched in a row, blocking both lanes of the road. This was mostly the case with the rearguard or vanguard units, who no longer had to worry about anyone passing or passing through the second lane of the road. 

The rebuilding was over. Platoons took their places according to the statutory regulations, leaving small intervals of 2-3 steps between them. The platoon members walked to the side of the column, watching their subordinates and what was going on around them. The Hauptmann himself, to do his rank justice, walked like a company commander in front of everyone. The company was well equipped with kerosene lamps and other types of lanterns which were to be used to illuminate the night road. The command "March" was given, and the line moved forward, gradually gaining speed and frequency of step. Usually, at night, the soldiers went slower than in the daytime, but someone at Headquarters decided that the troops should be delivered to the desired area as quickly as possible. Everything else could be omitted. The troops had little other option but to swallow this harsh fact, so after a while the company was marching at 180 paces per minute, the famous "flea step" that was the envy of militaries all over the world. Walking like this was good on the parade ground and in the light of day, but not on the forest road at night. Nevertheless, the brave volunteers put the order above their own thoughts and were inclined to carry it out. Fortunately, there was enough light and no one ever stumbled. To stumble during such a task, and even being somewhere in the head of the column — a sure and complete destruction of the formation and the drill rhythm, in other words-a disgrace for the entire battalion. Severe punishment awaited. 

The soldiers moved forward, breaking the pitch darkness of the November night. An icy wind rustled the treetops, adding to the cold, bitter air. A bad omen. Such winds are usually followed by storms, snowstorms or enemy fire. The changelings walked with their greatcoats turned up and their faces wrapped in scarves, warmed only by continuous movement. Kerosene lamps rattled, tied to satchels and soldiers' belts, the rest of the equipment also producing the characteristic hum of constantly beating against each other's satchels, gas masks, kettles and other belongings. In the ears of the volunteers was the crunch of snow under their hooves, a clear and united step. Each soldier's gaze rested on the back of the other's head and rump. If there were fighters on your left and right, that was good. If you were marching on the edge, that was bad, because you were getting the worst of the damn wind, and the first bullets were going to hit you... and the officers were out of line, which made them perfect targets. Now the column was in the rear, and the only Communists that they met on the way were destroyed during the day. Ambushes, small skirmishes, and attacks from the bullpen - this was the essence of this war, and it stretched it out for several long years. 

Presently, some lights loomed in the distance. The soldiers cheered up, the goal was close. 

"Column, stop!" A voice came out of the darkness. "We have a blackout here, put out your lights and follow me." 

"Stop!" Ordered Gynt. And the company stopped. The soldiers extinguished their lamps and continued on, this time in almost total darkness, following the sentry who had met them and who had lighted his lantern. The sentry was dressed like everyone else, but he wore a white cape over his greatcoat and a Jaeger's cap instead of a helmet. It was one of Ersatz's soldiers who was keeping watch around the rest of the seventh brigade's forces. Soon the silhouettes of houses, cars, and sentries began to appear in the darkness. They could hear orders, conversations, and tired laughter. The company passed through one village, through another. Everywhere the soldiers could hear the voices of their comrades, who had already taken up their quarters or were taking up their quarters for the night. They reached a small village that had almost doubled in size because of the battalion stationed there. The third company was warmly welcomed by fellow soldiers. They were assigned two large barns in advance, where the soldiers were stationed. It was already midnight. The company posted sentries, and the command to nap was given. 

Corporal Agrias was lying on a pile of faggots stacked like a cot. After that fight, he was tormented by thoughts that kept him awake. He thought about the fallen Sergeant, Sergeant Ascalaph. "I was thinking about replacing him. Ascalaph was an exemplary commander and an old veteran, he was kind and fair to his subordinates, always ready to stand up for them." Agrias had served in his Department for a year and a half, and the Sergeant had become his senior companion and mentor. Ascalaph taught soldiers to survive in battle better than any instructors and other "heroes" who preferred to sit in the rear and watch the soldiers crawl through the mud, shoot guns and march to the harmonica singing "Erica" or "Laura", not to fight on the front line. The squad felt great in the rain and in the bitter cold, because their Sergeant always found them firewood and shelter for the night. Ascalaph was known and respected throughout the battalion. The months passed, and the war was coming to an end, but the Sergeant was not happy about it. In the last few days, he had become quiet, taking more frequent swigs from his canteen of schnapps, but he was dignified in front of his own people. On the night before that ill-fated battle, he stared at the dying fire with a blank, glassy stare. "I saw my family in a dream. And my mother, too..." he said, then paused for a moment and spat out the cigarette that had burned in his mouth. "I am tired, comrades… I'm sick and tired of this damn war, damn it… Anyway, it's all going to end soon. Nothing to worry about.” And with these words Ascalaph laughed his usual rough soldier's laugh - only there was a noticeable sadness - a very heavy sadness. The next day, he was killed during an attack on a Rotfront checkpoint. The bullet hit him in the leg and severed an artery. No one could help him; the old Sergeant had bled to death on one of the last days of the war, foreseeing his own untimely demise. Now Agrias, an officer who had recently left the Academy with the rank of Lieutenant, but who had joined the volunteer corps as a corporal, was to become the commander. He shouldn't really think about it, because it was perfectly normal. When a commander is killed, another officer in the unit must replace him. But on the other hand… How could Agrias replace Ascalaph? This question seemed to him stupid, unworthy of consideration, but it tormented him. Agrias was a careerist, but he also had a conscience that sometimes gnawed terribly. 

Then Hauptmann Gynt came into the barn. 

"Corporal Agrias!" 

"I, Herr Hauptmann!" Agrias got up and stood at attention. 

"Congratulations, you are now officially a Sergeant. The battalion commander gave his authorization." Agrias nodded in silence, relieved and glad that everything had already been decided for him. 

"Well, go, at ease. Tomorrow there will be a fight, and you will command a squad." With that, Gynt left, and the new Sergeant fell silent on the firewood, falling into a dead sleep. 

The morning began with a rise. The silence was broken by the sharp shouts of commands, followed by the sound of hundreds of hooves. It was seven o'clock in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to rise from the treetops. The night wind had cleared away yesterday's clouds, and the sun's red glow was clearly visible on the horizon. There was much to be done in this pre-dawn hour. Platoons and companies were formed, counted, and weapons checked. Then the battalion, in several columns, moved in the direction of the forest, according to previously explored paths. The forest itself was quite sparse: the local loggers knew their business, and around all the villages there were large vacant lots where the stumps of fallen trees stuck out. 

The forest was frequently passed, and soldiers went to another plain. It slowly converted into a moderate hill, with some roofs, covered in snow. This was one of about ten villages, that should be assaulted and liberated by loyalists. Every of this villages were fortified and holded by enemy units. From that far away, they seemed very small. 

Groups of volunteers appeared like small streams, taking up positions on the edge of the forest. There were more and more of them, and more companies and platoons appeared from under the spreading firs, eager to take their place in the disposition. A dense semi-circle formed around the zag. Seven brigades of the volunteer corps were preparing to make a direct attack on the enemy, while Ersatz's jaegers were in the rear of the enemy, setting a trap for the retreating troops. There were about ten thousand loyalists, and they were opposed by only a thousand of the least trained and experienced fighters, whose forces were scattered over many strongholds. The very concept of "brigade" in Changeling military science meant something between a regiment and a division, an operational unit brought together from different parts for a specific task. So the Larynx brigades were far from uniform. Some had four or five battalions, some could have only two or three (as in the seventh), and the number of companies, platoons, and so on varied. 

Agrias led the way, followed by his squad. Here in the coveted wasteland, the platoon stopped and began to reorganize into battle order. Then the infantry went to the attack in chains: widely open ranks, in which the soldiers walked two or three meters apart. Agrias led his troops along the ranks of the battle-ready changelings, taking his place as the third squad of the third platoon of the third company of the first battalion, advancing as part of the right wing of the seventh brigade, sharing its section with that of the left wing of the sixth brigade. For the first time since the wakening, the Sergeant spoke. 

"Check your pouches and weapons, misfires and wedges during the battle aren't going to help anyone. Artis, this is your first concern, and I think you understand why." Artis nodded silently, called for his assistant, and began to double-check his machine gun. "When we reach the enemy, there will be no time for that. They'll probably see us first. Our task is to respond to their fire with our own, since they have nowhere to hide. Do your duty with honor!" 

They all listened in silence to what they had heard many times before. 

"Well said, Herr officer." A voice came from the line. It was Kulex's. 

There was a high-pitched squeal above the soldiers' heads, followed by a distant rumble. A column of mud and snow rose above the village in front of them. Agrias looked around the room with a dry, strained expression. Everyone was grim and focused, the machine-gun crew taking up their position in the line, their rifles hanging from their belts, haunches raised, ready for action. To their right stood the volunteers from the sixth brigade, shuddering and swaying like a wave after each salvo of guns. Behind them was a second-line chain, and behind the second-line chain was a backup chain. 

More and more shells were bursting somewhere ahead, turning the village in front of them into ruins. The artillery fire was not heavy, but the soldiers were glad that there was at least some. 

The whistle blew through the ranks of the infantry. The gray lines moved forward to meet the enemy's bombarded positions. Another sound was added to the heavy blows of the artillery preparation, the drum of many, many hooves trudging through the snow. 

Between the chains of soldiers and the enemy was about a kilometer. The soldiers walked slowly, calmly, and each changeling trained their eyes at the desired height to see the enemy before they could see them. The closer the changelings got, the clearer the village in front of them became. Shells exploded among the small village houses, sometimes throwing up not only the earth and snow, but also logs, planks, and the remains of bodies. When the chains were half-way through, the artillery fell silent, and a hush fell over the wasteland… 

"Stop! Stop!" The platoon leader shouted suddenly in alarm, and the entire segment of his chain halted in indecision. "Watch your fucking hooves! There's a wolf pit!" And then, as if to confirm these words, under hooves of the chain of the sixth brigade opened a giant pit-trap. Three soldiers were killed when they ran into the stakes below, and the rest managed to get out. Chain six immediately stopped, and the enemy in the village opened fire. The battle had begun. 

A burst of machine-gun fire struck the loyalist lines, followed by rifle fire that beat at a feverish pace. All of a sudden, the shelling started again. a few soldiers fell, the others lay down in indecision. 

The changelings threw themselves on the ground and raised their guns, taking cover behind stumps that protruded everywhere, and they soon began to respond. Artis' team took up position, resting the bipod of the machine gun on a wide stump. All this time death was hovering over the machine-gunners: now it whistled over the head of the second number, now something thudded into the stump that served as a support and cover, the third bullet tore up the snow next to the first number, which was already pointing the machine gun at the target. The belt was loaded, the butt rests firmly on the soldier's shoulder, and Artis holds the trigger. The enemy position was hit by a burst of fire. There was no answer, and Artis gave more. Feeling more confident with fire support, the platoon began to move slowly forward. The other machine-gunners were also on alert, and the initiative was steadily shifting to the loyalist side. 

The enemy machine gun fired from a small window of a wooden house, which had been converted into a machine-gun nest. The Reds' team wasn't letting up, spreading their volleys for maximum coverage. During these bursts of fire, the soldiers crouched low to the ground and lay down, not daring to go further. 

Rainis rested his rifle on one of the stumps and scanned the enemy's position through the muzzle of his rifle. He was cooly calm as usual, and even when a bullet killed his squadmate, piercing through his helmet, Rainis didn't flinch. He pointed the rifle at the black hole that was constantly bursting into flames, spewing death. A shot barked, the recoil hitting the butt on his shoulder, followed by three more. After the fourth hit in the window, the machine-gun nest abruptly stopped and fell silent. 

The last hope of the Reds to remain in the village was destroyed. There were three loyalist rifles per Rotfront rifle, and two more machine guns joined the fire of Artis' team, discouraging the enemy from leaning out of cover. 

"Fix bayonets! For the Fatherland and the Queen!" Hauptmann Gynt, who had appeared from somewhere deep in the formation, gave the order. The climax of the battle was coming. The loyalists began to rise out of the snow, their three-sided points glinting in the sun. 

The changelings charged in the Gryphon fashion: on two legs, with their guns at the ready, having the ability to both shoot and stab. The chains moved forward, supported by machine-gun fire, suppressing the enemy in the trenches. 

The loyalists realized that there was no danger of enemy fire, and the third platoon rose to its full height and charged, setting an example to all the others. Now the outcome of the skirmish was decided, and the companies could not be stopped by reds forces. In a matter of minutes, the volunteers covered the remaining hundreds of meters to the village. Neither bullets nor wolf pits could stop this pressure. 

Agrias climbed a hill and found himself in close proximity to the enemy's trenches. 

"Unit! Follow me! Attack!" The officer shouted to his soldiers, choking with battle rage, as he was the first to rush into the trench, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing but dashing bravery. 

When Agrias jumped into the trench, he was immediately hit on the head. The noise of the battle was abruptly replaced by a shrill ringing, his eyes darkened, and pain shot through his head. As if in a feverish fit, the officer saw the black-and-gray silhouette of his assailant. A wild inarticulate cry escaped from his chest before his bayonet sank its narrow sting into the enemy's neck. The front-line man fell to the ground with a grunt, letting go of his rifle, which had run out of bullets. Agrias clutched his head and leaned against the wall of the trench, still howling in pain. The concussion from the blow soon passed, the helmet and scarf under it saved the officer's life. 

"Herr Sergeant!" Kulex's voice sounded like it was breaking through water. "Agrias! Damn you!" The soldier jumped down into the trench after his commander, looking around with his rifle ready. The rest of the squad was already keeping up with him. Kulex took off Agrias’ helmet and scarf and began to examine his head: the top of the carapace had given a small crack from which a trickle of blood trickled down to his face. 

"I'm all right, go further along the trench, there may still be an enemy there," Agrias said. He didn't sound like himself. Kulex nodded curtly and added meaningfully 

"You are responsible for your head like ten of our own, and you are ahead of everyone else..." 

"I'm an officer, Kulex." The Sergeant stood up and shook his head. Kulex wanted to add something, but didn't say anything and went on down the trench. Several other changelings from the squad joined him. Rainis’ and Artis' team were the last to reach the trench. 

"Right, machine gunner! Position yourself so that you can graze in that little house," Agrias said, pointing to one of the village houses as he finally recovered from his concussion, the house from which the machine gun had recently been fired. "From there, they can start shooting if the enemy retreats from the trenches. Rainis, stay with them." 

"Yes..." Artis answered, out of breath, trying to keep up with a machine gun on his shoulders. Rainis simply nodded meekly. Agrias somehow wrapped his scarf around his head and put his helmet back on. 

Red corpses lay here and there in the trench. They were terrifying to look at, because only a few of them were in uniform. Bodies in plain civilian clothing were often found among the dead. These changelings joined the Rotfront as volunteers to fight for their promised rights, freedoms, and equality. Workers and peasants opposing experienced soldiers and officers, what was the honor and military glory in this? Kulex walked along the trench, trying not to look at the bodies. He was suddenly sick of the sight of corpses. There were soldiers at that checkpoint and they fought with dignity, and these... these could only die. A rifle hit Kulex right in the ear. The fighter, merging with the gray-brown trench, staggered and fell to one side, clutching a hunting double-barrelled shotgun in a death grip. There was another one behind him, but he was more fortunate: he managed to hide behind a bend in the trench. 

"Give up, you red bastard!" The shooter shouted. 

"Fuck you!" It came from around the corner. The rest of the strong expression was drowned out by the approaching "Hurrah!" It was the rest of the force that reached the trenches. Shots were fired, quickly replaced by the scuffle of bayonet fighting and choice swearing. Troops of the third company had reached the enemy, almost in full force. There was a shot and an agonized groan around the corner, then two heads in gray helmets with black-and-white badges poked out. 

"So, who are you?" one of them said. 

"We are the third squad of the third platoon!" Kulex's partner said hotly. "And you just shot someone I should have shot!" 

"Not we, he shot himself" The second head stood up for the comrade. "And I think one will be enough for you. Who is your commander?" 

"I'm their commander." Agrias' voice came from behind the soldiers. Soon he came forward, pushing his own troops aside. The heads nodded in silence and disappeared around the bend, apparently in a hurry to report to the platoon leader or Hauptmann Gint. The outcome of the bayonet battle in the trench was a foregone conclusion. A few Reds retreated to the houses, from where they tried to continue fighting, but Artis' machine gun promptly suppressed one of their key firing points. The battle quickly turned into search, pursuit, and destruction. Loyalists broke into empty homes, where they no longer had the sense or desire to resist. About two dozen Rotfront troops managed to escape from the lost village, in the village itself later counted about eight dozen corpses. An important point and one of the command centers was taken by eleven o'clock in the morning. The advance along the entire front continued: the units of the sixth brigade that took part in the assault on the village on the hill bypassed it and moved on, the seventh brigade advanced in a wide front, destroying one hotbed of resistance after another. The positions of the Rotfront could not be coordinated with each other at a sufficient level, the troops of Gold Muffin fought desperately and bravely, but their lack of experience and shoddy training showed. The first line of defense fell, and the remnants of the garrisons retreated to "Point #17", the main stronghold of Muffin's forces, a village turned into a real fortress. Larynx's soldiers were preparing for their final blow. 

Agrias stared at the white canvas framed by the forest as the nurse wrapped the bandage around his head it. In the distance, something resembling a hedgehog could be seen: a large village surrounded by trench lines. The sight made the soldiers uneasy. No one doubted the victory, but everyone understood that the battle would be difficult and many changelings would die. The nurse finished her work and left the Sergeant alone, giving him a last look of concern. Agrias looked after her. She was going to the other wounded. This time there were a lot of them. Agrias thought of the bullet and bayonet wounds that he had seen during his time, remembered the legs torn off by mines, the bodies torn by shells and bombs, and then remembered the nurses: the angels who bore all these horrors on themselves. 

The Sergeant was ready to fight and die. This was the last step, and he was ready to take it. 


 
The village was in uncontrollable chaos: the broken remnants of the garrisons were constantly arriving and reinforcing it, and soldiers and militia were feverishly trying to strengthen the defenses. There was no high command, and the junior officers had no idea what to do. Gradually, panic began to rise. No one expected such a rapid defeat. The inexperienced militia quickly lost morale and organization, dragging the thinned remnants into the abyss of complete anarchy. 

Commissar Antis broke into the house where the general staff was supposed to be located. He was in the highest degree of disbelief and anger. At great cost, he managed to withdraw his squad from the battle and retreat to find the last hotbed of resistance in chaos and confusion. The Commissar mounted the stairs and kicked the door open. Inside the headquarters building, everything was turned upside down: the room was empty, all the drawers and cabinets were overturned and cleaned, on the table in a pool of blood lay the corpse of an officer with a punctured head, on the floor lay a gun. There was also a note on the table: 

All the comrades in high command left us, leaving us certain death. I've been appointed to command those who remain, and I can't bear it. We're all going to be killed here, that's the end. If someone is reading this, I suggest you follow my example. Better death by one's own hoof than in the dungeons of reactionaries. 

-Colonel Kieren. 

After reading this, Antis threw the paper on the ground and stamped on it with his hoof. Kieren had never been a brave man, but what he had done now was a true betrayal.

The Commissar decided to take command. He went out of the house, at the entrance waiting for him three dozen fighters, all of whom he was able to bring out. 

"Comrade Commissar, what happened?" One of the soldiers asked. 

"The commander went on unlimited leave. We must save the situation." The soldier nodded, apparently understanding. The Commissar's unit was entirely military, so it was able to maintain organization and order. It was necessary to act, with all possible determination. 

"Officers and Communists, to me!" Antis shouted at the top of his voice, trying to shout above the confusion around him. His words did not go unnoticed, and those who sought to restore order began to gather around the small group. They were comprised mostly of former soldiers and officers, as well as ideological party members. This group went through the village, restoring order in the scattered parts. The situation was explained to soldiers and militia, orders were issued, and outspoken alarmists were executed on the spot. The situation was saved in less than an hour. Immediately, work began on additional strengthening of the village: furniture was removed from the houses, sheds were disassembled into logs and boards. The troops were regrouped, and each platoon was assigned its own section of defense. Several dozen civilian militias were disarmed and sent to strengthen homes and create barricades. Machine guns were placed in strong and reliable shelters. The first line of trenches was occupied by soldiers, and the houses were occupied by unarmed militia. When all preparations were over, Antis appealed to the remaining Rotfront with a speech: 

"Our task is to repel the first attack of the enemy. If we succeed, we will be able to retreat from the village and cross the border in small groups. The enemy's numerical superiority is undeniable, but we have fortified positions and enough ammunition to repel their first attack. Comrades! We don't lose, we don't run away from the enemy! We are leaving to return again and free our people from the oppression of the monarchy! We perish, but our cause is immortal, our cause will live until the whole world is freed from reaction and the bourgeoisie, until despots and tyrants fall, until the bloody beast of world imperialism is destroyed! Stand to the death, comrades! Your death will not be forgotten! For The Motherland! For The Revolution! Hurray!" 

"Hurray!!! Hurray!! Hurray!" There was a harsh answering shout. Panic and despair were replaced by a calm determination to stand to the end. The screams stopped and were replaced by the words of a song that everyone knew. This song lifted the Communists into battle, gave them strength and determination even when there was no hope: It was none other than the Internationale. 

Get up, branded with a curse, 

The whole of hungry people and of slaves. 

Our indignant mind is boiling 

And ready to lead us in a mortal fight! 

These words sounded like a thunderclap, inspiring courage in their hearts. Gray chains were already beginning to appear from the copse, and a wild, high-pitched screech was heard high in the sky, familiar to them all to the point of pain. But no one flinched, no one shouted to "Get down!" or "We are doomed!” Even when the song was drowned out by the exploding shells, and the dark gray silhouettes of armored vehicles appeared from the side of the road, not a one thought about cowardice. The soldiers and militia continued to sing, looking into the eyes of imminent death. 


 
Larynx was examining "Point #17" through the stereo tube. Trenches, fortified houses, soldiers and militia flashed everywhere. The fight would be hard. Four loyalist brigades were concentrated in the woods in front of the village. Everything that could be done for victory had already been done, now the General could only encourage and support his soldiers. Larynx came from an old officer's background and found it difficult to accept the new role of General, since he had been taught from childhood that a commander should drive, not give orders

from the rear. Nevertheless, he was aware of all the new features of the war and understood the new demands that this war gave. Having finished another inspection of the enemy positions and realizing that his eye still did not meet many enemy "surprises", Larynx looked up from the stereo tube. All around him, staff work was going on: orders were being given, reports were coming in and being compiled, phone buzzers were ringing nastily, and there were staccato orders and reports. Next to him stood Kombrig Tisbe, commander of the first brigade of the volunteer corps. He waited quietly for his own commander. 

"Herr Tisbe, I think it's time to go to your location," Larynx said calmly. Tisbe nodded curtly, then turned and left the headquarters. Larynx followed. Outside, a car and security were waiting for them. 

The lines of infantry were visible from the car. The front of the offensive was greatly narrowed, so three brigades were put in reserve, while the rest were drawn up in the same lines as on the previous day. Here was the section of the first brigade, this part was to advance along the road with the support of a squadron of armored cars, the soldiers were already lined up in extended chains. They were tough and battle-hardened veterans, almost everyone had two or three grenades stuck in their belts. 

Larynx's car was greeted with cheers, and the soldiers recognized their General and were glad to see him. When the changeling came out, he was greeted with cheers, and Larynx waved a hoof at them and climbed onto an armored car that was parked nearby. The soldiers fell silent. 

"Toffs, officers, soldiers! After many years of heavy fratricidal war, we are facing its end. The enemy is trapped, and they will get what they deserve! We were not the cause of this conflict, but the Communists, who with their lies brazenly tried to undermine our loyalty to the Queen, trample on our military honor! Now, they will be banished from our land, and their shameful ways will be put to an end. We are going to fight for our Country, for our Queen, and for our people, who must not be drugged by red lies! Beat them without mercy! They are cowards, traitors and deserters, they do not deserve to be called changelings! You are glorious veterans who have served under its banner from Vrax to Canterlot! You forged our nation with iron and blood, and you protected it from final disgrace and defeat! Prove your loyalty and courage now, as you have always done!" 

The response to the General was an avalanche of furious applause, and at the end of this speech, a cannonade thundered, as if it had been purposefully timed. A few dozen guns rained down on the enemy, hammering the defenders into the dug-out ground. The moment of truth had arrived, and the troops would attack any minute now. Larynx climbed down from the armored car and hesitated: should he stay with the soldiers or go back to headquarters? The General looked at brigade commander Tisbe, who was giving some instructions to one of the battalion soldiers who had come up to him on some matter. 

"Herr Tisbe, what do you think?" Larynx finally decided to ask. 

"I think it's up to you to decide, but the enemy bullet might not agree with your decision... The Reds are cornered, they will fight like beasts. No one wants you dead." 

The General hesitated, but sanity prevailed. 

"You're right, I'll take the third line." Tisbe replied with an affirmative nod. There was nothing more to say; everything was settled. 

The signal was given, and the entire loyalist line went on the offensive. This time the three lines of infantry moved more closely, forming a sort of chess order. 

The cannonade ceased, and the air was thick with tension, each soldier alone with his own fear. Everyone understood that they were going straight at the enemy, straight into the enemy's guns. It would be impossible to get out of the coming battle without significant losses, "The Gods' Judgment", as the griffons say. 

Agrias led his squad through the same area as in the morning, forming the right wing of the third platoon. His head, wrapped in a scarf and bandages, was no longer aching, yet it didn't feel any better either. The village houses became more and more clearly visible, and the black holes in the windows looked unfriendly to the loyalists. A bullet could have come from each of them, or even a whole line of them. The lines of the trenches, as yet indistinct, pressed down on the attackers with a grim silence. Behind the chains of the first line, somewhere far to the right, the engines of armored vehicles hummed, barely keeping up with the brave fellows from the first brigade, boldly going forward and setting an example to everyone. The chains were getting closer, and the enemy was only four hundred meters away… 

And then the entire enemy line burst into flames. Hundreds of rifles, dozens of machine guns, everything that was obtained in countless raids and battles was put into use. Agrias had time to see the platoon leader fall to the ground with a broken neck, as his entire company lay down, broken by the first blow of the enemy. They were caught unaware again, but this time they would pay much more... The Sergeant was buried in the snow, bullets whizzing over him like large hail. He crawled to one of the stumps, only then was he able to turn around to see the second line begin to work in response, and the soldiers fall into the snow as if they had been cut down. 

The seconds stretched out like an unbearable eternity, the shots thundering, merging into a single terrifying roar that claimed and maimed lives. Artis reacted faster than anyone else, and the machine gun was ready to fire in less than a minute. Without wasting time on aiming, the fighter fired back at the enemy, in particular those sitting in the attic of one of the houses. He saw no silhouettes, no figures, only the flash of gunfire. He worked on them, plugging one window after another. Right he fired, a puff of snow burst up as bullets rained on the ground around him. Artis saw a machine-gun nest in one of the trenches and fired at it with all his strength, not sparing the cartridge belt. The enemy gun stopped and fell silent. When Artis saw a few more flashes in the windows of the houses, he pointed his weapon at them again... but instead of a burst of fire, he heard only an empty click. The bullets were gone. 

"Cartridge!!!" The hot-headed soldier shouted at the top of his voice. There was no answer. When Artis didn't hear a response, he turned to see his partner lying face down, leaning on the zinc cartridge that he hadn't managed to hand to his companion. There was no time to grieve, so Artis backed away from the machine gun and rolled the still-warm corpse off the zinc, was already covered in his blood. The machine gunner alone refueled the machine gun with fresh tape and continued working. All this time, he had every chance to repeat the fate of his assistant. 

"The commanders of the second and first are killed!" Agrias heard the voice of one of the second squad's soldiers, who had been shouted at a few minutes earlier. The situation was worse than ever, he was the only living officer in the entire platoon. Something had to be done, but what? The Sergeant turned, his squad having suffered relatively small losses, and Artis's team was doing everything they could to suppress the enemy fire. At this point, Agrias wished he had a second-in-command. 

"Rainis!" 

"I!" 

"You lead!" 

"Why? How should I understand it?" 

"Clear! Cover me up! Artis! Settle the foes in storm of shots!" 

And the Sergeant crawled to the left, where the soldiers of the second and third squads were fighting. Bullets whizzed, shots rang out, and Agrias crawled with his head down, trying to keep as close to the ground as possible. The skirmish gathered momentum. With the initial shock passed, the loyalists' numerical superiority began to take its toll, and the Sergeant was able to reach the center of the platoon chain without much trouble. 

"Sergeant Agrias?" One of the corporals, who was hiding behind a particularly wide and high stump, addressed him. 

"It's me! How many have you lost?" 

"It is difficult to count, but many. There are almost no officers left." 

"Clearly. So I'll have to lead the platoon?" At these words, the Corporal turned to the Sergeant, wanting to look at him. 

"Where?" The Corporal asked. Agrias jerked his head toward the enemy lines. 

"The fire is dying down! The second line suppresses them!" 

"Sergeant, damn it!" Suddenly the corporal broke down with his voice. "You want us all to die here!?" 

"I'm senior! This is an order!" Agrias shut him up abruptly. "The platoon! Listen to me! Fix bayonets! Attack!" 

At this time, some platoons and companies were already starting to get up and move forward. The first brigade had already firmly suppressed the enemy in their area, the veterans were the first to break into the trenches and begin to clean them up. The loyalists outnumbered Rotfronts eightfold, the defenders could not resist for long. The first shock had been overcome; a determined onslaught might have settled the matter quickly. 

Agrias rose to his full height, setting an example to his newfound subordinates, and swung his hoof, drawing them along with him… And it worked. The bayonets glittered in the sun again, and again the gray shapes began to rise from the reddened snow. Together, abruptly, without any shouting or bravado. Bullets were still flying at them, but most of the machine guns were already suppressed, and the remaining defenders were running out of ammunition. The third platoon was followed by the second and first, and now the entire company was moving towards the enemy, raising and dragging along all who remained alive, all who wanted revenge for their comrades. They continued to fall into the snow, but they could not be stopped. The changelings burst into the trenches with the fury of beasts. The butts of old rifles were smashed to splinters by the terrific force of the blows, bayonets stuck in shells and ribs, and broke in blind blows against steel helmets. Hoof-to-hoof combat quickly turned into a monstrous slaughter, where everything was used up to the teeth. No prisoners were taken. The remnants of the defenders retreated in disarray, trying to get lost among the houses, to retreat from the village. 

Rainis led the remnants of the first squad, who ran up to the trenches with a furious shout, firing several shots at point-blank range and striking with bayonets. Without encountering any serious resistance, a group of six changelings entered the village first. Rainis kicked down the door of one of the houses and stormed in. Immediately a shot rang out, a bullet struck the lintel of the door, and Rainis fired back, sending the enemy tumbling down the stairs. Six fighters flew into the room on the first floor, it was empty. There was only overturned furniture, broken windows and spent shell casings. 

"We need to check the attic. I'll go first." 

"I don't like this, you may get slaughtered…" 

"If they slaughter, they'll slaughter. I'm not an officer, after all." Rainis simply answered and went up the stairs. The two troopers followed him, while Kulex remained below, holding all this at gunpoint. The other soldiers including Artis took up positions at the windows. 

The house was not very tall, and his ascent up the stairs quickly finished. Rainis found himself in a small attic littered with firewood and empty cartridge boxes. The only light came from a small dormer window. 

Rainis heard a rustle right behind him, and he whirled to see the enemy with a raised dagger. It was impossible to use the bayonet and butt in a confined space, and there was no time to avoid the blow. All Rainis had time to do was throw the rifle aside and dive down. The blow missed, and the enemy immediately charged again. It was a front-line soldier in a military greatcoat, a former soldier or officer. Rainis ducked under the enemy's lunge again, kicked the changeling in the chest, knocked him to the floor, and began to strangle him. Three loyalists, including Kulex, rushed into the attic after him, but they could not help their comrade in

any way. Two bulky figures rolled on the floor, trying to overcome each other, until Rainis managed to hit his opponent's head on the railing of the stairs, moderating his ardor. The soldiers surrounded the new prisoner. 

"Where is your leader?" Rainis asked simply and clearly. 

"I won't tell you anything, you damned officer!" The communist screamed. Then Rainis slammed it against the railing again. 

"Speak!" 

"Screw you!" Another blow. 

"Either you tell us where your commander is, or we use our rifle butts. You're all screwed anyway, you can't save your commander." The trooper went limp and lost the craving to resist. At this moment, he looked rather pitiful: his head was bleeding, his face was emaciated, and his eyes were dark with despair. 

"Okay… Our headquarters… The third house down this street. Commissar Antis is probably there… Now shoot me... Our team will take it anyway! You will hide from us in the woods and basements, as we hid from you! Rejoice scum officer, then you will be responsible for everything!" 

A shot rang out, and the prisoner shuddered for a brief moment before going still. There was no more. Rainis turned and looked at his companions. Kulex stood with his rifle raised. 

"You did the right thing, we stayed here too long." Kulex stood up as if nothing had happened, leaving his enemy lying in a pool of his own blood. Rainis' face showed nothing, but as the party left the house, he glanced up the stairs that led to that unfortunate attic. "It was either you or me," Rainis thought as he walked out of the house into the street. 

Outside, the battle was raging on. The loyalists had already broken into the village, and the Reds were trying to retreat. Rainis and the group left the house and moved down the street. They quickly reached the third house, but the door to it was open, and the footprints in the snow were lost in the general muddy mess around. The enemy was in front of them, and their allies were right on their heels. A few bullets whizzed through the air, but they missed their marks. The squad continued to advance without coordination with Agrias, who was fighting elsewhere at the moment. There was no one standing in Rainis's way, and the squad reached the opposite edge of the village with little resistance. It was only a short distance to the edge of the forest, there was no large wasteland, and the enemy had a real chance to escape. The volunteers were already exhausted; they could only fire at the retreating troops. They returned a few straggled shots here and there, trying to reach the forest as quickly as possible. 

Rainis leaned his rifle against the fence and took aim at one of the Reds. He didn't stand out in any way, but the gunslinger had chosen him as a target. It was a big distance, but the shot was fired. The changeling fell into the snow, and those with him immediately rushed loosely. 

Some of the enemy managed to escape into the forest, where Ersatz's soldiers joined in. Only a few Reds managed to escape from the trap and reach the Yakyakistani border. 

The Loyalists captured a lot of trophies, which included mostly rifles and machine guns that had been captured by the Rotfront troops before. Many components of weapons, hunting rifles, sporting rifles, and other items were also found. It was all piled up in a good-sized pile, onto which General Larynx climbed. He gave another of his pompous speeches from atop it, one of those that are not usually received except with joy and awe. At the end, he announced that some of the volunteer brigades would be disbanded, and the soldiers of the remaining units were entitled to be demobilized at their own request. This was met with a particularly loud ovation. Some went to camp in the villages, the local population having been evacuated by the front or mobilized in the militia. Many houses were completely destroyed, as well as all the furniture, their devastation suggestive of bad thoughts. 

However, the soldiers were not going to be discouraged. Captured caches of alcohol and love essence were opened, bonfires

were lit in the evening, and stoves were heated. The soldiers gathered in large, noisy groups. Everyone was discussing the events of the day. The soldiers of the third platoon were hailed as heroes, and the seventeen survivors were surrounded by a crowd of fellow soldiers: "How'd you do it?", "Well done, guys!", "Wipe the smirks off the faces of the first brigade! They are not the only ones who can fight!". The soldiers were handed flasks and bottles of schnapps, cigarettes, and much more. Then the sharp voice of Larynx's orderly came from behind: 

"Sergeant Agrias!" 

"I!" The Sergeant answered, got up from the bonfire, and pushed through the crowd of fellow soldiers who appeared before the orderly. He felt terribly tired, but he was happy with what he had done. He felt like a hero. 

"The General wants to see you, follow me." 

They passed the soldiers sitting around the campfires. There was chatter and green smoke everywhere. 

"Herr Hauptmann! I am glad to see you in good health." At first Agrias thought the general was addressing someone else, but then he saw Larynx, surrounded by officers, looking directly at him. 

"I'm sorry, Herr Colonel-General, but I volunteered as a Lieutenant…" 

"Don't talk too much, I was given your documents and I came to the decision to promote you. You acted like a hero, even though your platoon suffered heavy losses due to the attack. This war is over, there is no point in you staying here any longer. The volunteers still have a lot of fighting to do, but I don't want you to get involved in it. There are still oppositionists in the hive dungeons, the people have not yet been pacified and all the guilty have not yet been executed. Serving in the Royal army will do you more honor." Larynx looked Agrias up and down, wanting to see the changeling responsible for today's celebration. The Sergeant-turned-Hauptmann was short, well-built, and green-eyed, like most of his company's changelings. He had a dark gray carapace and pleasant features that still bore traces of the past. At this moment, the old General could see that he was a worthy officer. 

"You are right, Herr Colonel-General. I have fulfilled my duty to the Fatherland in the fight against its internal enemies, and we must be ready to meet external enemies!" Larynx replied with a smile. 

"Go, you have earned my favor today by your bravery. Tomorrow we go to Hurornd." 

Agrias drew himself up to attention, saluted, turned around, and strode back to his soldiers. 

"Well, Artis, the war is over, where will you go now?" Kulex asked, sitting by the fire for the gunner. He was not so much gloomy as he was thoughtful. Kulex didn't immediately understand the reason. "Why are you so sour, what about some schnapps?" 

"I'm going to Soryth to see my mother." He began. "And I don't need schnapps, I've had as much of this vodka in the last year and a half as I could have in ten years. They nailed my number two. I didn't even remember the guy's name. Here was a changeling and disappeared without a trace, you know?" 

"They'll put him in the documents, don't worry about it. Nothing is lost without a trace, comrade." 

"The document is a piece of paper. A piece of paper can burn and rot. But you can't just erase your memory. He disappeared as if he never existed. We will not forget Ascalaph - he will always live in our memory, but this one…" 

"Unknown soldier…" Rainis said quietly, pouring schnapps into an aluminum mug. He was going to radically change the tone of the conversation. 

"For Sergeant Ascalaph! To all the fallen changelings!" He said aloud, raising his mug. His toast was met with approval. 

"And for the fallen Reds, too?" One of the soldiers asked in disbelief. Rainis said nothing, and no one protested. For many, this struggle was over; many no longer saw the point of fighting with their countrymen, no matter what harmful ideas they professed. This war was to be forgotten, and its participants were only too happy about it. 

"Soldiers! We won’t stay here for long! We'll sleep by this fire, all the houses are

packed to capacity." Agrias returned to the position of his platoon. He was in high spirits, but his eyes were already closing. The crowd of fellow soldiers surrounding the soldiers quickly disappeared, leaving many presents for their comrades. 

"At least somehow - that warm and among friends..." Kulex downed a mug of schnapps in one gulp. He was a minor changeling, but he could drink like a squad of the royal guards. "I am expected in Vraks, sometimes I regret that I was here at all." 

"Well, don't say it like that." Agrias sat down next to the soldiers. "We went to a good cause, we defended our Fatherland, after all." 

"Well, that's true. At least it sounds good. But I wish I wasn't here…" 

"But you signed up as a volunteer!" 

"I was a fool." 

"Also true." Agrias laughed wearily. "Well, it is the time, all you guys, stop drinking! There will be nothing left for tomorrow. I declare a stand-off, so that everyone will be in the best possible shape for the campaign tomorrow!" 

"Yes, Herr Leutnant!" The soldiers replied, almost in unison. It was really late in the afternoon. Of course, today was a great occasion for celebration, but the soldiers had been under heavy strain for several days and were fighting, almost with their last strength. Foot crossings, small skirmishes with the Reds, the heavy toll of constantly waiting for an ambush or surprise attack, the last battle that the enemy gave with dignity and in which there were too many losses. Everyone wanted to sleep more than drink and celebrate. The night passed quietly, and the guard did not notice any enemy activity. The occasional shot could be heard in the faroff distance: it was Ersatz's fighters chasing the last socialists, who were fleeing in small groups to the East… 

In the morning the soldiers lined up, boarded trucks approached, and they moved back to Hurornd. Ten thousand volunteers went by various routes to this hive, where they were to be quartered for some time, then they were to be loaded on trains and sent to the original concentration areas, where the fighters were able to discharge themselves. The return trip was no less long, there was no railway in that direction as such, the area of the Northern Hurornd possessions did not bring high enough profits to local corporations, so its development was not in a hurry. The forest no longer presented such a need to the hive factories, more mass-extracted coal and coke from Soryth and Volistad practically eliminated the need for the production of wood coal. The economy was not yet working for the army, and marching columns had to travel tens of kilometers of roads for days, often stopping for halts and bivouacs, to prevent driving the soldiers to total exhaustion. All the joy of final victory over the enemy was somewhat diminished by the marching routine. 

The seventh brigade was loaded onto trucks, but it wasn't really much use. Behind the convoys were columns of marching infantry, from which the vehicles were not to go too far ahead of. Larynx wanted all the troops to approach the hive at the same time and not spread out along the roads. The journey took four long days. On the fifth day, the columns finally reached the hive. 

The gray-black bulk stood on a high, bare hill that overlooked the Hurornd mountains, which stretched away in ridges to the North and to the West. For a dozen versts around the hive there were bare hills, here and there were small and large folwarks and villages engaged in the cultivation of industrial crops, mainly flax, because cotton and hemp did not take root in these lands. Once the taiga covered all this space, but with the advent of changeling ambition, the landscape changed radically. 

Hurornd was a thriving hive, but its distance from major industrial centers pushed it to the periphery. The hive became more of an outpost and stronghold of the Changeling army in the event of a war with Yakyakistan. Many railways branched off from it, and its industry could provide the population with everything they needed. Trade was brisk, though much less was exported

from the hive than was imported. There were even cases when Yak trading caravans came from the East. Among the local elite were connoisseurs and collectors who are happy to have traded for fur and other various products of Yakyakistan. In general, this hive could be called Changeling "City N", because life there was relatively measured. Some vraksian workers or vesalipolis clerks would have every right to call Hurornd "a large village" for several hundred thousand souls. There were permanent military garrisons, but they were few in number, as in recent years it had been decided that the Yaks posed a minimal threat to the Changelings. 

Therefore, when it became known that there was a large base of Communists near the Yak border, it became a sensation for the locals. Even the workers' strikes bypassed the hive thanks to the authority of the local administration, which sought to take into account the needs of the workers and not provoke unnecessary discontent. 

And now, Larynx's soldiers were greeted at the main entrance to the hive: a large crowd had gathered along the road. Cars were greeted with cheers and laughter as they entered, but they were not pelted with flowers, because this was not the custom among changelings. Agrias sat in one of the cars next to the driver, looking out the window. He saw expensive fur coats, watch chains, top hats and hats under which glittered eyes and monocle lenses, white smiles that hid both lies and the truth. There were no simple changelings in this crowd; the volunteers were met by representatives of the local elite, happy that the security of their wallets had been restored. 

Brigade after brigade was drawn into a wide passageway, entering the hive's gigantic "entrance hall" — something like a large hangar, a hybrid of a train station, bus station, and warehouse. Here trains were hauled and loaded, and various goods and cargos were stored and distributed along the spires of the hive. It took several hours of hard organizational work to get the soldiers stationed in the hive garrison, but by evening all the soldiers were already in companies in the barracks of the garrison. This spire was quite old and in fact represented a real citadel: narrow windows-loopholes, walls, in some places reaching up to five meters in thickness. Barracks, military warehouses, and other facilities were located evenly throughout the hive and in the event of an enemy siege could serve as firing casemates. At the top of the spire were the officers' quarters and the garrison headquarters. Now this fortress was empty, guarded only by a small garrison of a hundred changelings. The police and the office of the Royal gendarmerie were in a different spire. 

Hauptmann Gynt's company was given the same barracks as the rest for the night. It was a clean, tidy room with bunk beds, nightstands, and cabinets. 

The soldiers cleaned themselves up and prepared for bed. There was no limit to the joy and relief. At last they would not sleep on the ground, not on firewood and hay, hiding under their greatcoats as a blanket. It was finally over. There was no limit to the relief of the volunteers when Larynx announced the disbanding of the seventh brigade. After this night, it would arrive in echelons at Vraks, the hive where it was formed, and there cease to exist. Everyone was happy about this, there was a very active conversation in the barracks about who would do what after the dissolution. Some wanted to continue serving in the army, some wanted to return to their native hive and continue their once peaceful life. 

Artis did not participate in this conversation, he was thinking about how to get to Soryth, to his family as soon as possible. He knew that the train to this hive left a little later than the train to Vraks, but the time savings were still great. "Can I ask Agrias? He's an officer, he'll put in a good word for me," he thought, rolling from one side to the other. He saw several empty beds, intended for those who had not returned from the campaign. He remembered his dead partner again. What was his name? Who was he? He wouldn't remember it, this soldier would fade into oblivion along with this whole vile war, in which changelings took up arms against fellow changelings because of thoughts in their heads and armbands. War with ponies or deer would still be justified, these peoples were traditional enemies of changelings, but how could Chrysalis' subjects question and condemn her actions? Why was everything that was built by the backbreaking and friendly labor of the Changeling people suddenly under threat of destruction? Why was there no hope, no respect for authority? Why did the soldiers of the beloved and prestigious army start being branded "control", "officers", and "dogs of the regime"? Why did the military finally go to open war with its own people? With its own civilian population? The young machine-gunner could not find an answer to this, and there was no point in finding it. It had all ended like a bad dream, and Artis hoped it wouldn't happen again… 
Then, Agrias entered the barracks. 

"I wish you good health, soldiers!" He greeted the company cheerfully. 

"We wish you good health too, Herr commander!" Several dozen voices answered. There was considerable confusion about Agrias' specific title. In two days he had gone from a Corporal to a Lieutenant, but he was already a Lieutenant in the army and had been promoted personally by Larynx to Hauptmann. So it was much easier for everyone to just call him "commander of the third platoon." 

"So, how's our bespectacled guy?" One of the soldiers asked the question, referring to Gynt. In the last battle, a bullet broke the lens of his glasses and wounded him in the cheek. The orderlies gave the officer timely assistance, but before arriving at the hive, the fate of his eye and life in general remained in question. 

"Good, I would even say Perfect. Drinks for two, talks for ten. Even his eye was fixed. Whats up, you worried about him?" 

"Not really…" The soldier replied. It was clear that he meant something very specific and extremely unworthy of a soldier to say. 

"That's all then, the question is settled." Agrias rebuked him with some severity, making it clear that he should keep his mouth shut. 

"Herr commander, may I ask you?" Artis said rather loudly. 

"Yes, you may." Agrias went to the cot where the machine gunner was standing. "What's wrong?" 

The officer sat down on the bed, and Artis followed. 

"I have a request for you. You told us we'd go to Vraks first, and then we go wherever we want, right?" 

"Yes, this is what the command planned, this is the last order that our brigade is obliged to fulfill in the best possible way." 

"Well, we can't go against orders… I just want to get to Sorith as soon as possible…" 

"I'm sorry, comrade. But you're still in the line, so it's best not to evade orders." Agrias looked at him sharply and sternly, and he quickly changed from a bosom friend to a strict commander. "This is for your own good, Artis." 

"Well, I guess there's nothing to do then. I immediately realized that this would be a stupid idea, and you aren't a high enough rank to allow this anyway." 

"That sounds quite right, and sensible." The commander got up and walked out of the barracks, talking cheerfully to his colleagues. 

All was well at the top of the spire. In the officers' barracks, they played the piano, sang songs, raised toasts, and discussed the details of the past campaign. The personnel were under the care of lance-corporals and field-sergeants. 

Agrias was climbing a flight of stairs that led to the top of the stairs, to the senior officers' quarters. He was invited there. There was no question about it; Larynx considered Agrias a Hauptmann, since he himself had promoted him to that rank, not as a commander of the Volunteer Corps, but as a Colonel-General in the Royal army. 

The stairs ended, and so did the small corridor. Agrias opened a beautiful oak door and found himself in a small but densely filled hall. A piano was playing loudly, glasses were clinking, and somewhere in a corner one could hear the

distinctive click of a cue on billiard balls. Several dozen changelings were gathered around a large oval table. Officers' and Generals' tunics, black tailcoats and white shirts of officials and breeders invited to the evening. In the center of this illustrious group, sat a figure in a dark blue uniform of old tailoring, with silvered buttons and an emerald-green sash of the “Order of Merit” — the highest military award of the Chrysalis Empire, as well as some other medals and orders. Larynx was hardly an "Old officer", but he had been in several major cases during his life, and had served and distinguished himself before Chrysalis, beginning his service in her guard. 

"Today, I want to inform all those gathered about the brilliant victory of our volunteers over the rioters and rebels, and congratulate you all on the fact that the time of the Communist threat in our country has come to an end. All that's left of this horde of troublemakers is a pathetic, disorganized remnant, which we will soon finally drive into a coffin! Glory to Chrysalis!" With these words, the General raised a toast. In the expensive glass provided to him was a maroon essence, aged fifteen years. 

"A Long life to our Queen! Glory! Glory!" Officers and guests thundered around. The wine glasses flew up, and there was a thin and pleasant chime of expensive and old sets. Agrias came close to the people gathered around the table and pushed his way through the ranks of those who were content to watch the action-in other words, through the orderlies and footmen who stood close around the table, waiting for instructions from their superiors, wishing to gaze at the stars and the aiguillettes of Larynx uniform. The young officer did not want to disturb the crowd, and so stood behind them, his simple field jacket looking rather inconspicuous among the smart white belts, crosses, orders, coats, tailcoats, monocles, and top hats. Then his eyes met with the sight of Larynx. He had already emptied the expensive container, his mood was most positive. Now, he was glad to see the one who had recently been awarded epaulettes with two diamonds.. 

"Toffs! There is a true hero of the past case among us! This good officer took command when his superior officer was killed, and by his own example raised the volunteers to a bayonet charge, quickly and decisively ending the battle in favor of the loyal forces!" 

Agrias noticed the surprise of the changelings, who had not noticed him before. For a moment, their faces expressed one simple thought: "What is he doing here?", but these expressions quickly changed to obsequious masks. Congratulations and praise were now showered on Agrias. Bright tirades of beautiful words about military valor and glory, not a single sound about dead soldiers and ruined civilians. Agrias listened to all this with dignity and self-control, taking it for granted. He was glad to be in such company, but he was unaccustomed to all this brilliance. Long months of campaigns, patrols, skirmishes and battles with the enemy. Spending the night on the ground, in cars, in abandoned houses and sheds, constant feeling of hunger and fear of a sudden enemy ambush. This time brought him closer to other changelings. Those who could barely afford even a warm coat, let alone a tailcoat and a starched collar. Those whom some senior officer saw only as a name on a list, or as one of the many helmets shining in the sun of a marching column. 

"Thank you, Toffs! Your praise is very valuable to me. But it wasn't just my bravery that won the victory. Not I alone went to the enemy, with me rose those for whom this battle was the last, those who made the highest sacrifice on the altar of victory. I understand that today is a bright day for us and our entire country, but since I am here, I want to ask you to remember at least one kind word for those who sacrificed everything to the last drop of their blood for your well-being, for the well-being of our country." 

After these words, the hall fell silent. Agrias saw with his own eyes how one officer's monocle fell
out of his eye. The civilian guests froze in some indecision and bewilderment, but the officers looked to the Hauptman with understanding and respect. Many of them began their journey with a soldier's webbing, and Larynx was not an exception. 

"You are absolutely right," Larynx said without mirth, but with stern firmness. "Forgetting them would be the greatest blasphemy for any self-respecting commander. So I propose a toast to all the fallen. In this war, there were no friends and strangers, there were only the right and the deceived. Three cheers for the fallen soldiers!" 

"Yay! Yay! Hurray!" The military chanted in unison, raising their glasses. Agrias quietly disappeared from the party and went to his barracks. During the evening, he was deafened by applause, toasts, music, and beautiful words. He wanted to go to sleep more than ever, to skip all the splendour. It was more like a dance on the bones. 

Two regular freight trains and the armored train "Ferrum-Serpentibus" arrived in Hurornd the next day. The soldiers of the seventh brigade bade farewell to their comrades and citizens, loaded themselves into the wagons, and moved to the Vraks hive, which was to be the final destination of this volunteer formation.
> Chapter I: Homecoming.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In this chapter, there will be four sharp jumps in perspective without warning, please keep that in mind as you read and come across one of these moments. There are also footnotes explaining certain information at the end of the text, which you may refer to at any time. And yes, there is no fighting or combat in this chapter, only our four comrades' brief return to peaceful life.

The cyclopean spires of the Vraks hive were visible from the windows of the railcars, even though they were a quarter of a day's travel away from it. Forests surrounded Vraks on three sides, but they could not hide the size of that monster of a city in any way.

Artis was lying by the window. Once again, their group was riding in a damn freight car. It sometimes seemed to him that his superiors perceived their subordinates as 'things' that had absolutely no signs of living beings. There was not a hint of a bed or even any of the basic comforts here, instead the changeling soldiers had to sleep on leaky mattresses, mountains of firewood and hay. 

At night, the car was heated by metal stoves, and when those weren't working, iron barrels, into which they threw anything that could burn, as they desperately tried to stay warm. The changelings gathered in large groups at the heat sources. From an outsider’s perspective, the sight must have been quite pathetic. The soldiers, however, did not complain. A harmonica was playing cheerfully in the railcar, to the tune of which several dozen voices were singing:

“Im Wald, im grünen Walde,
Da steht ein Försterhaus.
Im Wald, im grünen Walde,
Da steht ein Försterhaus.
Da schauet jeden Morgen,
So frisch und frei von Sorgen,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus.
Ta-ra-la-la, ta-ra-la-la,
Des Försters Töchterlein so frisch heraus,
Ta-ra-la-la, ta-ra-la-la,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus…”

The tune of an old Lictydian song was drawn out by the soldiers' chorus. Artis was not from those lands, but he still sang along with his kameraden, remembering the words hammered into his head by many marches and bivuaks. But then, the tune stopped, the harmonica player started playing another one, and the whole car pulled after him and the songs began to flow again. This could go on for hours, the lungs of the mouth organ's player were clearly in good practice. However, not everyone shared the same endurance, so, as the members of their impromptu choir gradually dropped out, after a while, there was nobody left to sing, and the music stopped.

There were three trains running together in total. They went at the maximum possible speed, but it was still quite slow. The Ferrum Serpentibus, leader of the convoy, was moving slowly. The other two locomotives followed very closely behind. The journey had gone on for about two days already, and today the trains were supposed to finally arrive. Everyone was in high spirits, the songs dragged on one after another, interspersed with cheerful laughter and conversations. When the officers began to enter the soldiers' car, they were greeted almost amicably. In a few hours the convoy would arrive at the hive, and everything would finally be over…

“Artis, why are you so sullen?” Kulex was sitting opposite of the machine gunner in the dense company of his comrades. Reinis, as usual, was located nearby.
"Maybe this all seems fun to you, but I'm not enjoying it as much."
"Why not?"
"I was glad earlier, you see, but now homesickness has broken out in me."
"You yearn for something?"
"Rather, for someone."
"For whom?"
"Family."
"An unprecedented luxury, I want to say. Vraks may be my home, but no one is waiting for me there... no one among my relatives, at least. Hey, Reinis is from the Lictydian backwoods, aren't you Reinis?"
"True". Reinis answered dully, rolling over onto the other side of his mattress to face the interlocutors.
“But, I would much prefer if it you didn't speak of my "backwoods" like that, "proud bienenschtocker", don't try to look better than you are. I am not from the "backwoods", but a respected hunting artel. I am its honored participant, and my father is its honored leader. Mother Queen couldn't afford all those fur coats without our work!”

It was rare to hear so many words in a row from a changeling like Rainis, and it was difficult to answer such an argument. They sat in silence for several minutes. The hulking figure of Vraks hive was getting closer and closer with each passing moment, and the forest began to give way to a wide plain that stretched around Vraks.

"Hey! Musician! Play me something, or I'm going to go crazy with boredom!"
The familiar voice of Agrias rang out in the railcar.
"I can't, Herr Commandant, my own instrument is making my ears bleed, and we have already sung all the songs we know."
"And the political ones?"
"We played those first, so as not to touch them later."
"Why is that so?"
"Come on! The war is over, we are tired of all this."
"That's also true, you don't need them much anymore."
Agrias summed up and went further along the car, looking for his platoon.

"Hello, good people! The situation you have here is, well, frankly, not very good."
"In a tight space, but not in offense!" Kulex replied to the officer, who clearly showed an enviable desire to chat.
"And what about your apartments? How many velvet pillows and Wingbardian dancers are being put on each officer?"
Hearing this, the surrounding soldiers burst out laughing. Agrias, who was in a state of gaiety and excitement, darkened a bit, but did not disturb the general atmosphere.
"We have no better than yours, the cars are still freight cars, so even though we sleep on normal beds, the older officers who are higher by the rank still don't like it. They are walking around as gloomy as death itself."

"Herr Agrias?"
A new voice cut in sharply, and everyone else fell silent. Agrias turned around. There stood Hauptmann Gint, with his usual impenetrable mask in the place of a face. His glasses were replaced by a monocle, the injured eye wrapped in bandages, with a long, black bandage on top. The company officer was silent for a while, as if he didn't know how to express himself.
"Hier, Herr Hauptmann!"
"We will be in place in an hour. Do everything you are responsible for, do not let myself and my colleagues down."
"Understood!"
Gint looked at Agrias with his lone healthy eye, cold and dry as ever. Then he turned around and moved to the coupling between the railcars. In the absence of authority, the conversation quickly resumed.

The shrill whistle of the locomotive, the sharp commands of the officers, the brief but stormy bustle of the collectings. They had arrived. The soldiers quickly formed up and went out onto the platform of the Vraxian military station, located in the old arsenal spire, which was so large that it required a separate transport hub purely for its own needs. It saw full capacity only during major strategic maneuvers and the transfer of troops from hive to hive. The station was relatively quiet here at the moment. Their brigade quickly unloaded with great efficiency, and moved to the prepared apartments assigned to them. Trains didn't simply 'pass through' the Changeling Empire- it was not enough to create a schedule, each train had to be received and sent at the exact printed time, to prepare in advance for the reception of goods and passengers, so that there was not the slightest hitch. 

There was a lack of space, and a surplus of locomotives, every second would be accounted for. Station service workers and train conductors worked hard, but they enjoyed honor and respect for their work in turn.

The volunteers were given a little time to clean themselves up, and then the whole brigade was raised up and taken to the local platz. There were about two thousand of them, the same number as they had when they left Vraks a year and a half ago.

"Gentle officers and fellow soldiers!" Brigade Commander Juris was standing on a podium, surrounded by senior officers.
"I am glad to congratulate you on the fact that our duty to the Fatherland has finally been fulfilled at this moment. Our brigade will be disbanded here. You will be disarmed and rewarded monetarily, after which you will be given the right to leave the arsenal, and to go wherever you desire. It was an honor for me to command this fine group of soldiers, I am glad to let you all go on a well-deserved rest! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The brigade responded, with a joyful thunder.
Their weapons were delivered without incident, as they had been transported in separate cars and immediately sent to a warehouse on the convoy's arrival, but unloading and returning everything else took three hours, leaving everybody exhausted. There were missing mess kits, pouches, gas masks, and all other manner of miscellanenous parts within a soldier's kit. 

The extra hassle from the missing items caused a storm on indignation on the part of the soldiers, as well as the arsenal's clerks and quartermasters, who eventually announced that to account for the missing items, a fee would have to be put upon the brigade's cash reward. This in turn provoked sharp censure from the volunteers and their officers, when, Brigadier Juris interrupted, with a dispatch from General Larynx, stating that he would personally take on the costs of all lost and damaged equipment, delivering satisfaction to all involved parties.

When all this was over, the volunteers left the arsenal and dispersed to the hotels built around the railway station.

The entire dining room was filled to the brim with Changelings in military garb. The former volunteers were drinking and having fun, saying goodbyes to their comrades. Every hour there were fewer and fewer of them; some of them stayed in Vraks, some went to board incoming trains.

"Well, Kameraden. See you, maybe for the last time."
Agrias was sitting at the table with everyone else, it was the only thing he could say at that moment. The harmonica was playing loudly, some changelings loaded on the merriments were singing loudly. The officer looked at Artis, Kulex and Reinis sitting next to him. They all drank in silence, there was nothing to say. They spent a year-and-a-half side-by-side, and now they were parting to forget about this time, as a nightmare. They understood that they wouldn't see each other again, because they lived in different places and each had a lot of unresolved problems, there was too much to consider meeting again or keeping distant friendships. Each felt two desires fighting within: the desire to forget the horrors of fratricide, against the desire to remember the friendship forged through its hardships, which bound the four of them together.

"Guys, I'll go. I have to go."
Kulex got up from the table. Everyone looked at him in silence.
"Just like that?"
Artis asked in disbelief.
"Yes. There's nothing to talk about, I have nothing to remember, and I don't want to drink. Goodbye. If any of you will be in Vraks, go to housing unit number 274, it is under the jurisdiction of our neighborhood, where I served in the police. I want to go back there, there is nowhere else to go. If you come, maybe you will find it, maybe we will meet, maybe we will chat."
Kulex turned, but stopped abruptly in mid-step.
"I'm sorry for being rude."
With a sudden grin, he spoke one last time, and disappeared among the gray uniforms of former colleagues.
The remaining three watched him go.
"He's fine, but I have two more hours to wait. I really want to go home, I've definitely been buried there. I promised to come back in six years, and I'm coming back in seven and a half, it's not decent of me..."
Artis broke the silence, wanting to defuse the situation somehow
"Artis! Without you, we would all be dead long ago! It wasn't me who should have been promoted to captain, but you. You have rare principles of a changeling, honest, conscientious. It would have been tough without you."
"Don't flatter me, Agrias. I wouldn't have done anything without my typewriter. If you had another machine gunner, for example, at least the guy who... is gone..."
Artis fixed his eyes on the table and paused for a long time.

"When the riot started in the big garrison, I had a choice. Either go for the Reds, or for the volunteers. In my platoon, almost everybody put up the red bows, officers began to get slaughtered, the reds rushed to the warehouses. And I left because I immediately realized that the red brigade was certain death. All the guys were young and stupid, as soon as they heard that the case in Canterlot had failed, they immediately began to grumble, and it ended like that. The first of the veterans arrived and shot them all... But we were from the same conscription, all from Sorif! I feel pity now. We were going on our last year of service, just a couple of months - and it would have been over. They will never return now...
"There is nothing regretful about the reds."
Agrias snapped firmly.
"Well done for not following them. They lay softly, and then they do this... Two words: bandits, scammers."
"Did we fight with bandits at Hurornd?"
Rainis suddenly broke into the conversation. Agrias looked at him, thinking hard, plunged into still fresh memories...
"Who knows?..."
He said quickly and abruptly finished his mug of schnapps.
"I am an imperial officer, I serve my Fatherland, my Queen. I have to fight with those... who I must, and that's all. To be honest, I respect the courage of the Communists. But I can't respect everything else in them. They... They are monsters. A fight with a communist is like a fight with a wild beast, it is no wonder how the Severyanan reds were able to fight off the Equestrians with such ferocity that Celestia herself ordered her generals to retreat. Their kind of folk always been distinguished by their barbaric savagery, and communism has turned them into literal beasts! I should hate them, but I do them justice."
Reinis only responded with a respectful nod, clearly impressed by the officer's speech. Agrias looked at his watch.

"The train to Vesalipolis will only come early in the morning. Reinis and I will go together, he will get off at Lyctidia, and then he will go on by himself from there. It's already late, I need to sleep, and I've had a decent drink... Good luck to you, machine gunner. I hope your family will be happy to see you. Goodbye."
Agrias got up and left, leaving only Artis and Reinis at the table.
"Goodbye, Kamerad."
The latter said firmly, as something glittered in his eyes like a cold emerald. The machine gunner could only nod deeply in response. Artis spent the rest of the night bored and waiting for the train. Finally, the time came, and the changeling left, taking his simple belongings with him, leaving the table completely empty.







The civilian train to Soryth looked nice and comfy compared to the freight car. In spite of the late hour, the main Vraxian station was crowded: changelings were hurrying to catch trains, footmen could be seen carrying luggage, there were newspaper sellers, merchants of everything possible were everywhere. Whistling, noises, hubbub, shouts of touts. The life force of a hive two-million changelings strong was beating in this place around the clock. Artis presented his documents and took his place in the train car. There was a lot of fuss around: relatives, friends, and loved ones were saying their goodbyes to passengers, train employees were checking tickets.

"Hello, please present your ticket."
The controller's pleasant voice rang out. Artis looked at her and took out his ticket. The controller marked the ticket with a special machine- in earlier times the train workers would create the holes using their fangs.
"Are you from the army?"
"Yes, demobilized recently. Going home now."
"Have a nice ride."
The guide smiled, flashing her long, sharp teeth.

Artis was traveling in a budget reserved seat, the main passengers on these trains were usually simpler changelings. The former soldier quickly noticed a small company forming around him. They were officials from Sorif traveling from vacation. Three Changelings returning from Lyctidia. The train woke up, puffing lazily as it began turning its pistons and moved forward. The motley spectacle of the packed station became more and more colorful and indistinguishable as the car gained momentum. So the hive itself ended, the train left for the plain around Vraks. The moon shone brightly, silvering the snow-covered fields and the crowns of the distant forest. The bustle of the station quickly disappeared. The passengers were getting ready for bed, the wheels were running smoothly and quietly.

The journey lasted quite a while, going on for nearly three days. The train stopped at several major stations along the way. As passengers got off, new ones came on to replace them. Artis occupied himself with conversing with his fellow travelers, trying to find out how things were going in his home hive, and in general, what was happening in the area. The clerks admired his military appearance and shared with him the major news they'd learned on the road, but they ultimately did not have too much to offer, as they were from another spire and did not see much of life beyond the paper stacks of an office desk. And so the time passed with jokes, conversations and card games. The landscape outside the window changed little. There were fields and forests, occasionally villages, towns, or minor hives would appear for a change, but much of it not of any special note. On the last day of the journey, Artis could see Sorif looming on the horizon.

The field around it was already looking more like a forest tundra: it was a stark, white landscape for most of the year, though there was always a brief respite when yellowish grass would timidly spring up for a time. To be frank, few landscapes were more depressive. Artis remembered the dense forests around Vraks, the houses of neat little villages whited with snow and plaster that he came across along the way, the villagers calmly going about their business, so unfamiliar and not understanding of the fussiness and quickness of the bienenschtockers. There was life and civilization there, compared to now, a terrible wilderness outside the window, the peace and stillness of which was disturbed only by trains. Nevertheless, the changeling felt a kind of warmth from knowing he wasn't far from his small home region. His fellow travelers seemed to share in the warmth, leading to a lively conversation between them and summing up their travels with one another. The trio had visited Vesalipolis and Lyctidia, saw enough of the local beauty and came to the conclusion that it was "Almost like ours, but ours is better". In the train car, preparations for disembarkation were already in full swing: beds were being cleaned, suitcases were being prepared, there was a loud tremor. The hive's hulking form was getting closer and the train was due to arrive very soon.

Artis quickly finished with his laundry, collected his simple duffel bag, washed up, put on a military jacket which he had perfectly ironed the day before, and threw his infantry cap on, wearing it on one side in the famous fashion he had seen other soldiers do sometimes. While his fellow travelers were fussing around carrying heavy suitcases, the servicebug was already ready to go. He had the look of a discharged soldier: proud, dashing, cheerful. Here they drove into the Sorifian railway station: the locomotive gave a welcoming signal, in response to the joyful shouts of the greeters at the station. There was a screech of the brakes and the train began to slow down. There was fortunately no stampede in the railcar, as its passengers quickly and in an organized manner disembarked onto the platform. 

Artis and the three clerks stepped onto the platform's black cobble floor. They were met by relatives, a young drone threw herself on the neck of one of Artis' companions. The former machine gunner warmly said goodbye to them and left, disappearing into the crowd. It was a bit crowded here, but at the same time it felt completely clear and freeing, in a completely different way. Artis felt so good here, it was so nice to breathe this air! It had been a long time since he had been at this station, it seemed to him that it was not he who had left, but another, younger and innocent, Artis. An Artis who had seen neither blood, nor death, nor the severity of fratricide. Now he felt ten years younger, he was fresh, happy, the page of his life had turned.

The old foundry spire was really old, but relatively low. There was a Bih Soryth Foundry here, and several residential blocks for workers. It wasn't the best place in Soryth, but the population never complained about it. If someone had a problem, the neighbors would help without hesitation, and the authorities weren't indifferent to their subordinates.

"Good afternoon."
The elderly concierge looked at Artis through the thick lenses of his glasses, trying in vain to remember him.
"Excuse me please, I do not know you. Present your documents."
"How can you not know? I'm local, I'm from this block!"
Artis was perplexed. He had been scurrying around the giant hive for several hours in search of his block. They paid attention to his uniform, but how many soldiers like him were being released from service at this time?

"Okay, fine. Here".
The concierge read the papers carefully, then looked at Artis.
"Oh, is that you, Herr Artis? I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you in your military uniform. You've been gone for such a long time, your mother was worried."
The Changeling smiled kindly.
"Come on in, please, your relatives await."
Artis nodded gratefully and passed on.

The residential block of the Changeling hive was a cross between a city block and the halls of a floor up in some high-rise building- the passages between the apartments were like winding urban streets and alleys. Artis' home block was a "sleeping" one. The workers here were busy taking a break from work, so there was usually no one on the "streets". There was also a catering establishment here, where the workers of the BSFF gathered after their shifts or celebrated some common memorable dates. Artis' gaze slid over the door numbers, searching for his own. Finally, he found it. The old green door with the number 141/120/109. Artis knocked timidly, leaned his ear against the door and began to listen: it was quiet inside. Everyone must have been asleep. However, he soon heard footsteps approaching. Artis' breath got caught in his throat, he froze in anticipation.
The door creaked and opened... There she was, wrapped in a gray robe, with tired half-closed eyes. After seeing Artis, his mother could not believe her eyes for a while.

"Son?!"
She asked in disbelief. Artis nodded silently. His mother fell into her son's arms, the collar of his jacket quickly became soaked with her tears. This silent scene lasted about a minute. Finally, she parted from his chest.
"Come in, get some rest from the road."
She could barely say these words, choking on the tears that welled up in her eyes.
"Tomorrow we will arrange for a holiday for everyone."
"Mother... I don't even know what to say..."
"You don't have to say anything! Come on, get some sleep from the road!"

The small apartment of Artis' family was not the most grand, but it was always clean and tidy. In the darkness, Artis couldn't see, but he could feel it with his whole body: he was home, finally he was home! Stepping softly on the floor, he found himself in the room where his brothers were sleeping. Their snoring could be heard very clearly, but Artis could not hear his father's snoring, maybe he was at another night shift? Okay, he didn't want to think about it. The Changeling walked to the back of the room, passing his brothers' beds. Their dark silhouettes in the twilight looked more impressive than Artis remembered, during his absence, they probably already completely matured. Here was his corner, his bed. Almost nothing had changed since that fateful morning when Artis' family received a summons to the army. He took off his military uniform and laid down. White, carefully washed sheets, obviously a recently purchased mattress. All of this was clearly set up in anticipation of his return, for which there must have been less and less hope as the days passed. The changeling wrapped himself in a blanket and fell into a swift, sweet sleep, thinking of the fact that his life was just beginning.

When morning came, sunlight entered the room through a light hole. Artis woke up. For the first time in all these years, he realized that he had woken up satisfied. There was a lively chatter coming from the kitchen. Apparently, everyone else had already got up and was eating their breakfast. The changeling got out of bed. Someone had put his military uniform in the closet, but that was alright with him, he didn't even want to touch it anymore. He put on a simple shirt, trousers with suspenders, and a round cap, a simple outfit for most of the locals. That was all he needed now. After washing up and getting dressed, Artis went to the kitchen. After completing such a long journey and getting a sound night's rest for the first time in years, he wanted to eat, or rather drink, because rarely did the emotional essence have a solid consistence. He took a few steps down a small but cozy corridor until he come to a door with a curtained glass, behind which he could hear his brothers' voices. It creaked open…

"Oh, look at that! Look who came to join us! Come on, sit down. Tell us everything."
The voice of the older brother, who was the namesake of Artis, was the first to speak. The rest of his brothers fell silent and waited. Artis Jr. sat down at the table and took a sip from his glass. Oh, finally, this was not some diluted ration of love essence, but something more worthwhile. The kitchen had hardly changed since his departure, the only difference Artis noticed was that it felt oddly empty. The former soldier remembered the noisy company of his brothers and sisters, who could not physically get along in a small apartment. Now there were only three of his brothers and an elderly mother left. The others scattered around the world in search of their fate. The changeling took another sip, and began his story.

"Well, what can I say. I served in Vraks, at the garrison. At first, I was glad that they didn't send me to the border or somewhere even worse. We were cruelly drilled there, but a hive is a hive. I serve for a year, I serve for two, nothing special, routine, but then rumors began to spread among units..."

"What were the rumors about?"
One of the brothers asked.
"You're asking? Of course they were about how our queen messed up in Canterlot..." 

"Artis, be careful!"
The previously calm mother exclaimed.
"Every wall has ears and eyes here!"

"Dear Mother."
Artis replied with a gentle smile.
"The walls of our barracks really had ears, and many of us had problems with it... So, they grumbled, but it seemed like nothing. Discipline was maintained, everything was fine, or at least it seemed from the outside. It all started when we were forbidden to write letters home. Your messages have also stopped being sent to us. Around this time, I disappeared for you, so if you know what started then..."

"Do you think we don't know? They wrote about it in the newspapers, and it almost started with us."

"No, brother, you don't know. Newspapers are newspapers, but I saw with my own eyes how soldiers wore red bows, how the police were crushed and how officers and officials were hanged on anything that could support their weight. There were a lot of our fellow people. They say that the rebels, specifically from our block, distinguished themselves."

"Who would do that? Those guys were good, honest, and hardworking. Why did they need to put on red armbands?"

"You understand, they put a choice in front of everyone there, and they put it straight: either you are for a riot, or for the authorities. They may have had a cause to rebel for, but it's impossible to understand what they did afterwards. At first I didn't understand anything at all, and then my company also rebelled, went to beat the officers. What about me? I left them, I don't remember why, probably out of fear. It was happening there..."
Memories came flooding back to Artis. He lowered his head and stared at the glass with the unfinished essence. They looked at him with lack of understanding but clear interest.

"And where did you go?"

"As a volunteer, with the loyalists. When this all happened, I was already in my last year of service. I'd been smouldering over in the military for four years, and then this conflict exploded as if that time weren't enough."

"How so?!"
His mother's voice came again.

"We were crying for you here, your father already thought that you were dead or struck out with the reds! And you didn't write a single letter to us, and you went to the war?!"
"Forgive me, but otherwise I would have been completely lost. And thank you for coming out of Vraks alive at all. At that time, a whole brigade was formed from guys like me, we didn't fight a lot, I didn't get into any trouble at all, I served as a clerk at the headquarters. There is nothing worth remembering from this time. I am alive and well right now, but many guys like me won't return to their families anymore... I didn't write to you, because it was banned. None of the volunteers wrote home, nobody in the military in general. Our superiors wanted to rein us in so closely, to suppress discontent, but only for everything to turn out the other way around."

"Artis… It's so good that you're back. Things will be happier and easier with all of us together."
His mother looked both happy and sad. On the one hand, she was glad to see Artis, but on the other, something was clearly pressing her, something from the past. She wanted to say something, but did not dare to speak it.
"Such a strong and grown-up changeling you have become, to match your brothers, you all came out quite fine after all, your father would be very proud of you..."
Here she could not restrain herself, and began to cry bitterly. Artis Sr. immediately jumped up to her and began to comfort her, whispering into her ears. The middle brother covered her shoulders with a blanket, and together they helped her walk to her room. The only one left in the kitchen was the youngest, his name was Maris, and he was in damned pain for his soulmate.

"What happened to father?"
Artis Jr. asked him in a hushed voice. His brother answered very calmly.

"He caught a cold, then tuberculosis, he was already old in his age, after all, he had already been serving on the repair team for twenty years. The administration paid us money, and allocated a doctor, but the doctor turned out to be a fool, and father died. The whole block was crying for him. It happened around a year ago."

Artis was completely drooping. It seemed to him that his arrival had only spoiled everyone's life. He remembered the morning years ago when the train took him to Vraks, when the whole family saw him off. It was in the spring, in that happy sunny time of youth, which was now gone forever. He silently took out the money that was given to him at the dissolution of the brigade from his pocket, and put it on the table. There were about three thousand marks there. Maris paid no attention to this.

"Don't twist yourself, brother. It is necessary to work, to earn a living. Everything has gone uphill here since you left: the shifts are shorter, and the salary is good, and they will help if anything is needed. After all, these reds are still right about something. If we hadn't come out then, our superiors wouldn't have cared about us, and we wouldn't have such luxuries. We need to visit the head of the shop today to enroll you in the workers list. You're going to work, aren't you?"

"Of course, but for whom?"

"At the factory, at the BSFF. There is serious industry there, metal is smelted, and you can't just get a job there without education. But we will put you in there anyway, first you will help the elders, then you will slowly learn. This is a good, useful thing. We need money, the Fatherland needs steel."

Then Artis Sr. came into the kitchen.
"How is she?"
Maris asked.
"Everything is fine, she's calmed down."
The changeling walked over to the table and gulped down his mug of essence.
"Well, guys, we're waiting for Alvis, and then we're going to the steelworks, to present their newest employee. So, brother, are you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready."
Artis Jr. finished his drink and got up from the table.
"Let's go now, I want to look around at my home block while we're out."

"Alright then, but there is nothing to look at here, everything is just as it was when you left."

Artis Sr. walked down the corridor to the door. He was accompanied by his three brothers: Alvis, Artis Jr. and Maris. They were as free as birds until four o'clock am. The corridor street of the residential block was not very busy at this time: all the workers were either at the factory or in the dining room, and their mothers and wives were usually busy with household chores at this time. After all, life here was not the poorest and the hardest, there would only be more space...

The older brother knew where to go, and everyone followed him.
The same type of corridors continually replaced one another, only the shapeshifters could navigate this interweaving space, and remember and find the places they needed to go. They passed through several ascents, corridors, and passages. The four did not even notice when they found themselves on the factory's territory. It was always hot and stuffy here, changelings worked in the workshops for twenty-four hours a day in shifts, smelting and tempering steel. But the brothers didn't need to go to the workshop right now, rather to a small office, where there was a lean and young guy like them, but in a higher post. Usually, he was constantly watching the work of his wards, but right now he had some time, and he was sitting in his small closet of an office, leafing through a newspaper and smoking some cheap and frankly disgusting cigarettes, which in huge quantities settled the hives under the guise of expensive, high-quality cigarettes imported from Skyfall.

"Hello, boss!"
The door opened and three figures that were painfully familiar to him appeared in front of the shop head's desk, behind which stood someone unknown. His appearance alone reminded the shop head of six happy years spent in a military camp near Antax, in the pleasant company of ten-meter snowdrifts and polar bears.

"Well, hello, good people."
With some dislike, he replied, spitting out a finished cigarette butt into the ashtray. He looked haughty, but it was clear that he treated the brothers of Artis in a good way.
"Why have you come? Who have you brought?"
He asked with interest.
"Yes, our brother has demobilized recently and he wants to find a job now. Will you accept him?"
The speech was conducted by the eldest of the brothers. Maris and Alvis were just there to provide weight to their proposal.
"Well, it's not up to me to decide, but I can recommend him. There is a problem with the labor force in our workshop, he will be useful. Guys from the army are welcome here. Where did you serve?"
"At the garrison, Vraks."
Artis Jr. asked.
"Some people are lucky..."
The workshop chief answered gloomily, memories of his service came flooding back to him.
"Okay. I'll draw up a description of you and pass it on to my supervisors. Don't worry, you'll most likely be accepted. First you'll do menial jobs, then maybe you'll go higher, okay?"

"As if I have a choice."

"Thinking in the right direction. Good for you."
The changeling folded the newspaper and got up from the table.
"Now, guys, leave me alone. Don't make me think that you are going to rob me or something."

The brothers went out and let the chief pass, he left his shelter and walked quickly to the workshop. Artis and his brothers went in the other direction.
"Well, now consider that you are attached to work. He does not hesitate on these issues."

"And what I will have to do? I'm just from the army. I have no education except school."

"And nothing special is required. The elders give a command — you do it."

"And? That's all?"

"Of course no, this is not as easy as shooting a gun you know. If there's a mistake in something — if they find a defect, they'll beat us with a coin for it, and everyone will be held responsible. You need to go to a technical school."

"And where will I find the time?"

"Calm do-own, you're a young guy, there is no problem. You will study, you will work on small things at the factory. In a couple of years, they will allow you to do more important things, and then the money will appear. You will have a lot of time — eight hours a day of work, the rest is study. The guys and I have walked through this process too, and you've experienced worse, right?
Artis Jr. did not immediately answer, sharply remembering the "something worse" that he had "experienced".

"Well, yes, I agree. Anything else might be more difficult than this."

The brothers returned home, had a quick dinner there and left for their shift. The work for Artis Jr. was not difficult, in fact, he became a loader. The work was hard, but the former machine gunner was no stranger to it. He, along with several dozen of similar young drones, loaded ready-made steel blocks into a freight elevator, which was supposed to deliver them directly to the loading station, to the cars and trains. Somewhere in the distance, work was boiling, there was heat and smog, steel flowed and hardened. Somewhere in the factory were his brothers: all of them were tall, strong, friendly fellows, with the support of their loving mother, a vivid example of a Sorifian worker. The shift ended at exactly midnight. The work stopped, the changelings went on to a well-deserved rest. And so time flowed. Artis Jr. did not feel dissatisfied, he considered himself lucky, because his brothers came to his aid and got him a job that helped him forget the terrible months of fratricidal battles. He studied during the day, carried weights during his night shift, and this suited him, because he could not dream of anything more. The son of a worker and a worker himself, a simple guy from a simple family who does not want to climb into higher matters. He wanted a simple peaceful life, and he got it, for a while...










The Vraxian railway station is filled 'round the clock and does not halt its work for even a minute. Twenty-four hours a day, it is packed to the brim, and only a raging sea of heads and torsos ebbs and flows from the huge trains. A typical artery of a large hive. Growing up in Vesalipolis, Agrias did not attach much importance to this scene, he calmly walked forward, cutting through these stormy waves like an icebreaker. Behind him came Reinis, always calm and gloomy. Everyone paid attention to the officer's uniform, and tried to move out of the way, to let them pass. Here was the train they needed to be on. It was a long and luxurious train with a restaurant car and other amenities. Express "Vraks-Lyctidia-Vesalipolis". 

General Larynx did not stop showering favors on them, it was not difficult for him to concoct two tickets for Agrias on this train, which ordinary soldiers usually did not take. To refuse such a thing would be stupid and disrespectful to the authorities. The documents were checked quickly, but thoroughly. It was unbearable to talk in such a crowd, the two former army mates were able to come to their senses only when they were finally in their compartment.

"Damn it! Even in the morning it's crowded here!"
Agrias was taking a deep breath, stuffing his backpack under the shelf.

"Risking life and limb driving out the reds for a year and a half, just to become a victim trampled and crushed in a railway station crowd, wouldn't that be a stupid death?"

"Of course, Herr Hauptmann, I wouldn't want to die like that."

“You're a military changeling, isn't this the first time you've endured this?”
“I admit honestly- for the first time. It's better not to go to the train stations without a company of service mates, heh-heh.”

Someone knocked on the door of the compartment. Agrias took out the pair's tickets from his bosom, a conductor was outside the door.

"Hello, please present your tickets."

Agrias immediately presented them. They were in perfect order.

"Everything is fine, have a nice trip."

"And you too, Frau."

With these words, Agrias gave the changeling a look that would surely have caused her to blush if the carapace on her face had allowed it. The conductor nodded silently, and moved with quick steps to the next door. The soldiers exchanged glances.

"A rash act, Herr Hauptmann."

"What's wrong with that? We are from the army, we are supposed to be rash. You don't exactly look like a piouous paragon of virute yourself."

"One word - Vesalipolis."

Reinis said with some annoyance, closing his eyes and falling on one side. He was going to sleep without burdening himself with unnecessary preparations.
Then the door opened, and something brown appeared in the compartment, in a coat and with a large suitcase on his side. The guest stopped to take a deep breath.
Agrias could not believe his eyes for a while. There was a real pony in front of him. All brown, and in brown clothes, he contrasted vividly against the background of gray-black changelings.

"Hello, gentlemanes."
He said with a slight accent. He tried to look calm and stay calm, but absolutely everything was showing strong tension and excitement within him.

"This is what it means to get a ticket on a good train, foreign guests are in every patch."
Agrias thought.
"Good day to you, too, sir. ​How do you like our delightful region?"
Agrias replied with forced politeness, recalling a huge number of satirical stories ridiculing the arrogance of Equestrian "dandies". Unfortunately, they did not ridicule the arrogance of the Vesalipolis "herrs".

"I must admit, I'm terrified"
The pony put his suitcase in a compartment overhead, and he sat down on the shelf where Rainis wanted to fall asleep. Seeing the unusual passenger and hearing his speech, the hunter immediately forgot his plans to sleep and stared at him in true amazement.
"Is there such a terrible stampede in all the large hives? I was only five minutes late, and I was almost strangled! In my homeland, everything is much freer with trains."

"Be careful from now on. Our train traffic is very dense, and, unfortunately, it does not tolerate those who are late. You look so serious, you should hire a special footmane to help you get to the carriage."

At that moment, a fourth passenger entered the compartment, it was a changeling this time. He looked pretty exhausted, so he didn't show any interest in what was happening, just perched on his shelf and fell asleep.

"The fact is that I only look wealthy."
The pony smiled, but it was a nervous and strained smile.
"My father squandered the entire inheritance of my family, leaving me a few pennies. I earn money by photography. I travel around the world, take pictures, then sell them to newspapers, the revenue varies greatly. I can afford to stay in high society, but not all the little things."

"Are you a photographer? Interesting. And what did you find in Vraks, did you really decide to take photos of our secret military factories?"

"Dear Celestia, of course not!"
The passenger said with a grin, apparently having guessed the irony of his interlocutor.

"I was interested in something else here, I photograph sights and beauty, and not some muggy workshops with phthisis-infected serfs. I was at the top of the main spire, the view really is spectacular from up there. So much to look at and shoot."

"And how do you like the local gentlemanes?"

"I didn't see any gentlemane here, they were all accountants, corporate employees, and officials. A dry audience, cold to the arts..."

"For the gentlemanes and the arts, you have to go to the capital, there we have complete order with both, it's sickening to look, to be honest."

"I can't understand you there, sir. Apparently, now your passion for the uniform speaks in you, which I do not posess. Just think, after so many shocks, your officers are still raising their voices..."

"The voice of our officers is stronger than ever, you can be sure of that. We saved our Queen and protected our homeland."
“Protected? It seems to me that we defended ourselves first of all..."
The Equestrian looked at Agrias with some reproach and gloating, like a constable who has just caught a street thief by the tail. 

"These ponies are so arrogant!" thought Agrias gloomily.
"Ah, you still can't get enough of that case from five years ago... I must admit that I do not know a single detail of these events, but I am sure that our people did not lose face and came out of it with honor, all the rest is shameful rumors and speculation that denigrate our people and our wise Ruler."

"I also do not know anything, and I will tell you that a lot of slop was poured out on Her Highness after these events, too. In general, I suggest not to stir it up. Our powers are extremely cold to each other, that is true. But I see in you a patriot of your country and I consider myself such for mine, so I don't see any reason and sense for discussions."

"The right decision, there is no war yet and there is no prospect of any in the future, and we have nothing to show aggression for if there are no reasons for it. By the way, "
Agrias pointed to Reinis.
"This is my service mate and friend, a very well-deserving changeling. I can safely say that I owe him my life."

The Equestrian casually looked at Reinis, who had already calmed down and was simply watching the conversation between the two intellectuals.

"He was very surprised by my appearance, I would also be surprised if I saw a changeling in my homeland. Are guests from abroad very rare for you? There are a lot of foreigners in our port cities."

"Our griffon allies are not attracted by the cold and sultriness of the hives, there is nothing much for ponies to do here, the deer showed up once, but we sent them off with bayonets..."

During the conversation, the passengers did not notice how the train started moving and left the hive. Outside the window, the standard changeling landscape was already stretching: forests, fields, small and large villages coming across every kilometer. This was no longer a border wilderness, the train was traveling through the heart of the Empire, its most populated and inhabited lands. The Equestrian looked out of the window and stared thoughtfully at the landscape for a while.

"After all, if we really think about it, then your kind are not so different from mine. Only you have discipline and order. As one gentlemane with whom I drank yesterday told me: 

"The army and the people in our country are almost the same thing." I heard about what was happening in Vraks a few years ago. Monstrous bloodshed and cruelty, but at least look at the train station from which we left, did you notice signs of desolation, devastation? In our country, after such a war, the city would have died out, but you recovered quickly, disciplined, like ants."

"So we are ants, what can I say?"
Agrias smiled broadly for the first time during the conversation.
"And your new acquaintances could have condensed it. The riots then scared a lot of people, maybe they are still afraid. I will not disclose classified information, but I know how everything really happened in Vraks."

"I believe it willingly. Well, let's not talk about it. I am more interested in the intellectuals of Vesalipolis. Are you involved there in any way, maybe you can introduce me to someone?"

"Oh, unfortunately, no. During the years of study and service, I have not had a chance to visit the high society of the Capital, but I know that most of our creative Beaumont lives there. Queen Chrysalis once attracted talents from all over the country, and now they have settled there. I can't guarantee it, but in the Upper Quarters you will definitely find many gentlemanes with a delicate disposition and a thick wallet."

"What about Lyctidia?"

"I've never been there. Reinis can tell you, but he is a rural changeling and has been there only a few times."

"I went with my father to sell furs. My father is a hunter, and so am I, I've been in the business since I was fifteen years old."

"A very sharp shooter!"
Agrias interrupted his comrade. Reinis was not against it, on the contrary, he was pleased that the words were said for him.

"Lyctidia is a good hive, they pay a decent price for good fur. and I don't remember anything bad about the place at all."

"It's a pity that the train won't stay there for long. It's good that I will at least be able to look at Vesalipolis in full."

"Why don't you stay for a longer time?"

"I can't, unfortunately. There is not much money left. From Vesalipolis I will have to go straight to Hjortland, and then I will take a steamer and settle for a while in Vanhoover. You see, my fate forces me to wander. From one city to another, there are balls and routs everywhere, and I have to beg to appear at least occasionally at them."

"And what heights have you reached in photography?"

"I did everything to get the most I could from it. I am known and appreciated in the editorial offices of newspapers, a considerable part of the headlines of the Equestria Daily is my work, although my authorship is not indicated there. Photography is a subtle and beautiful art, especially when working with a miniature camera. I managed to get hold of one, a wonderful thing, honestly!

"Maybe you will concoct a couple of cards for our "Jäger"?"

"I don't know, maybe. The question is the price, in Vraks I have already received many generous awards from various kinds of gentlemanes. Let's see how much your editors will offer."

"I don't understand these matters, but I doubt that you will be so rich in the Capital. You will surely find competitors."

"It's more like colleagues here. I won't be there for long, I doubt that I will have the opportunity to work, although maybe a couple of photos of your capital will be in demand in our newspapers..."

"I think it will be. Vesalipolis is... ‘Urbis er orbi’. ‘The city and the universe’, as they say about such places. And they owe it entirely to our Queen. She turned it into a real capital, no worse than your Canterlot."

"Canterlot is a city of contrasts, where brilliance and poverty are intertwined."

"As in any capital in our time."

"The fish is looking for where it is deeper, and the pony is looking for where it is better. That's what a northerner told me when I was in Princessyn."

"Were you there, too? Interesting. And how has everything changed there?"

"Yes, not particularly and cardinally, to be honest. In the city center, you can still find expensive restaurants and shops, as well as gentlemen living the high life. There they are now called "nepmans", or something like that. I spent a good amount of time there, although a policeman was assigned to me, and he followed me around wherever I went. It's good that at least they did so honestly, and not from drive-bys and skulking windows and alleys.”

"Well, clearly, I thought it was much more difficult to get there."

"The Communists want to show that everything is good in their country and even better than in Equestria. Therefore, they are not against inviting the press, though they are allowed to photograph only what is needed, that which shows their regime from the best side. Surely they have their own skeletons in the closet, I have heard a lot of talk about hunger, abuse of the authorities in their villages, once even such a strange word flashed by... "collectivization". Well, rumors are rumors, you know that yourself. Fear has big eyes, and the local elite has endured it oh so much."

"The Communists are our enemies, which means that any bad rumor about them should be believed."

"Even if it's a blatant lie? Your uniform speaks in you again, Sir Agrias."

"Alas, it is so."

There was a long pause. The same simple view was flying by outside the window. No one noticed that it was already time for lunch. After a quick and simple meal, the conversation resumed again. They talked about everything, whatever came to mind, so as not to get bored. Reinis changed his tradition and did not sleep on the train ride, listening to and watching the interlocutors, occasionally inserting his own comments, usually on the topics that he understood himself. The pony talked about his travels in Equestria, and other countries. Agrias mostly listened and commented on these stories. So the day of the journey passed, in the evening the express was supposed to be arrived in Lyctidia.

And sure enough, by nine o'clock pm, the express was already entering the Lyctidia railway station. The usual fuss began, as each person disembarked, someone waiting to board took their place in the cars. Reinis was also about to get out, but Agrias did not accompany him, so as not to provoke confusion in the dense flow of passengers.

"Good-bye, Herr Hauptmann."

The hunter simply said, and left the compartment without wasting any excess time. Soon, from the window of the car, his silhouette became visible, breaking through the boundless crowd. Agrias watched him in silence until he finally disappeared among the endless multitude of changelings. After waiting for the passengers to pass, Agrias went to the window of the railcar and watched for a long time an inconspicuous silhouette in military uniform, familiar to him, receding and getting lost among thousands and thousands of figures. At some point, it seemed to him that Reinis turned around, before disappearing forever into the maelstrom of the station turmoil. Then something clicked in his ear. Agrias turned around and saw the Equestrian with a camera at the ready. He had just captured the station from the train window.

"This spectacle has its own beauty, if you are not in its epicenter..."
The pony said thoughtfully, and returned to the compartment. The officer had nothing to say to this. His companion was a kind fellow, although he pretended to be a prim gentleman. The train stood on the platform for a few more minutes, taking in late passengers, and then moved forward again.

A lull gradually settled in the compartment. The Equestrian climbed up to the top shelf, 
where his quiet snoring soon began to be heard, and another changeling took Reinis' place. He immediately fenced himself off from his fellow travelers with a newspaper. Did he read it, did he sleep, or did he watch from behind its pages? It was hard to tell. The Imperial Gendarmerie did not assign policemen to foreign guests, its methods were much quieter and more delicate.

"So, as far as I remember, my vacation lasts about a week. And what should I do there for so much time? Most likely drink, walk and make acquaintances, as all honest officers should. A stupid pastime, but it can help in career growth, maybe I will meet my fellow students... " Thought Agrias, falling asleep. Tomorrow he would be already there, in the hive which he praised so much. Well, he would have an opportunity to refresh his youthful memories.

The hive stood among dense forests, towering over them with its pyramidal spires. Great, powerful, as if glowing from within, Vesalipolis was beautiful. All the Changeling hives were a gloomy pile of gray and black towers, and only the capital sparkled with white spires that grew hundreds of meters into the sky. Ten million souls were huddled in and around these walls, the heart of a mighty country was beating here with indomitable force. Vraks and Lyctidia seemed like tiny villages compared to this huge, real "City and Universe", which had no equal in the whole world. Agrias was fascinated by the landscape that opened before him. He was filled with admiration, joy, relief and pride that he was born and raised in this great place. The camera shutter clicked again. The pony did not miss a single opportunity.

"You... see?"
The officer asked him with some excitement.

"I see. Only one place in the world can compare with this sight."

"Are you talking about Canterlot?"

"Yes. Canterlot is a great city, an eternal city. Time has no power in it. Vesalipolis has increased relatively recently."

"It is so."

The train sped past the mighty factory buildings, whose chimneys tried in vain to compete with the tall spires. Production had gradually been moved from the capital to the district field. New factories were not built in the spires themselves, but in the vicinity of the hive, attracting workers and forming settlements around them. These were the first sprouts of the Changeling cities that Chrysalis wanted to relocate the population of the hives to. Now the train was already entering the Vesalipolis Railway Station.

"Sir, I doubt that I will not lose you in the coming crowd, so I want to say goodbye to you right away. And yes..."
The pony was somewhat embarrassed.
"I just realized that I have not introduced myself to you during this time. My name is Oswald Brownie, and I do not know why you need this name now."

"Very nice, my name is Agrias zu Gardis. Don't look for my last name, it is a common one. I am sure that in this place you will find more than one thousand of my full namesakes."

The officer chuckled. The wheels of the train made the last slow turn, and stopped. The passengers began to disembark. Everything happened quickly and in an organized manner, otherwise a terrible stampede would have started. Here, in these giant buildings of railway stations and bus stations, all the disadvantages of living in hives were manifested. Being a few minutes late could cost life or property, during rush hour, train stations turned into seas of changelings, and rush hour at train stations lasted around the clock. In these seas there were currents, whirlpools and a few quiet backwaters. Nothing was required of travelers except punctuality. The station crush equalizes the changelings, more than once it happened that even high-ranking officials were suffocated in the crowd, and only loyal lackeys saved them from their absurd fate.
Oswald was right, in the confusion of the surging crowd, his brown coat disappeared irrevocably. 

Agrias felt it for the first time in many years... loneliness. Everyone around him was hurrying about their business, they were not interested in another officer who had served on leave. Where are his comrades? Where are his classmates from the school, where are Artis, Reinis and Kulex? It was difficult to give an answer. For sure, everything was definitely better with them than it was now. For about an hour, Agrias struggled with the crowd, moving among the passengers of his train. Finally, it was over. After passing the most crowded areas and going out to where it was freer, everyone was relieved. It was not customary for Changelings to ride trains in beautiful clothes, such as dresses, fur coats or hats with feathers. All this was shamelessly chattered, torn and irrevocably disappeared in the turbulent whirlpool of the people. A lot of high-ranking officials and rich people were traveling with Agrias on the train. When they came out into the open space, they took a deep breath, examined their emphatically ascetic attire, paid off their lackeys who helped them make their way through the crowd, and immediately hired new ones to carry their luggage. The light-blue uniforms of police officers, trying to maintain at least some order, flashed everywhere. Their job was to help the lost or suffocating in the crush, of which there were many. Needless to say, they did not always have time.

So, Agrias found himself at home, clearly realizing that the next few hours will be unforgettable. After a hasty meal at a local hotel and rechecking his documents, he went in search of his apartment block.

From the inside, the capital seemed even bigger and more monumental than from the outside: wide flights of the highest stairs, elevators, giant corridors of residential blocks, more like pedestrian boulevards. Agrias spent a long time climbing the high spiral staircase leading to the very top of the main spire. His family lived in good prosperity, due to the large savings and a serious pension of Agrias' father. There was a time when he lived side by side with numerous brothers and sisters, but there were probably few left in the parents' nest: almost all went to school, and then left for other blocks and other hives. Not all of Agrias ' brothers and sisters chose a military career, his father did not want this. One or two heirs to his business was enough for him, as was customary with Changelings. Fortunately for him, these wishes came true, and now the young and proven Hauptman, his beloved son, triumphantly returned to his native penates. The apartment block in which the Agrias family lived was a completely different sight compared to the modest working commune at the BSLF factory. It was a well-maintained area, where the life of high society was in full swing. There were expensive restaurants and clubs, all sorts of serious offices and other important places. Solid and affluent changelings lived here, as a rule each having a government title or officer rank. The local apartments were large and expensively furnished, and the blue uniform of a policeman flashed here as often as an expensive suit or dress.
After presenting his documents, Agrias found himself at the block. He hadn't been to this place for several long years. Some came here only for business, feasts and participation in social life. For others this block was a hateful den for fattening rich people. For Agrias it was a small homeland in which he was glad to be. After a short search, he found his door. It was already late at night, but Agrias knocked anyway.

"Excuse me, who are you?"
The young doorman stared at the officer in amazement, it was clear that his sleep had been shamelessly interrupted.

"Poor Ancides, what happened to you while I was gone?" Agrias thought, measuring the newcomer with his eyes.
"I am the son of Herr Agrias the Elder."
He answered with restraint.
"I serve in the army of our Queen, so I was issued a vacation, I decided to visit my native souls."

"Oh, it's you... Herr Agrias has been waiting for you very much, but now he is asleep, like everyone else."

"All right, now let me through. And yes, this is the first time I've seen you. What happened to your predecessor?"

" I don't know, maybe he quit...
The doorman looked down, as if trying to hide a lie.
"Come on, the hour is already late, sleep will not hurt you."

In the semi-darkness, the apartment seemed strange and completely unfamiliar. Agrias Jr. had not been here for many years, although he corresponded very actively with his relatives during his times of study. The doorman did not show him around the apartment, preferring to fall asleep again on his stool besides the door. The officer's footsteps were quiet, his hooves sank into the thick carpet. Here was the living room, in the semi-darkness it looked mysterious and strange. Finding a sofa, Agrias lay down on it, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Five o'clock struck in the morning. The light mines had not yet let the rays of dawn into the room, but Agrias felt that dawn was already rising somewhere. Just like the day it all ended. Life was already awakening in the apartment. Here it always began according to military regulations. Here a lady came into the room with a broom in her teeth, and immediately froze in amazement. The broom fell out of her teeth, and then Agrias was able to recognize her as his older sister Agrynnis. He was confused, looked at his hooves — they were all covered in road dust. The room was covered with a carpet and the officer left a clear trail of dirty prints behind him. Realizing the full horror of his situation, Hauptman immediately automatically jumped up and stood at attention. Now he looked not like a combat commander, but like a cadet who fell asleep at his post.

"Eh, I'm sorry... Fraulein..."
There was no answer, the sister stared at her brother with all her eyes, not even knowing what to do now: to be amazed at his wonderful appearance, to kiss him to death or to scratch him for a soiled carpet.

"Agrias... Agrias!!"
She threw herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. There were tears of joy in the eyes of both of them. The father and mother appeared in the doorway of the living room, but they did not interfere, watching their children from the side.

"Let's go to breakfast, today we are honoring a hero!"
Agrias the elder said with his usual share of pathos. His words did not go unheard, and soon everyone was sitting at the table. Only his father, mother, Agrynnis and the doorman lived in the apartment, who was also allowed to sit at the table with everyone. He looked like a young man, but he was rather pathetic. His name was Cluss. Today's breakfast turned into a modest family celebration.

"Son, why have you been missing for so long?"
His elderly father, a retired officer of the Royal Army, asked.
"What happened to you in our dashing time? You had a chance to fight, didn't you?"

"I had a chance, Father. But it's impossible to find something worse than this war. I got into the thick of it, into Vraks."
After these words, the table fell silent. Everyone here knew what was going on in this long-suffering hive, knew about the fate of officers and ordinary citizens.

"What was there?"

"Everything was, everything."

"I see... You had a tough time there. But, I see that you earned not only grief, right?"

"That's it, Father. I was promoted to hauptmann, and immediately gave me a vacation. The brigade was dismissed to their homes. I will get a uniform and shoulder straps soon."

"This is commendable, there is nothing to say. And what was the reason for the promotion?"

"For surviving."

Agrias frowned at the memory.
"There was a case near Hurornd, just a week and a half ago. We finished off the last red detachments. That's where I distinguished myself. I raised a platoon to attack when half of the officers were mowed down by machine gunners. Eh... And it's scary to remember, but then we did it, and nothing! We gave them a hard time, though, but they bled us too. Our platoon was saved by a machine gunner. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be sitting here with you.I remember now, we said goodbye literally two days ago. His name is Artis, from Soryth, a good guy…”

"Was he awarded somehow?"

Awarded? For what?! Everyone should forget about this quickly, not rattle their medals. Rat war! A shameful war! May there never be such a war in our Homeland again! To make changeling kill changeling! The Communists betrayed the Queen, they should be fought not only in our country, but also around the world, but what a defeat we suffered that we almost fell into this abyss after the Severyanans!?

" ... When the Aquelian king was defeated by Grover I, he wrote to his wife: "Everything is lost except life and honor.". With Chrysalis, everything turned out the opposite. She actually lost nothing, but her honor in the eyes of the people was undermined."
The father answered his son's words thoughtfully. Everyone at the table listened to them, practically without touching their essence.

"We've patched up this gap with our bodies, Father. I hope we have made a sufficient sacrifice to restore peace and order."

"I hope so too, Agrias. When I was young, I fought for this country to be born. You fought for its survival. You, me, every soldier and officer of our army are the flesh and blood of our state, its driving force and the only hope of it. Neither merchants, nor officials, nor spies and gendarmes will achieve such power over the fate of the Fatherland as we have achieved. Their strength is in the royal favor, in the golden mountains, in the fear of the sheep of their shepherd. Our strength is in our courage. Not a single corporate and crookshaker shed a single drop of blood and sweat for the sake of the Fatherland, but our blood and sweat flowed in stormy rivers, our bodies covered the earth with a stormy carpet of blue and red flowers... That's why we have the right, because we gave the most, and did not ask for anything in return... Okay. Let's talk about deals."

"What deals?"

"You won't be here for long, will you?"

"That's right, Father. According to the instructions of General Larynx, I will go to serve in the Vesalipolis garrison."

"Oh, your general is cruel, I knew him, and I saw him when he was still a colonel... There are all sorts of fools in the capital's garrison helipads and other rabble. They carouse at the first opportunity, training at the lowest level. I see these dolfs every day — it's disgusting to look at. There is hope for Trimmel however, he was recently appointed commandant. They say he is held in high esteem by the Queen herself, and many other things are said... But everyone agrees on one thing: the guy is young, but he is brave and smart. At his age, he managed to publish a volume on the art of war. Interesting, they say, a lot of fresh thoughts."

"And how is my graduation class doing there? Surely someone was lucky to settle in the capital."

"Most of them were lucky. I've been to an inn, and I met them there. They're waiting for you."

"Well, I'll have to please them. How do you live here? Who went where?"

"Who goes where. The younger ones-to Lyctidia, the middle ones - to Ditrysium. You're the only one who went to the junker school, but your sister stayed here. We live well, not poorly, occasionally we have guests."

"What about Agrinnis?"

"Agrinnis is engaged, she has a fiance here. One of the young officers. Don't worry, I checked him out. He is worthy of her hoof."

"That's good. And you?"

"Your mother and I are no longer in those years. We live, we monitor the apartment, Cluss helps us. Sometimes we visit someone, sometimes someone visits us. Sometimes I go out, sometimes I just go to pubs in search of the people I know."

"And how are things with our library?"

"Everything is fine with the library. I can give you the task of getting a particular volume of Trimmel. Personally, I am interested in getting acquainted with it."

"I will get it, I will definitely get it. My future supervisor needs to be pleased..."

"You think right, Herr Hauptmann. Therefore, I want to remind you of the main rule. I went into the apartment — wipe your hooves! We aren't on passing yard or on field here!"

Agrynnis suddenly intervened in the conversation, which caused the most active approval. Agrias Jr. did not like to laugh at himself, but he took his sister's jokes very positively, especially after a long separation. After this remark, the conversation continued, Agrias briefly and without much detail told how he fought in the volunteer brigade, everyone listened without asking questions and without subjecting these words to condemnation, then the changelings began to eat essence, and soon breakfast was over. After that, everyone went about their business. Agrias Sr. went to read in his bedroom, Agrinnis and her mother decided to continue the fight against dust that had begun. Cluss had to help in this case. Cleaning in a large and empty apartment is not a very pleasant thing, but it is necessary to observe decency. Agrias Jr. sat in the kitchen for a while, thinking about what had been said. Finally, he got up, recovered and went to solve the accumulated questions. What happened to the old doorman? How are his former classmates doing there, and who is his sister's fiance? He had only come to his home for a week, and he wanted to find out how things were going here.
Cluss was working in the hallway, stoically performing monotonous but necessary work. When Agrias Jr. appeared in the doorway, the doorman did not notice anything.

"Good morning, Herr. How should I refer to you?"

Cluss started up and turned warily at the officer.
"My name is Cluss, I work as a doorman for Herr Agrias... Herr Agrias the Elder, if you please. I get paid..."

"Enough, I don't really need this information. Answer just one question, and honestly, if you can, of course."
Agrias used one of his strictest officer's looks on the doorman.
"What happened to Ancides, the former doorman?"

"He died, I'm sorry for your grief. Ancides was my second cousin,"

"Why didn't you tell me right away?"
The officer replied calmly, but gloomily. His dark thoughts were confirmed, this good changeling had gone. Well, in his young years, Agrias had seen death enough, and looked into her eyes with courage and calmness.

"Forgive my cowardice, I did not know you, I did not want upset you from the road..."

"Oh, you found someone to please. I've seen things that would give you a stroke. I'm sorry for interrupting, I hope that we will get along."
Agrias Jr. was lucky to come home at a time when the soldiers and officers of the Vesalipoli garrison were receiving furloughs. While waiting for the evening, the captain decided to clean himself up, and then start reading.

Yes, he didn't come back home in the best shape, but this would be corrected. After a long bit of work, a completely different changeling looked back at him in the mirror, it was as if he had become five years younger. On long campaigns, Agrias kept track of his condition as best he could, but the situation did not always allow him to do this. Yes, the Changelings had a much easier time with hygiene than anyone else. There was no need for combing the fur, sorting out the feathers, a large amount of running water or other things, a simple wet rag was enough. But for changelings, the dirt sometimes ate into the carapace, and it was not easy to wash it, especially for soldiers in the field, where it happened all the time. With the uniform, things were much better, it was enough to wash and iron it, which Agrias did an excellent job with. He did this alone, thoroughly and carefully, wanting to show himself in the best possible way before the high society in which he had to find himself. Having carefully folded his uniform, the officer put on a dressing gown and retired to one of the rooms in which their own library was located. It would be a while until evening came, Agrias decided to pass the time by doing what he loved.

It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to read what was forbidden by his superiors. Agrias fell in love with Griffon poems and prose with all his heart, he read ballads about knights, kings and warlords, with whom the lands of the East always abounded. Domestic literature could only boast of stories of various kinds of hives and queens, their memoirs and biographies. The rest of changeling literature was just an attempt of copies on Equestrian and Aquelian novels, as well as all the same Herzland epic poetry, to be adapted to the Changeling society. The Changelings are more adept in the art of an ironic pamphlet and a sublime ode, dedicated, as a rule, to Chrysalis. But for such masterpieces, it was necessary to turn to the newspapers, not to the book. Even then, the Changeling press began to turn into a striking sword, poisoned by the bitterness of the annoying Canterlot failure. "Jäger", the largest official Changeling news outlet, and "Equestria Daily", the ponies' equivalent, had long since unleashed a harsh and brutal war in which they fought for minds. On this frontline, the truth was sharply condemned, and lies were extolled, but Agrias considered it his officer's duty to believe in this lie, even though he personally never read newspapers and magazines. Hour after hour passed, and with each line of his own books he read, Agrias felt the darkness surrounding his mind dissipate. It was so good to be here, among the books, as among true friends after a long separation. The officer did not even notice how the time began to run out.

When the clock struck ten, the changeling was already fully armed in apparel. The tunic fit him like a glove, and even though he was a little old in style and had no insignia, he still looked proud, dapper. Moreover, such a look clearly told knowledgeable persons where he served and what he fought for, he whose uniform is old, and has neither shoulder straps nor awards.

After saying goodbye to his family, Agrias went out to the street of his residential block: the hour was late, but electrical street lights were shining brightly, and the streets were full of people hurrying about their business. The Hauptmann felt a sharp attack of deja vu, watching the gallant couples in suits and dresses, monocles and top hats, ladies' hats. He was again shackled by an obsession, this sudden feeling of frenzy, blindness, and deafness, as if a grenade exploded nearby. It was all familiar... and so alien, fake, cloying and stupid. Agrias had just wanted to shine, to show himself to this society of high-ranking people, but only when he came out on the threshold, he realized that he was a stranger here, that those few who had preserved their honor avoided what was going on in theaters, restaurants and salons.

The Hauptmann made it to his destination quickly, remembering the streets well. He met a very different audience there, but they paid little attention to him, rarely even deigning to look at him. Agrias, like a gray mouse, slipped past everyone, only occasionally exchanging brief greetings and gestures of politeness. The "Ant Hill" tavern. He was in the right place, alright. The "Ant Hill" the traditional haven of junkers, which gradually turned into a club for officers. Agrias had been here a couple of times, it was the place where he said goodbye to his comrades before leaving for Vraks. To think, it was only a few years ago...

The "Ant Hill" was modest both from the outside and from the inside, but the essence and meaning of this place was not at all in luxury, for this was the place the officers could expect to take a break from the most severe orders of army discipline for at least one evening. Here students recited obscene rhymes they'd be ordinarily be disciplined for, the piano played high and frivolously, and schnapps flowed like a river. It was a club for initiates, a secret lodge at five minutes to five. They didn't come here right away, and not all of them always came. Newcomers, slow-wits and zealots of the charter were not tolerated here, as well as drunkards and rowdies who disgraced the honor of the uniform, who were sharply condemned here. An evening in the "Anthill" was always like a breath of fresh air for young people who were looking for an outlet for their enthusiasm. The older officers considered this place too stupid for them, preferring to go either headlong into work, or to drown up to their ears in the languid decadence of high society. Here it was always simple and fun.

Agrias pushed open the door and found himself inside. He was surprised when he was met by an attentive silence as opposed to the usual joviality, broken only by one voice, a voice which Agrias recognized immediately. It was Antanas, an unrecognized genius of changeling literature, a constant guest and the soul of the entire local society. Not a single evening in the "Anthill" had been complete without his performances for several years in a row. His poems were replete with irony, satire and ridicule, centered on either the authorities or recent events. No one wrote denunciations against him, even those whom he ridiculed did not condemn his work, because in fact, to some extent, Antanas helped to maintain discipline and subordination, by letting soldiers laugh at their superiors during their leave, rather than directly behind their backs, thereby undermining order. Everyone listened to the poet in sullen silence, catching every word and every sound of his melodious voice. Finally, he finished. The audience exploded with applause and loud laughter, a dense ring of listeners dispersed to the tables of the institution. The Hauptmann, who had just entered, wandered around the tables, looking for familiar faces. Agrias could not recognize his comrades, and this was not at all because of the new beautiful form and maturity. They bore little resemblance either to the military or to those silly junkers: their shoulder belts were too shiny, their tunics fit perfectly, their brand-new caps covered their mirror-polished heads and also sparkled with their silver cords and edging. The Hauptmann looked at them, and before his eyes there were nondescript gray columns hurriedly marching to the sad wailing of a harmonica, under white banners with a three-pronged crown. There were simple and honest guys, kind-hearted and brave-hearted, who walked through the horror and shame with the firm step of a marching formation, with full confidence that their cause was right.

"Guys, look!"
Someone exclaimed.
"Agrias is back!"

The officers began to turn around, talk to each other, someone even threw: "Who is this Agrias?", a statement for which he paid, because there were very few changelings in the "Anthill" who did not intersect with a former classmate at least once. The Hauptmann was surrounded by a crowd of comrades, all the chairs at his table were occupied, even when new ones were brought. He immediately found himself in the center of attention, surrounded by old comrades, and then he recognized and remembered them, the good old junkers of the Vesalipolis school. Immediately, questions began to come in. Agrias answered as well as he could, trying not to lie and speak honestly. He described to his comrades everything that he had experienced, quickly and dryly, as if he were merely giving an official report on his actions.

"In general, there is nothing to remember, except that I have been promoted in rank. I'm a Hauptmann now."

"So, you are our boss now!"
Antanas said.

"Yes, I didn't expect it myself, but Herr Larynx took my survival as a sign of skill and gave me shoulder straps. Now I don't know where I will go with my high rank."

"We know where you'll go, there are new regiments being formed here, so you'll be assigned to them."
One of the officers replied.

"And maybe he won't, the Commandant is a harsh changeling, but a fair one too. We are all green here and we are proud of that, and even though you fought, and you deserved the title, you never went far from us, so you will be with us. You will serve, get acquainted with the authorities and the team, then maybe they will give you a company. The golden times are over, guys. I'll have to work off my uniform. Mark my words! When winter comes, that's when they drive us. It's not always like sitting in a garrison, really! Are we military or what?!"
Asilus, a straight-A student, a principled and straightforward changeling, put in his weighty word. Everyone treated him with silent and sincere respect, recognizing him as an older Kamerad.

"That's right. There is nothing to grab rhoms on straps when the wind is walking in your head!"
Agrias said cheerfully, his exclamation met with a storm of approval. The conversation continued until nightfall, the young hauptmann became the hero of the" Anthill", because it so happened that out of all the several dozen gathered here, he was the only one who got into the volunteer corps.

When everyone had already started to leave, Asilus remained sitting at the table with Agrias. He looked a little strange, as if he was worried and embarrassed to say something.
"Agrias, listen. I want to tell you something. Something serious."

"So what is it?"
Agrias finished his last mug of essence. Now he felt as good as ever, but the mood of his friend made him gather himself together.

"Agrynnis, isn't that your sister?"
The Hauptmann nodded, listening intently.

"So, we are engaged, there will be a wedding soon. Everything is serious, no fooling around.

"Yes, of course, it couldn't happen any other way with you. My father told me about it, and I am proud that my beloved sister fell in love with you. I couldn't have found a better candidate..."
Agrias paused for a long time, looking at the fibers of the white tablecloth that covered the table.

"She is a smart and nice, a rarity these days."

"...You know, Asilus."
Agrias came out of his reverie, his companion froze, listening intently.
" I was kneading snow there for a reason, I've been there in different bindings, to be honest. And so many guys leave, just for nothing, when the machine gun fires - and you can't remember what their name was. And the main thing is that you don't think much about them at first, and then you start imagining that they are all someone's sons and someone's fathers, and that these people are waiting for them at home. And then an officer like you confesses to some Fraulein in love, and everything is fine with you, and then something happens, even if it's sheer stupidity — and you are gone. Your love is left alone. I do not like such sentiments, but this concerns my sister, I would not like to see her bitter tears. So count your life as two, okay? To serve in the army is not a trick for you and not a ballroom waltz, I know this firsthand now, and you agree with me, so take care of yourself, peace and happiness to you both."

Agrias smiled and put a hoof on Asilus' shoulder. The latter took a deep breath, understanding the words of his friend.
"Thank you. Be there, Herr Hauptmann."
He got up from the table and headed for the door. The place was closing. Agrias followed him.

The following days passed easily and calmly: the officer spent time reading books, sometimes he went to visit with his father. In the evenings, he either went to the "Anthill" or listened to his sister playing the piano. After a week, the officer entered the service in the Vesalipolis garrison...







The Lyctidian railway station was not much different from the Vraxian one. Reinis pushed through the crowd of passengers getting off and entering, trying to find the right way to go. He had never been in such places alone before, and now he was literally risking his life. Changelings angrily called him out, pushed, often curses were heard, obviously addressed towards him. Reinis tried unsuccessfully to get ahead through the crowd, but met strong resistance. There was a real prospect of suffocating in the crush. Then a loud whistle sounded a few steps away, the crowd parted as much as possible, and Rainis felt like someone was literally pulling him out of the crowd. Immediately it became easier, the Changeling took a deep breath, but it was too early to relax.

"Come on!"
The policeman who had rescued him shouted imperiously, and led the hapless soldier away from the station. Fortunately, there were no other accidents.
"Brother, damn you! I might not have made it in time! What kind of stupidity is this?! You're a soldier!"
The policeman was scolding Reinis loudly and sharply, as they gradually approached the exit from the station. Reinis was stupidly silent, not daring or willing to answer.
"Don't be so stupid next time! I won't hold a grudge against you, but there must be order."
The policeman said more calmly, leading the changeling out of the station. His commander approached him and demanded a report. The policeman laid out everything as it was, the chief threw a quick glance at Reinis, shook his head and left on business.

"All right, Herr policeman, don't get mad at me, it'd be better if you showed me a place where drivers drink, I need to get into my home artel."

"Ah, so everything is clear. Go i-in there, to that diner, there are a lot of similar people there, maybe you will find somebody who will give you a lift."
The policeman smiled mockingly.
"Come on, run! So that my eyes don't see you!"
The changeling shouted cheerfully, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Reinis was alone again, but now he knew where to go.

The place was furnished terribly simply, there were not even tablecloths on the tables, the floor was dirty, and there were no waiters at all. Nevertheless, there were a lot of people here. In the light of a cheap electric lamp, black leather drivers' jackets glittered, the drivers were resting after their regular routes. There were also a lot of those who tried to lather up as fellow travelers. It was noisy, stifling, and smelled of tobacco and alcohol, but Reinis did not attach any importance to this. He was worried about another question: what to do next? He wandered lost among the people sitting at the tables, until his attention was attracted by one bug, draped in a white sheepskin coat that stood out brightly... the Changeling immediately recognized this clothing, as well as its wearer. It was his fellow countryman, a hunter.

"Well, for Queen's sake! We can't give so much!" The white sheepskin coat's owner was indignant.

"How can you not, kind hunters? You probably sold the skins for a lot, but you don't want to share them with us?"
The changeling in a black leather jacket was sarcastic, sipping a cigarette and exhaling smoke almost directly into the nose of his interlocutors. 

Everyone was already a little tipsy and the conflict could lead to bad consequences. Reinis walked up to this table and threw five hundred marks on it. Everyone at the table looked first at the money, and then at Reinis. The driver shook his head, spat out the bull and whistled in surprise.

"Well, hello, boy. We weren't expecting you here. Sit down, we'll treat you. Well, you helped us out for today," said the changeling in a white sheepskin coat, his name was Kiris. He was already many years old, and he was the closest friend of Father Reinis, his de facto deputy in the affairs of the artel. Like all Lyctide hunters, he was not generous with his emotions, and a kind word from him was to be taken at high value. 

With the help of Reinis, he managed to negotiate with the driver, despite all his nonsense and greed. At that time, there were no passenger buses yet, so the people had to get there by trucks. The hive administration did not contradict this, realizing that this was the only way to get from the hive to the countryside. Columns of cars were carrying wood, industrial crops, wool and furs to the hives, in other words, everything that was produced by the peasants. Trucks with essence and fresh press were coming back, and sometimes with something more interesting, for example, with radios, which were considered to be of great value in the countryside. But there were also those Bauern who went to the hive to sell their goods, and bought the things they need, without waiting for a truck to arrive in their village. Such were the hunters from the Reinis artel.

Having had a good drink and discussed the whole situation, the company of Reinis, four hunters and the driver, left the Kneipe and headed for the car park. Another cargo convoy was being prepared there, in other words, a terrible controlled chaos was happening. The hunters helped the driver load the boxes into the car, and they themselves got into the back. After a while, the car was already driving in a dense column along a wide highway. Gradually, some cars separated from the column, and over time it thinned out more and more, as the drivers turned to their routes. The passengers could not see the surrounding landscape from the back of the truck, but there was no problem, because the sight was the most typical: a huge, empty lot surrounding it, a black-white-green shroud of forest going over the horizon. It was the famous Lyctidian Forest - the pride and heritage of Chrysalis' whole country. A large impenetrable forest, a huge source of fuel, wood and furs. But this forest had one more wealth — these are the Lyctidian hunters. 

The first jaeger squads were formed in the days when Lyctidia was an independent hive. At the time, the jaegers were voluntary irregular groups of hunters who fought without uniforms and were famous for their accuracy. When Chrysalis united all the Changeling lands under the crown of Vesalipolis, the jaegers turned into regular rifle units consisting of especially well-aimed shooters. Reinis was unlucky not to get into the jaeger unit. As a result of some bureaucratic mistake, he got into the infantry instead, thus ending up in the ill-fated Vraks hive, and then joined the volunteers, receiving a baptism of fire.

"Listen, Rainis. Why are you back so early? It seems that you are not a deserter, you look honest. Tell me, what kind of sedition has happened in the army again that everyone is fleeing from it?"
Kiris spoke first.

"Sedition. And extremely lousy. Did you hear what happened in Vraks?"

"Vraks? Ah, well, yes. The postman came to us, about two or a year and a half ago. And he brought us such a newspaper... A horror, not a newspaper. We read it, then, with the whole artel, the wives were sighing, the husbands shook their heads... A week passed, another, and everyone calmed down a little, and then they we forgot. You know, we don't get enough of any news."

"I know, and I know it well. And there were cases there... Serious, as I can say. And I had a chance to participate in them."

"Will you tell me something?"

"Yes, but what can I tell? It wasn't a war, it was rubbish. I walked for a year and a half, and then we were all dismissed. At homes, of course. They took us to Vraks, formed us up, gave us money, and also gave us a kick in the ass to get out faster."
The youngest of the hunters chuckled, the others smiled only with their eyes.

"I was given a ride to Lyctidia by one Herr officer, his name is Agrias, just an hour ago we were sitting in the same carriage. And it was a good train, for the rich. There was even a pony riding with us."

"You are serious? Which Ponies here, in our lands?"

"I'll tell you which. This herr had fallen in our compartment and began to sharpen the lies with my officer. It's as clever as two professors are talking! And that pony told that he works as a photographer. That he have arranged a business trip around the country, that he wants to earn money from this... He's a fool, to be honest. Educated, but a fool..."
Reinis paused, there was no usual shaking, the car was still driving on a good asphalt road.
"What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing, we haven't been waiting for you for too long. Everything is as usual. We hunt, we sell to those who will buy. Recently, the barn burned down, and the Old Armis died... Oh, here's another one. Vilnia is getting married, that's why we are in such a hurry. We're going at night, if only we can make it by tomorrow night..."
Hearing this name, Reinis' face changed slightly.

"The first beauty in the artel, you were hitting on her, as far as I remember?"

"I was hitting on her. There was a case. And then we broke up. I've forgotten her name, too..."
Reinis looked down and was silent for a long time. 
"Who is she even marrying?"
He asked with particular dryness.

"A woodcutter from a neighboring village."
Kiris replied, looking into the eyes of his younger companion. His gaze was cold, but the old hunter understood everything. - "Don't worry, they are two boots in a pair, they will get along quite well."

Reinis did not respond to this, he was silent in his usual manner.
The hour dragged on for an hour, the villagers only occasionally exchanged the rare word. The truck drove for a long time, occasionally making short stops and halts. The driver turned out to be a good, but rude fellow. Today he had to go into the night, so he treated the hunters badly, who needed to get home as soon as possible. Evening and night were replaced by morning and day, gradually the contents of the body decreased in volume with each stop. Here the truck turned onto a country road, and the car shook violently. A few hours later, the driver stopped at some kind of Vorwerk, everyone realized that this was the final station. The quartet of Lyctidian foresters got out of the truck, and began to help the movers with boxes who poured out of the gate. Having quickly managed with the load, the changelings said goodbye to the driver, and continued their journey on hooves. Firs and pines were already rising all around, but they still had to go deep into the forest. There were many villages, artels and other settlements in the area of the Lyctidian Forest, which could only be reached on hooves in winter. In the summer, a motorcyclist could get there.

Meanwhile, the sun was already beginning to set, and it was necessary to hurry. At first, the changelings walked along a well-cleared path, but then the first low snowdrifts began to come down. The walk lasted about two or two and a half hours, and when the lights of houses loomed in the dense forest palisade, the sky was black again, not even the moon was visible. The snowdrifts soon ceased, so the houses became more distinguishable. There was no one on the street, it was very cold, but the wind was extinguished by the crowns and trunks of trees that wrote menacingly over everything that the Changelings were able to win back from nature. Nevertheless, everyone was freezing. Reinis did the right thing, never taking off his greatcoat during the entire journey.

It was quiet in the houses, but from one of them came stormy chatter and laughter. This was the house of Father Reinis, the largest and firmest, but not superior to all the others. After all, Reinis Sr. was just a "first among equals", and his income did not differ much from the income of everyone else.

"At least we had time for the feast..."
One of Kyris' companions spoke with annoyance.
"That's not a problem, we'll warm up now, and we have the gifts with us."
An ordinary country house in the kingdom of Chrysalis was, as a rule, richer than some Severyan hut or Equestrian farm. In these parts, it was not the city that grew out of the village, but the village grew out of the city. The peasants almost always had business and sufficient personal wealth. In many villages, there were communities that had serious funds and helped fellow commoners in need. Usually they were almost typical one-story buildings with an attic and a basement, they had two or three bedrooms, not counting the large hallway, which simultaneously served as a kitchen, a dining room, and a festive room. Due to the peculiarities of changeling needs, any feast quickly moved from deeds to word, the essence was drunk, and a conversation began. Often, the conversation was warmed up by good old schnapps. They discussed everything, even the Bauers, who were not used to chatter and condemned the "empty nonsense", gave free rein to words at the table. The essence, a moderate amount of moonshine, the pleasant company of fellow countrymen- everything was disposed for a conversation.

 Here, too, in the house of the artel head, several dozen voices were buzzing. There were all the hunters from the artel, their wives and mothers, as well as a delegation from the village of loggers: the headman and his three sons arrived, all three were strong and large, handsome changelings, one of them was the groom of Vilnia. All major holidays were celebrated in the house of the head of the artel, and the wedding of Vilnia and Martis, that was the name of the lumberjack, was also decided to be held here. For the Changelings, the wedding was not some kind of sacred and formalized event, even the consent of the parents was not always required for marriage. In the hives, this was limited to a simple trip to the officials, occasionally accompanied by a small feast. In the villages, weddings were celebrated on a larger scale, often by the whole village, with songs, dances and a feast. The travelers successfully missed the first two points of the program, as well as the solemn part of the marriage ceremony. Everyone was satisfied in the end, the bride and groom were very well suited to each other.

Then the door opened, and four people appeared on the threshold: three in hunting sheepskin coats, with bags on their backs, one in an old soldier's greatcoat, burdened only with a duffel bag. Reinis Jr. saw a long table turned across to the door. In the middle of the table sat the newlyweds, to the right and left of them — guests and artel. The changelings told each other stories, discussed the weather and other pressing issues. Jokes were often made, the shifters laughed, especially those who were drunk. 

Seeing the newcomers, everyone became somewhat silent. The eyes of Reinis and Vilnia met, the changeling clearly saw how her smile turned into a tense grin, and her beautiful turquoise eyes disappeared, buried in the dark green oilcloth that covered the table. Reinis calmly took off his infantry cap and unwound the scarf, took off his greatcoat and hung it up along with all the other clothes. When the unexpected guests took off their sheepskin coats and sat down at the common table (before wiping their hooves from snow and mud, of course), the conversation resumed. But they were no longer talking about the weather or hunting, Reinis Jr. got into the center of attention. 

They started asking him about his service, he answered simply and truthfully, he could not lie to his fellow countrymen. "I got into a situation, served as a volunteer, fought with the communists, and was disbanded ahead of time." There were only new questions in response, and Reinis had to tell what the volunteers had to do during the fight against the Rotfront. Some people probably boasted about it as a hero, while Reinis described it simply, dryly, with minimal details, without boasting or bragging. The answer to him was the silent understanding of the audience. Here, life and death were treated more simply, a hunter who beats a squirrel and a bear in the forest will beat a changeling with the same cold heart, not to mention ponies and deer. 

The Lyctidians valued life, and whilethey also regretted the awful need for fratricide, they preferred not to poison their soul with sentiment, pouring schnapps into glasses with sullen fatalism, listening to the story of a fellow commoners who was not lucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be wrong to hide the truth from these Changelings who were almost relatives, because everyone in the village knew everything about everyone, and the adventures of Reinis would have been revealed regardless, sooner or later.

"In general, so, fellow commoners. Here I have returned to you. Am I awaited?" Rainis finished the story, and knocked over a glass of schnapps with a raid, as if it were ordinary water.

"Well, of course we were waiting for you. Better alive than dead, and sooner or later is not so important. And as for the atrocities, we should not cry about it. You were following orders, so you were right. Of course, it's lousy that such a thing is happening to the people. Well, our Mother Queen has made a mistake... And what will happen next? It turns out that we will have to go out of the forest to war again..."

Reinis' father was just as short, slender, with a black carapace and the same icy emerald eyes. He was not young, he was smart in his own way and simple in his own way. He, too, had served in the army, and he had seen quite a lot. Reinis Sr. was a Lyctidian jaeger, and participated in the companies of Chrysalis against those hives that did not want to submit to her will. It was decided to forget this time, so the old changeling spoke very little of it. Now he was sitting in his place at the head of the table, smoking a long pipe, and he understood that these four years would also go into oblivion, because the people of the Empire should remember only the best times of their country, as well as only the wisest actions of their rulers. The old changeling shook his head and thought for a long time.

The gatherings lasted almost until the morning. With the first rays of dawn, the guests from the village of loggers began to gather for the return journey. Vilnia was leaving with her fiance, and many gifts were given to her at parting. Kiris and his wards especially distinguished themselves by bringing a brand-new radio receiver and a lot of other trinkets from Lyctidia. All this splendor was taken up by the sons of the headman. Reinis Jr. looked at this with aloof calmness, the cold emerald of his eyes cast a glare of reproach and contempt. He calmly escorted the procession to the exit of the village. He and one of the young hunters were assigned to conduct the Ceremony and the loggers, and he agreed. Together they reached the fork, and the two hunters watched the departing guests for a long time. The bride did not even turn around and did not say goodbye to the artels.

"Good riddance to this fool."
Reinis' partner muttered in a half-whisper and spat into the snow.

"Calm down, there is no reason to remember her ever again."
Reinis answered him shortly, and walked back to the houses.
A new day promised new troubles, having slept off and had enough, Reinis quickly entered the craft. One trip to the forest followed another, the extracted skins were sold in the hive or to peasants from neighboring villages and folvarks. Reinis was quite satisfied with this arrangement. It would be righteous to say that he was happy.







A lone soldier was moving away from the door of a drinking establishment. Everything was left behind, everything was over. In this place, he had nothing left but the bitterness of memories. His relatives and friends had sank into Oblivion, his comrades in the police had been trampled by the Red Column…

Here he came across some kind of flophouse. Inside, it smelled of dampness, tobacco, and alcohol. Right in the corridors sat and lay drunk changelings. It was the bottom of the barrel. Kulex could have afforded a better place, but he was not used to spending money, and he was not up to it. Having paid off the owner of this institution, the soldier retired to his room. It was a real closet, there was a persistent smell of something disgusting inside, it was difficult to make out what. Kulex locked the door and collapsed on the cot, feeling the springs pop out of the old mattress. The greatcoat served as a blanket for him, the changeling rested his eyes on the wall, on which the green plaster was gradually falling off, and for a long time he could not fall asleep.

"What am I doing to myself? Where should I go now?" He thought, feeling the springs of the mattress dig into his sides. "Back to the police? Maybe, but where else can I go? I served there all my life, but... What if all this happens again?" The thought made Kulex shudder, he remembered everything: the red banners, the angry marches of the striking workers, and the terrible flame of the doomed burning in their eyes. The police were helpless against this monolithic force; if they had at least a hundred machine guns, they would not have stopped them on that fateful day. The chains were broken, the policemen were crushed and torn to shreds. Kulex only miraculously escaped, but that day had left its mark on him forever. 

"Even so, I still have no choice. I don't want to die, but no one will ask. It's stupid to be afraid of a fire, if you yourself decided to resist it. I will be useful to the police, I hope ... " On this thought, Kuleks finally became overcome with sleep. Was he satisfied with this thought? Or did the fatigue of the road finally bring him down? He didn't know himself. The sleep was strong, but restless. In front of Kulex, the Hurornda forests grew up, he heard the rattle of machine guns, a furious and desperate "Hurrah", gray silhouettes rising and falling in the blood-red snow, and in the background of all this horror, another nightmare, old and more terrible, thundered: kumach flags, banners and crowds of soldiers and workers:

"Behold them seated in their glory
The kings of mine and rail and soil!
What have you read in all their story,
But how they plundered toil?
Fruits of the workers’ toil are buried
In strongholds of the idle few
In working for their restitution
The men will only claim their due."

Their march thundered, then it sounded like a verdict, inevitable and inexorable. Many officers of the volunteer corps later laughed contemptuously at the desperate struggle of the already defeated and beaten Communist detachments, but the Vraks police officers learned for a long time the bitter lesson taught to them in those terrible days. Then they were attacked as an enemy army, and they were completely defeated. Many of them could not even imagine with what fury and hatred the proletariat could treat the servants of the law. To what despair did the people have to be brought so that the slightest incident could provoke such an explosion? Who was to blame for this? Agitators or corporates who have locked themselves in their high spires and left their defenders to their fate? No one found the answer, and no one was looking for it at all. Everyone was too busy killing to think about such matters. And now the hive has finally recovered from all this, blood was splashed on the kindled flame, and it died out.

Kulex opened his eyes. The restless visions dissipated, and they were replaced by the same decadent atmosphere of a flophouse. The changeling got up, somehow having recovered after his rest. There was no question of hygiene, there was simply nowhere to do it here. Bypassing the drunks who had not yet woken up, the former soldier left this sad place and went out into the hive.

Vraks from the inside looked quite simple and unsophisticated: during the day there were few people on the streets, in elevators and on staircases, because here the factory shifts were usually daytime and lasted 10-12 hours. Rare changelings in simple work clothes reflexively pressed themselves against the walls at the sight of Kulex. The policemen were nervous, constantly looking around and drilling every passerby with their eyes. Kulex wandered around the hive for a while, having learned from the police where the main station is located, and went there. The entrance to the main neighborhood of Vraks was still blocked by barricades, a machine-gun crew was on duty there around the clock. Kuleks had to show his documents to get through, he was also almost completely searched. During all this time, he did not see a single familiar colleague, all around were young faces of recruits, sullen and stupid, afraid of every rustle.

After passing the armed guard, Kulex found himself in front of the police officer on duty.
"For what purpose did you come, soldier? Speak straight to the point, or I won't let you in."

"I want to serve in the police, to be reinstated."

"And who are you, excuse me for being rude?"
The duty officer was only a few months younger than Kulex, but compared to the veteran of the battles with the Rotfront, he was a mere youth.

"I am Kulex, I served in the 210th police department until the beginning of the riots. My exact serial number— 9990 12 1440 101 500. I've graduated from the Academy, served for about a year and a half. I have no awards, no penalties either. Here are my documents."

"Hmm... A serious case. I'll have to go into the archive..."

"You can also go into the garrison one, there are probably documents about the volunteer unit in which I served."

"You will say it yourself, there is nothing for us to pull the military..."

The attendant scribbled something on a small piece of paper.

"Hey, kid! Flutter into the archive, here's a description for you. ​Let them find out if there was such a officer."

"Take sit here for a while, wait. In the meantime, let them find out if you told the truth."

"There's no point in lying to me."

"That's what everyone says..."

The changeling took a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from the table. Kulex lit a cigarette and took a drag. This rookie felt like a griffon Kaiser here. Some time passed, Kulex did not deign to count it, thinking that this would only increase the fatigue of waiting. Finally, somewhere around the turn of the corridor, hoofsteps were heard. Both changelings perked up, especially the watchman. His pride was blown away like the wind, he immediately rudely stubbed out his cigarette on the table top and began to fan the gathered cloud of tobacco smoke. The sight made Kulex chuckle.

"Who dares to smoke here for your mother's sake!!!"
The officer's stern voice boomed from the end of the corridor. In the blink of an eye, he was right next to the small window of the watchman. The poor newcomer seemed to have shrunk in size by half. He looked at the senior policeman with such pity and fear that the latter did not even react immediately.

"If you do it again... If you smoke at the post again, I will report everything to the authorities, and they will send you to patrol the underhive, do you understand that!?"
"Jawohl, herr Ober-Archivist!"
The attendant blurted out in a broken voice, pulling himself to attention like a spring.

"I don't want to make a spectacle here! Where is your soldier? ​There was information about him, everything is true. I'm glad for him, he was a good cop.

"Come on, boy."
The officer said, a little more calmly, but still with some roughness. Kulex got up and followed him.

"Herr Lieutenant, how did you survive?"
Kulex recognized his boss in the policeman, on that fateful day they were standing in the same chain, the soldier was sure that the old officer was dead.

"By a miracle, probably. We were badly beaten then, some were killed, some were left crippled. You disappeared somewhere altogether. Our neighborhood is no longer there, they have dissolved it, now other people are serving there. They took pity on me, sent me to work in the archive."

They stopped. The chief archivist turned to Kulex.
"Good luck with your work. Now it's quieter here, and you-well done, fought for a just cause. If it were not for Larynx, there would be no order here. You will be questioned now, but this is a formality. Everything is fine with your papers, don't worry about it."

"Thank you, Herr Leutnant. Kulex nodded deeply, almost bowing to the officer. He gave a salute, and quickly went further down the corridor."

During the interrogation, Kulex laid out everything in detail: in which brigade he served, in which actions he took part, he listed all his superiors by heart. His words turned out to be true, and soon he was accepted back into the police, to the same position, but in a different area, calm and well-maintained, located close to the top of the Main Spire of Vraks. With the money received during the dissolution of the brigade, Kulex was able to afford a small apartment. He took it as a great gift that he was transferred here, because there were rarely any incidents in the housing unit entrusted to him. Working as a policeman was not an easy task, but changeling coped with it, and it suited him. He was treated as a veteran and a brave man, although this was only partially true. Time went on as usual, and Kulex gradually began to come to the idea that life was getting better.
> Chapter II: Broken crystal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Several months have passed since the events of the first chapter. The 1007th year has come. During this time, a more or less solid stability has been established in the Changeling kingdom. The turmoil in the state was suppressed, and the country spent several months in peace and quiet. Chrysalis, who had previously been enraptured in her own personal darkness, spoke to the people for the first time in several years. Her speech sounded as fiery and powerful as it had before the times of trouble, without a precipice of heaviness. It became clear from the proclamation of the Queen-Empress: Reforms were coming, the sorrowful events of recent times were necessary, but have passed. The changelings, for their part, were glad to see their ruler in good health. Optimistic and patriotic sentiments began to prevail in society.

It was now February 1007. The state is rapidly rising from its knees. Industry was thriving, the once crippling Equestrian economic blockade had been completely negated with the Changeling Lands' successful efforts to strengthen trade relations with the Griffon states. The people lived by the expectation of reforms and had faith in a bright tomorrow. The army was rapidly being re-equipped and reorganized, with a young General-Fieldmarchal Trimmel at its head, the bright bug who had risen from an ordinary officer of the General Staff to supreme commander of the armed forces in a matter of years. Rumors had already spread about new draft laws, about military plans, and new and advanced combat vehicles as well, the number of which was steadily growing thanks to the work of the factories in Vraks.

However, something is brewing behind the apparent stability and prosperity. The presence of the secret gendarmerie is growing, the gangs of the underhive are becoming more dangerous, and there are rumors among the highest circles about secret lodges constructing monstrous plans that many would consider insane...

P.S. I want to inform you, dear comrades, that I have decided to change up my writing style. Large, bulky chapters can be a little intimidating, so I decided to start breaking them up and making them into smaller and more digestible chunks. Everything is for you, as they say. My sincere thanks to the gentlemen who gave me such an idea.



 





A Changeling quickly entered the room. The others were already there, waiting for him, gazing at him intently. He closed the door, leaving behind the hubbub and noise raging behind it. There was a quiet, calm twilight here. Several changelings sat at a round table, whiling away the time playing poker. There were glasses with expensive essence and ashtrays on the table, occasionally met with the dip of neat white cigarettes on long mouthpieces. The players' faces were hidden in the dim lighting and clouds of tobacco smoke, but the newcomer could clearly distinguish their watch chains, their neat, white standing collars, and the twinkling sparkles of interested eyes.

He greeted them dryly and sat down at the table.

"So gentlemen, to the point," he began.
"New information has come from the Center. Something is afoot in the cabinets of Vesalipolis, our position is under threat."

"It’s always been under threat," one of the figures replied sarcastically.

"Glory or oblivion, such is the fate of us plot-makers..."

"I would ask you to leave this nonsense, Herr Vainias. We are not mere plotters," another changeling, almost completely hidden in the darkness of the room, cut off sternly. Only the faint gleam of the shoulder straps and the silver cords of his cap could be discerned from the shadows and smoke.

"One way or another, in spite of the difficulties, we must continue to act. At the Moment of Truth, either the Vraxian hive rises up, or we'll all go down."

"And what are you suggesting?" The third assessor asked the newcomer, his harsh breath releasing another puff of tobacco smoke.

"I'm not suggesting anything, but He is. With the latest dispatches came this list. Everyone who is on it must go.” The bug threw a sheet of paper with a list of names on the table. One by one, the changelings read it. A short silence fell upon the room.

"This... This is madness. There are too many heads, and their ranks... The game is not worth the candle. If we start removing them..."

"Then we will be able to put our own in their place in time!" The military officer cut off his colleague again.

"But then the enemy will have clues, they'll have leads, we could be compromised!"

"We won't be compromised if everything goes smoothly!"

The sedate and calm speech of the shapeshifters had abruptly turned into a strangled whisper. An argument began, not the first in these walls, and it wouldn't be the last. The most recently entered changeling stood up, and said softly:

"Herren. We've already been compromised for a long time. You and I have no choice but to act. It is necessary to achieve our goals before they have time to do something about it. The Center cannot vouch for our lives and our money, but we all did this of our own volition. We knew what the costs would be, if anything were to happen... Perhaps we will become martyrs and lay our lives on the altar of Freedom. We need to be ready."

The answer to this speech was tacit agreement. Everyone understood what was required of them and what was at stake. The times of simple covertness and easy life had passed…








Kulex was gently trotting along the wide street of the Vraxian housing block, with his partner trotting alongside him. Blue uniform, black high cap with silver cockade, white belt. The two were a sight to behold, and the overall patrol today had been good: couples were going on their walks, and respectable Herrs were scurrying around with suitcases full of various papers. There were important changelings in the local apartments, with money and power. It was an area any police officer would want to be assigned for a pleasant and quiet evening.

Crime in the hives was a peculiar thing. It was relatively organized, because petty criminals acting on their own would be caught quickly. The gangs would hide in the so-called "Underhive" - a massive network of catacombs going deep underground. Changelings had been buried there for centuries, and the underground passages became the abode of the dead. Nevertheless, this didn't frighten all sorts of rabble who found shelter there. Certainly, they could keep the police forces of the lower levels in suspense, here, they could steal, rob, even kill, but they rarely, if ever, climbed to the higher levels of the hive. And even then, mostly for the purpose of harmless pickpocketing. Crime in the hives was not perpetrated by a faceless crowd, it was just as well organized as the Vraxian hive authorities. The criminals' organization had rules, procedures, it was possible to negotiate with it. But all these inner workings and diplomatic dealings never left the desks of detectives and other important bigwigs. To the simple police officer, it was all a dark web of unknown passages and faces. Service on the lower levels and in the catacombs was extremely difficult and dangerous, so Kulex, who had already endured everything, especially appreciated the peace that was happening around him.

"That's an evening," he said.

"Yes, nothing has happened here today," his partner replied. He looked almost like a youngling, but in fact already had a considerable amount of experience in police work.

"Just as much in the whole week, perhaps."

"It's true. Nice job, you know. You are walking, strolling around, everyone bows to you. But do you know how it is in the Underhive?

"It must be lousy."

"That's not quite the word I'd use. It's a wild place. I served there for six months. We caught one dashing gang then."

"And how?"

"Well, it wasn't entirely successful. Their leader was like a gray fox. He abandoned his accomplices, he managed to run away from us. But we had almost all of them tied up there. So what's the use of that? Their elderman will run away, but without the rest of the gang, he'll have to show himself again, sooner or later.

"Well, what about his accomplices?"

"The usual scum, though determined. There's a full bouquet- murderers, pickpockets, robbers, and thieves. They had every trade covered, so to speak. And up until we caught them, they did very well, if you ask me. We'd been through a lot with them, and it's not the best thing to hang around in the catacombs. The Dead, you know.”

"Are you afraid of bones?" Kulex chuckled.

"And how wouldn't I or anyone else be afraid? We're the authorities up here, but those catacombs, that's their place, we are strangers and uninvited guests there. And for bandits, it's a real hornet's nest."

"They have some kind of method, some kind of thought to their work, at least. There are things much scarier than ancient ashes and street thugs."

The partner glanced at Kulex and said nothing, understanding what he meant.

The clock on the wall struck eleven, but there were still passers-by on the street. Rumor and music could be heard from rare clubs and cafes, the door-drones standing at the entrances to buildings saluted the patrolmen as they walked by. The pair walked to an intersection, stood there for a while, then turned onto another street.

Usually, it was quite a quiet place. There were apartments of various officials here. Their owners spent a lot of time at work, preferring leisure sleep, or a modest company of guests. Some locals went to restaurants and theaters, but there were few of them, as befits the highest levels of the administrative hierarchy.

However, once here, the patrolers immediately sensed something was wrong. A large noisy crowd was gathered at one of the apartments. A heavy tension hung in the air. Kulex could feel his partner getting nervous.

"I'll go get reinforcements and superiors, find out what's going on!" He shouted, and quickly galloped back. Kulex's eyes followed him with a meaningful look. "What kind of crowd is this? What could have happened in this place?", he thought. After a moment's hesitation, the policeman went forward.

"Murder! Murder!" sounded a terrible voice. As he got closer, Kulex realized what was going on: a crowd of onlookers had gathered at the door to one of the apartments, still standing wide-open. No one, however, dared to enter.

"By the name of the Queen! Disperse! What happened here?" Kulex said loudly, approaching the crowd.

"Finally! Where the hell have you been!?" A changeling in a blue jacket accosted him.

"Herr Antis and his wife were murdered! Murdered in their own apartment! How could this happen!? Who allowed this!?"

"Calm down immediately!" The policedrone cut him off. Right now, he didn't care who was standing in front of him, no matter their rank or office. Now Kulex felt only anger as cold as steel. This feeling allowed him to act, overshadowing fear and indecision. He understood that this evening might become fatal for him, but he continued to fulfill his duty.

"Who entered the apartments? Have you seen anything?"

"I entered!-" A changeling in a simple gray jacket came out of the crowd.

"I was the first one here, but by the time I arrived, they were already dead. The doorman of Herr Antis has locked himself in his closet and is afraid to come out, I think he's the murderer."

He spoke these terrible words relatively calmly. When glancing at him, Kulex immediately saw in him "the colleague". He was clearly a retired military drone.

"Hold that thought, Herr. This will be decided by the investigation. The main outfit will appear here soon, will you be present as witness?"

"I will!"

"Good. Stay here and wait for me..."

The ex-military bug nodded, Kuleks addressed the crowd:

"Herren and Frauen! Go to your apartments, there's nothing to see here!"

And the servant of the law walked into the open doorway.

The situation in the apartment did not show trouble at first. The policedrone went down the hallway to inspect each of the rooms, examining everything and trying to memorize every detail. Finally, he found himself in a large living room...

It wasn't the first time Kulex had seen death, but the picture made him tremble still. Two mercilessly stabbed bodies lay on the floor, leaving terrible brown spots on the expensive carpet. The room was in complete disarray: furniture had been overturned, paintings were torn off the walls and thrown onto the floor, there were bloody streaks on the wide velvet sofa, and next to it, a blade glittered on the carpet. It hadn't any handle, maybe the killer took it off. It was narrow and long, like an awl. No frills, a simple working tool of the Vraxian gangsters.

Kulex carefully walked around the room, trying not to touch important evidence. He had never seen anything like this, not even in the war. This terrible living room was one big bloody demonstration - a demonstration of cruelty and omnipotence, a demonstration of impunity and a bloody spit in the face of justice and the law.

Kulex's wandering gaze rested on an expensive sideboard. In front of it lay a lot of broken shards and fragments: all the contents of this piece of furniture had been ruthlessly destroyed. Kulex came closer and stopped. Right under his hooves lay countless glittering fragments of broken crystal...
> Chapter III: Winter exercises.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Take the right side! - A column of gray infantry moved to the edge of the road, allowing several trucks to pass. The march had been going on since morning, and now it was late afternoon. There were almost no stops and halts, except for breaks for shooting. Hauptman Agrias pulled his scarf over his nose, feeling the wind increase. A strong blizzard promised to begin in the evening . Rare snowflakes fell like white flies to the ground from the gray skies, evaporating from the changelings, heated by the march, as if in a frying pan.

Agrias walked at the head of his platoon. Behind him and in front of him was the roar of a marching column, broken by the loud shouts of unter-officers. Recent military reforms have assigned them the role of direct field leaders, commanding fighters at the forefront. The time of noble officers with gilded protazans, leading slender lines of formidable infantry, has finally gone. Technological progress has finally turned the soldier into an ant, into a miserable screw of a giant military machine, into an expendable material, capable only by the strength of his spirit and military skill to withstand the horror of modern war. This new soldier needed new commanders, and the non-commissioned officers became them: mostly those who came out of ordinary privates, the most experienced and skillful fighters.

As his glorious brother-in-law said, he did not immediately receive a company commander post, although he had Hauptmann  ribbons. Officers like him were not much liked, but Agrias understood that this would soon end. He strictly followed the orders of his superiors, got along well with his subordinates. In the company, he was ironically called "Little Hauptmann". However, now everyone was not in mood to joke.  Changeling battalion was  marching along the road with haste, expending its last strength. All the soldiers were sweating, the growing wind got under their overcoats and caused chills. Large-scale maneuvers have been going on for several days. The Vesalipoli and Vraxian garrisons, consisting of several tens of thousands of soldiers, had been standing in the fields for about a week. Constant marches, shooting, practicing pf tactical techniques. The old army was being forged into something completely new. Commanders were taught to command in new conditions, soldiers were taught to act decisively and proactively, because now only general instructions came from above, and the way to achieve the goal was prescribed to look for according to circumstances.

The battalion was ordered to ensure the passage of the main forces of the regimental group. Major Espher, the chief of Agrias, decided to divide his battalion into several detachments and occupy villages on the way of the column. Agrias' company had a big and close one itself, one could say he was lucky.

The light of the weak Changeling sun began to fade, the wind finally got stronger and howled with a wild howl, white lumps of snow fell from the sky. The tired column picked up its pace, lights in the windows of houses were already clearly visible in the distance.

The snow was falling like a wall, but the battalion managed to reach it without losing anyone. The locals welcomed the soldiers, gave them water and warmed them up, as well as placed them for the night, fortunately there was enough space. Immediately it turned out that several soldiers were ill with a severe cold, and could barely walk further. They were isolated from the others and sent to the battalion hospital. The officers of the second company, in which Agrias served, were quartered in the house of one of the wealthy peasants.

This march took a lot of effort, for several days the units have been constantly maneuvering at the maximum possible speed. Despite the fact that these were just exercises, information often came about seriously ill, frostbitten, who came under friendly fire or suffered from other cases. These were not imaginary, but quite real losses, among which there were fatal cases. Annoying, bitter, comforting only by their rarity.

But now it didn't bother Agrias and the other officers of his company much. They were warmly received by the courteous Bauwers. Their overcoats were hung on the stove to dry. Then a simple changeling hygiene ritual was performed, it was even possible to wash the uniform. Having finished these things, the officers went to the homeowner's table, because they had time to rest due to severe blizzard that had begun.

"They drill you very hard, that's a fact."

The elderly peasant said thoughtfully. 

"There was no such things in our time."

"So it was in your time, father."

Xilias, the lieutenant and commander of the second platoon (Agrias was the commander of the first) answered him. 

"Now everything is different, the demand from the infantry is different. We have a new commander-in-chief, he decided that running is the straightest way to take the initiative. So he makes us run all the time along."

"And what, has our Mother got into the habit of fighting with someone again?"

"I have no idea, to be honest. Maybe she really got into the habit, maybe not."

Agrias answered thoughtfully, he did not miss the opportunity to warm up with the master's tincture, and now he was in a positively thoughtful mood.

"We'd better not think about it. Clearly this is not for nothing, there has been no order in the world for a long time. Look at Griffonia, for example! There is a civil war in Breitfeld, the Empire is no more for a long time."

"Gryphonia has not meant much for a long time."

The commander of the third platoon replied to Agrias. 

"Griffons are greedy and cruel creatures, they are ruthless even to the labors of their ancestors."

"Excuse me!"

The "little Hauptman" objected. 

"The empire was destroyed not by griffons, but by false ideas and foreign influence! Of course, a lot of griffons have shown meanness and weakness, trampled on their greatness for the sake of hedonism and notorious temptations. But there are still many patriots who have preserved the spirit and glory of the old Reich. They are capable of revenge."

"We'll see... The Queen needs an alliance with the Empire for something, so everything is not lost for them there."

"Herren."

Hauptman Gabris, who had entered the room, suddenly broke into the conversation.

"It's enough politics for now, we have other responsibilities. The blizzard should be over by morning, we'll have to dig a lot."

"And listen to the soldiers' grumbling..."

"Nevermind, a blizzard outside the window and a heating stove help for a good rest. Am I right, father?"

"True, Herr Hauptmann. "

The peasant smiled.

"We have enough houses in the village, soldiers won't have to sleep in barns. And in the morning you will also clear the snow for us, it will be very good!"

The conversation lasted a few more minutes, and then the officers went to bed. The owners gave them their rooms.





Morning came. The red streak of dawn stretched across the east. The sky had a clear, blue color. The night storm passed, leaving behind mountains of snow. By this time, work was already in full swing in the village: the soldiers got up at the crack of dawn, and took up shovels, the main forces of the battalion went further down the road. The locals found enough of them, and they  were not against helping the military. By 7 am, the snow was cleared, including on the main highway. Having finished with this, they began to build fortifications. They did not dig trenches, limited themselves to a few earthen caponiers for machine-gun points. According to the rules, this village had to be turned into a full-fledged "strongpoint". That meant that interfering houses had  to be burned,  machine guns had to be placed in the most durable buildings, and the rest of the buildings had to be strenghthen by covering the floor with earth and proofing the walls with embankments. 

Agrias strolled along the freshly cleaned path, watching his soldiers build a caponier. He went up to it, examined it, estimated by eye the sector of defeat that could provide fortification.

"Well, welll. Now call the machine gunner!"

"He commanded. A short, skinny guy appeared in front of him, looking more like a student than a soldier. In the Vesalipoli army garrison there was such a tradition that a machine gun was awarded to a soldier who had a higher education. However, this one, despite his frailty, was quite a strong and hardy fighter.

"Put your typewriter on this caponier."

"Roger!"

Changeling rested the bipod of the machine gun on the earthen embankment, moved it from side to side.

"Good place, Herr Hauptmann! Only spottable a lot, as it seems to me. Disguise is required."

"We will provide it now... Well, they quickly poured more snow on him! Disguise it as a snowdrift!" 

The officer shouted at the already relaxed subordinates. In the distance, it was already possible to distinguish an approaching column. A sudden snowstorm for a short time hampered any maneuvers. Changelings were certainly northern residents, but they did not differ in contempt for the weather, preferring to wait out snowstorms even while in a "maneuver war".
The Changelings had barely made their final preparations when the column approached the village. It was headed by several armored vehicles, including one headquarters. Wheeled vehicles hardly overcame the piled snowdrifts, but then they drove into a cleared section of road and everything became much better. The armored vehicles were followed on one side by infantry, on the other by several light tankettes. The armored vehicles stopped at the positions of the Agrias platoon, blocking the entrance to the village from one side.

"Who commands the checkpoint?

A changeling in a dark gray general's greatcoat without shoulder straps and buttonholes leaned out of the turret of a brand-new armored car. His cold, sullen gaze glittered metallic under the visor of his scarf-wrapped cap.

"Hauptmann Gabris, commander of the second company of the second battalion of the 91st Vesalipoli regiment!"

Agrias replied, ready for such a question.

"It's obviously not you."

The senior officer suddenly grinned, his expression changed from sullen to ironically cheerful.

"Old Gabris doesn't like formalities much, has he set up his headquarters further down the road?"

"That's right!"

"Cppy. So you are not a conditional opponent."

Meanwhile, the column has already moved, the step of thousands of feet rattled, the tracks of tankettes grumbled and clanked. Soldiers from the checkpoint looked at these cars with a significant degree of surprise, someone still could not get used to the sight of these steel cars. These were the first tanks of the Changeling army. Largely unfinished, with light weapons and armor, not having a powerful engine, but at the same time fast enough and mobile. It was hard to call it a trump card, but it was just the beginning...

"Herr Hauptmann, I see your shoulder straps, but you only command a platoon."

This general spoke up again.

"The rank of Hauptmann was given to me by General Larynx as a reward for service to the Fatherland on the internal fronts."

Agrias replied.

"I know the old general... Now I understand everything. What is your name?"

"Agrias zu Gardis!"

The general nodded silently, saluted and drove on. Agrias was relieved, it was Field Marshal Trimmel himself.
> Chapter IV: The Bloodhound of Secret Service
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Changeling in a blue tunic appeared in the doorway of the apartment. A dozen of his colleagues were already waiting for him, and about two dozen more policedrones were cordoning off the entrance to the room. Almost all the forces of the local station  were pulled here, apparently the partner still called for help...

"What happened here? "

Lieutenant Artis, the namesake of an old acquaintance, loomed over the Kulex like a thundercloud.

"Look for yourself."

Kulex simply replied. He was apathetically calm after everything he had seen. 

"There is a mayhem in the living room, the owners are killed. Here is the witness."

"I see, old fellow. You're up to your ears."

The lieutenant said reproachfully. 

"Do you understand what will happen now?"

"I understand, Herr Leutnant."

Kulex replied wearily.

"What happened here?!"

An approaching voice sounded menacingly. It was some kind of oberst from the hive police department, with a large retinue of various experts and detectives. One of them caught the attention of Kulex. He was a tall, but thin as a sleeper changeling with a coal-black shell and the same black jacket, his eyes were colorless, but sighted, and expressed something unclear.

At the apartment of the prematurely deceased Herr Antis, a crowd began to gather again, this time consisting of shifters in blue uniforms. The police went around the apartments, interviewed potential witnesses. Of course, no one heard any screams, no crash of broken furniture and sets, no trampling, nothing, as usually happens. The door of the doordrone's room was broken into, he was detained as a suspect. Kulex saw the mask of doom on the face of this elderly changeling, at that moment it seemed to him that the case would be put on the brakes, and the poor servant would be made a scapegoat...

The ill-fated living room was examined, the evidence was carefully collected and sent to the Main Station. Absolutely everything that was damaged in the mayhem was taken as material evidence, except for large furniture, it was examined on the spot. Detectives and experts examined every meter, every trace of a hoof strike. This was done to make a cast of the attacker's hoof and thus narrow down the circle of suspects. However, this time everything was done with some barely noticeable negligence, the highest ranks of the police were here purely out of formality, apparently already understanding what is really required of them. The changeling in the black jacket behaved strangely: he appeared here and there, spoke to junior police officers, spoke almost in a whisper and very quickly, apparently about something important.

It was foolish to say that Kulex felt something was wrong. He was in this state from the very beginning, knowing perfectly that it would not end well for him. The thought was spinning in his head: "Everything is gone, I'm finished.", but he continued to do what was required of him. Cold, calm, even apathetic, realizing that it is better to do your job to the end than to break down and disgrace yourself. He chose this path by his own will, and it's not his fault that he got to where anyone could get to. There was a high will in this incident, and he was terrified of it. He was afraid, and I stood like a tin soldier in the middle of the fire. His comrades looked at him as if he were a martyr.

The night, the street, the lanterns illuminate the way with a bright cold light. Housing unit at the top in which the Kulex was serving was left above. For many of its inhabitants, life ended at four am and began at one pm, while simpler people lived down here. Kulex turned the corner, his gaze skimmed over the apartment numbers, his body went intuitively.

That's the right one, the policedrone put his hoof to the bell, already feeling guilty for it. A nasty tinkling sound was heard outside the door, a minute later the door was already open, and Frau Cardia was standing on the threshold — Kulex rented a room in her apartment.

"What happened?"

She asked. Kulex could only shake his head and shrug his shoulders. Despite his shining uniform, he looked broken. Cardia sniffed, realized that changeling was not drunk, but dead tired, and let him into the apartment. Cardia was not very respected by her neighbors, there were dirty rumors about her, and in general renting out a living space was not considered the most honorable thing. But she didn't care about that, and neither did her tenants.

The room of the Kulex was small, it contained one bed, a small table, a chair, and a wardrobe. The policedrone closed the door, took off his uniform, and fell on the bed without strengthless. He usually had either nightmares or bizarre dreams consisting of past events composed in a variety of ways. Now there was only an empty darkness of oblivion: heavy, hopeless. 

"Kulex! Kulex!"

The voice seemed to break through the water column. The darkness dissipated, consciousness cleared up. How long did he sleep? Probably less than the required amount. His head was cracking like after a hangover, whole body ached. Changeling got up, quickly made the bed. The calling voice did not subside, but only intensified. Now a knock on the door was added to it. The policeman quickly pulled on his breeches and jacket, and opened it. Cardia was standing in front of him in a scarlet robe.

"Kulex! An officer just came in. They want you urgently at the main station. Maybe for disciplinary reasons."

"Are they calling? Okay..."

Kulex said calmly, and slammed the door back. He quickly put himself in a semblance of order, as someone who for most of his life was obliged to look at his best, as the face and hand of Her Majesty Chrysalis's law, was able to do. After getting dressed and somehow wiping his facial shell, Kulex, without sitting down at the table, took a bottle of essence and took a few big sips, then he put on his cap, and without a second's hesitation left his closet. Already at the door, he met Cardia's gaze: he expressed bewilderment and fear. Kulex nodded firmly to her, saying goodbye, and left the apartment.




A large clock standing next to the entrance to the Main Station showed five in the morning. The hive was slowly waking up, and Kulex was walking quickly through the corridors of the station, accompanied by several of his colleagues. As already mentioned, the young policedrone did not want to waste his last strength on fear of his superiors, preferring to accept his fate and not aggravate an already lousy situation. Here is a door decorated with a beautiful blue fabric. There was no inscription, so everyone knew who lived here. The interior of the room was relatively ascetic,  but without mahogany and Kirin porcelain it was still impossible to be without. There was a table right in front of the entrance, the same police oberst was sitting at the table, he was shaking the air with his "What happened here!?" a few hours earlier.

"Herr Kulex, sit down. The rest won't be needed here."

He spoke with imperious calmness. The other policedrones left, in fact Kulex was brought here under guard. He was just called in for a report, but it was more like an interrogation. Changeling sat down on a chair directly opposite the Colonel's desk. The chair for the invitee was rough and uncomfortable, as in many other senior's offices around the world.

"Well, then, Herr Kulex. Let's get started..."

Oberst lit his pipe and sedately sprawled in his chair, his gaze seemed peaceful, but in fact penetrated to the bone. 

"What did you do when you saw what happened?"

ЭMy partner went to get for backup, I went to restore an order at the crime scene. Witness, inspection of the place..."

"Why is there only one witness?" 

The chief's voice rose dangerously.

"He volunteered, there were no others..."

"How come there were no others?! There was a crowd of witnesses, they could have looked better! There should be more than one who could help the deal, and it doesn't matter if they want to be them or not!"

Oberst suddenly blurted out.

"But... Herr Oberst... these onlookers were not witnesses, none of them caught the moment of the murder..."

"Don't you dare to destort me!!! Who are you, and who am I?! For such an argument, I would tear off your shoulder straps and throw you into the underhive! I have all the documentation on the case, but you are just another pair of eyes that did not see everything, and moreover, turned out to be lazy to such an extent that you did not see what you had to see!"

This speech was nothing but a crushing blow, perfected to ideal over the years. From it, the Kulex shrank into the chair, and trembled like an aspen leaf. He was no longer up to apathy and stoic fatalism, the idea that his work was in question crashed into his head with renewed vigor. More questions followed. Information was squeezed out of the changeling drop by drop about almost every minute of that ill-fated day, then the oberst moved on to the day before yesterday, to last week. One by one, minor offenses of a policedrone were revealed: there he went into a pub, here he appeared in an imperfect uniform, here he did not give a salute to a senior officer quickly enough, they also recalled the harsh treatment of the herr in a blue jacket on the day of the murder... Every flaw, every blunder was sorted out by the colonel in the smallest detail. What is traditionally turned a blind eye to was suddenly put up against the Kulex as a weapon. Time dragged on like a viscous, smelly resin.
Finally, the boss finished, carefully shook out his pipe and smiled broadly:

"You are a sinner, Herr Kulex, and for your misdeeds you deserve to be punished much more than this. You will be deprived of your bonus for six months, and at the first occasion you will be kicked out in the cold... You are free."

He spoke calmly, and even with some gaiety. Kulex got up from his chair with difficulty.

"Right, Herr Oberst…"

"He mumbled to himself, leaving this terrible office."

Despite all the hardships that befell him, Changeling had to work as usual. He got to his small station, reported there to the local authorities. Everyone understood everything, and could only sympathize: to bring such a cruel anger of the high rank authorities literally from stretch really looked like the worst fate. At the police station, Kulex finally cleaned himself up, and by eight in the morning he had already gone on patrol. He silently wandered around the residential block, and his partner walked with him like a pale shadow, not arousing his interest and not wanting it. The pitiful deprivation of the bonus looked ridiculous, but the chance of dismissal for almost any reason (which, as it turned out, was easy to find) hung over him like a raised sword of executioner. Dark thoughts haunted Kulex, he was strong enough to endure the horror of last night, but he did not have enough strength to live on in the situation in which he found himself. "Is everything really gone?" "How could I cause anger by doing my job?" These questions were spinning in his head, and he refused to accept the ruthless answers to them.

The shift of the Kulex ended late in the evening. He was tired yesterday, had a bad night's sleep today, hardly ate, and his future life came under a bold question mark. He found a solution: he went to a pub after the service. This drinking establishment was one of many similar eateries scattered throughout the towering vertical of Vrax, avoiding perhaps the tip of the Main Spire. Here those who did not have enough money for something more found solace: petty officials, doordrones, retired military and many others. Kulex sat down at a small table in the darkest corner, he had one glass and a bottle of cheap tincture, which could only be called schnapps by a stretch. He decided to pour alcohol over his trouble.

From the first glass in the eyes darkened, and already confused thoughts of tired consciousness mixed up even more. Changeling stared blankly at the countertop, wondering if it was worth pouring a second one.

"Why are you sitting here alone, a servicedrone? It's not good to drink alone..."

Someone blocked the dim light of the lamp. Kulex looked up and saw a gray-eyed changeling in a black leather jacket. He recognized that quiet voice, which this time sounded like a kind mockery. The policeman stared at him blankly for a minute, and then he recognized him.

"Herr… Were you there, among the other detectives? Why do you need me? I'm wasted..."

"Yes, it was me, Kulex. I can help you, and I know how."

He leaned towards the Kulex, and he saw numerous traces of marks from teeth and hooves, almost completely smoothed out with a file, but noticeable on closer inspection.

"I represent some... higher instances of our justicia. I don't know what happened there yet, and neither do you, but I already know that this case is murky, and you and that doordrone were made guilty. He'll just be shot, and you'll be kicked out of work.

"So our police are sabotaging their own activities?"

Kulex perked up, and even sobered up a little, in this changeling he seemed to have a ray of hope.

"No, but there are definitely rusty links in it, we just need to find out who it is..."

The detective paused briefly.

"And you will help me in this. There is a big power behind me, I will be able to ease your fate."

"OK. I agree. What is required of me?"

The policeman didn't hesitate for a second.

"Work harder. This murder clearly did not happen for nothing, suspicious individuals may appear in your patrol area. Listen, look, report everything to me. Maybe you will come under my care at all. Do you want to solve the case and punish those involved?"

"Of course I want to. I'm not a truth-teller, but what happened yesterday means a lot to me now."

"That's good."

The detective took a small glass out of his jacket, poured swill into it, tipped it over and grimaced: "I've had better." Then he got up, nodded curtly to Kulex and disappeared among the tavern regulars. The policeman returned home still tired, but now he knew that he had not been forgotten and betrayed, that there was a chance that justice would be confirmed, and the perpetrators would be severely punished, whoever they were...
> Chapter V: The Order.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snow covered the forest with a thick winter coat. Nature has been sleeping soundly for four months now. A rare sound will disturb the peace of the Forest, a rare creature will slip between the ancient trunks, looking for food and salvation from the frost.

Thunder crashed. Snow fell from the spreading fir trees, birds soared into the air with a cry. Peace is disturbed, and the culprit gets up from a snowdrift, throwing a smoking gun on his back. He is wearing a gray sheepskin coat and an earflap, cut in the Liktid style. The changeling crossed a small clearing and found himself at a nearby pine tree. There, under a branch, lay the gray body of a squirrel he had shot. He bent down and examined her: right in the eye, the skin is not spoiled, if the comrades get more, the proceeds will be decent.

Reinis had been walking through the forest since morning, and this prey was his only one for today. The sluggish northern sun was at its zenith: it was time to return to the camp...

- Well done!

- reinis Sr. was examining the squirrel his son had got. — You beat your grandfather as well, or even better.

Rhaenys nodded in response to the praise. A small hunting camp is located in a small clearing between four large trees. The shifters were in the forest for the second day, this hike was one of many this winter. Not too successful, not too disastrous, but necessary for earning. Hunters counted their prey, boasted of their skill: Artis was not the only talented shooter in the artel, and it was difficult to call him the best of the best.

For a long time, Lyctid hunters have specialized in small animals with expensive fur. Squirrels, sables, martens and minks were found in the Liktida Forest in huge numbers, and were not translated over time, because the locals knew the measure and did not shoot animals more than they should. So this time the one-and-a-half-day hike ended with a natural loot. The Changelings rested by the fire, refreshed themselves and began to gather back. They didn't always need fur here. A shifter can eat not only essence, but also meat, although it is less saturated from it. Usually enough essence was delivered from the hives to the villages, but there were times when changelings had to get food the old-fashioned way - by hunting game.

A small detachment was walking along a well-known path. The travelers moved in a trail, out of old habit, in order to hide their number. Reinis Jr. brought up the rear of the column, he, as the youngest in the group, was supposed to carry most of the belongings. It was not the first time for him, and it was done not in offense, but according to tradition.

Here in the distance appeared the smoky jets of a hunting gang.

- A lot of snow has fallen...

Kiris panted heavily.

- Senior, will we go for meat this year?

- It's not clear yet, old man. We'll see if the road gets completely skidded — we'll walk. It's an expensive business, you know.

- The invoice is an invoice, but we are still standing in the wilderness, not in the courtyard. We need to take care of it.

- Therefore, it is necessary.

- meanwhile, the hunters have already turned out to be quite on the outskirts of the artel. The usual activity was in full swing there: someone was washing and drying clothes, another group of hunters had already arrived, the skin taken from their prey was also hung up to dry; the wives of the hunters knew their business, this artel would not have lived without them, and the whole simple people of the Forest could not do without such assistants.

- Clumsy... - one of the hunters drawled, examining the skins. A bullet hole was clearly visible in one of them.

- Young people, there's nothing you can do about it. the other answered him.

- It's a matter of time, I would say, they will learn more.

- We would study faster. And then they spoil the fur.

Changeling muttered in response. He was in a bad mood: today, he failed to get anything. He was already quite old and his eye was losing its former accuracy... the
returning squad of Reinis Sr. was joyfully welcomed. The hunted animal was left in the care of the art workers, and the hunters themselves either went home or gathered in the company, and began to discuss the events of the last campaign. Someone was more lucky, someone was not lucky at all. The trophies of all the hunters were gathered together: tomorrow or the day after tomorrow there was another trip to the Hive.

Reinis Jr. sat silently under the windows of his house, watching what was happening around. It was hard to tell from him what he was thinking and feeling. After sitting there for a while, Changeling got up and went into the house.
There was a council in the Big Room of Reinis Sr.'s house. At the same table as on the night of Wilnia's wedding. This time the meeting was not festive, but the most serious. The upcoming campaign was discussed, namely: who to send there, what to buy in the Hive and everything in that spirit. All the most senior hunters and their wives were present here, they participated in the discussion on an equal basis with their husbands, because they were fully responsible for the farm in the artel and they were listened to as equals, understanding the importance of their role in the common cause.

- You need to buy more essence to have enough for the future.

- Kiris was making a speech.

— If the snowfall continues, we may be cut off from the outside world.

- I agree with you.

Willis answered him.

- Then it is necessary not only to prepare essences, but also zhekans for the future. It is also necessary to keep a council with other artels and villages, to go to the beast together. There is also a hunter in the village where I gave Vilnia, albeit smaller than ours. You can also expect help from the Arias and Kuners artels, after all, you can walk on foot...

Reinis calmly listened to the conversation of the older comrades, perched on a bench in the corner. He had seen quite a few such meetings over the past few months. He liked everything that happened in his life after returning from Vrax. He was where he was born and where he was needed. What else did he need? Periodically, news reached the artel. The newspapers wrote that the country is getting stronger, that the people are pacified, that some kind of "class peace" has been achieved (I would like to know what kind of thing this is...), that everything is stable and joyful now. They listened to Chrysalis' appeal on the radio with the whole artel and sincerely believed every word she said. But their life was far away from the noisy and stormy hives, where something was constantly happening and something was constantly being discussed. It was quiet and peaceful here, as perhaps in all the surroundings of Lyktis, and in itself. One Rhaenys has been to the big world outside the Liktid lands. He saw Vrax smoking with factory pipes, and even quieter than Lictida Hurnd. And yet, he saw a war, a terrible and bloody war, a war where brotherhood, honor and conscience meant nothing. A war that was waged not in the name of survival and the glory of the Motherland, but to achieve someone's incomprehensible and cruel interests. An unnatural war against its own fellow citizens, fanned with banners of lengthy slogans and ideas, vague rumors and stupid speculation, going not for life, but to the death, with a fanaticism that would give odds to the longest and bloodiest wars of the Old Gryphonia. Reinis did not want to remember this time, only one image remained in his thoughts: a diner filled with soldiers, four shifters sitting at a table and drinking. Agrias, Artis, Kulex and himself. Old comrades together, for the last time…

- OK. I think it's been decided. Does Frau have any comments?

— Your wife should buy a new scarf, our anniversary is coming soon...

Reinis Jr.'s mother jokingly remarked.

— It will be in time, my soul. And what else? Maybe what about the housework?

- Yes, you probably don't need anything to do the housework. If anything, you can also reach your neighbors, why go to the Hive for spoons and basins?

Kirisa's wife replied, and Reinis Sr.'s wife nodded in agreement.

- yes... You only need handkerchiefs and pendants there! Where do you just show up in them? It's snowy winter now, we can stay in the wilderness until spring!.. - Kiris began, but his wife measured him with such a look that he immediately became timid and fell silent.

—He's right about something. Are you sure you don't need anything there?

- No, it's nothing serious. After all, I'm not speaking for myself alone. You, good gentlemen, rarely visit houses, and we are more often than yours.

- Okay. We decided, therefore, otherwise you will quarrel even here...

The Changelings have dispersed. Reinis did not interfere in this conversation, and the conversation usually went about the same thing, with minor changes. He had no questions for those who made these simple decisions. He knew they were right and was pleased with that. Without waiting for attention to be paid to him, he went outside again. The artel has always had something to do in terms of work. Reinis was not lazy in this case either. He was young, and a lot of responsibilities fell on him. He thought it was fair and justified.

- Rainis! —

as soon as he went outside, one of the elderly hunters called out to him. — We should get some water into the house. I'll send my son, but he's a little weak.
Reinis just nodded his head. He had known both the hunter and his son for a long time.

Two Changelings stomped through the snow. They didn't differ much from each other, except that one of them was smaller and didn't walk so confidently.

- Listen, did you shoot a squirrel?

- He shot.

- And the marten?

- There was a case, once. Missed.

— How so?

- He was young, smaller than yours.

- And I am... And I haven't got anyone yet. It seems that I already go hiking, and I shoot well. But still no and no! Bad luck and that's it...

— It's not about luck.

Rhaenys sighed. He didn't like these kind of "molested".

— It's about you. You're doing something wrong, you've got a mistake somewhere, you know? Take a closer look, think about it, ask your older comrades. We were taught in the army that shooting is the essence of mathematics and physics, that shooting means thinking, counting, figuring out with your head where your bullet will hit. If you don't see what to hit, look better. Although the beast changes its skin, but an experienced shooter will notice it like black on white. Luck is a fool and a liar. They don't do things with luck, but with intelligence and skill.

- Oh, I wish they had told me that first! Okay, you're right, comrade. You're older, more experienced. Yes, and not only on the hunt he shot, right?

- That's right... Not just on the hunt...

- That's right... Not just on the hunt...

There was a key near the hunters' settlement. It was small, and in the cold winter it was seriously freezing. Changelings took with them not only buckets with rocker arms. Rhaenys was dragging a heavy, heavy stick with him. Here it is: a small frozen lake covered with thick ice. Reinis took off the buckets and the yoke, stood on his hind hooves and held a stick in his front ones.

— That's how they beat the butt in the army.

- he threw to his friend, swung a little and hit the thick end of the stick exactly in the center of the lake. The ice could not stand it and cracked, the gurgling of cold spring water was heard. Then it was a small matter: four full buckets were collected, and the two hunters moved back, this time more slowly and carefully so that the cold water would not spill. This time they walked in silence. Reinis was gloomy, consumed by memories. He found himself back in the attic of that house, the same front-line soldier with a broken head was lying in front of him. The same changeling! His kinsman! He braved himself before his death, reviled everything and everyone around him with helpless despair. And then a shot rang out, he sank to the floor with a frozen curse in his chest. This was done by Kulex, a strange guy: he seemed almost a coward, but he was not afraid to kill... Stupid thoughts, and this guy... He's as stupid as a squirrel, and he doesn't hold his tongue. But maybe it will make sense. Who is he to give labels to those who work side by side with the rest, who do common good for the artel. He'll learn, nothing...

Here are the artels at home, they came very dark: Reinis' old watch showed ten minutes to nine. There was no one at the houses: everyone gathered again at Reinis Sr., there was a radio there and in the evenings the changelings listened to it. It was a kind of tradition. Previously, only a small number of changelings in the village were literate, so when some correspondence reached them, everyone gathered at someone literate's house and listened attentively to the contents of the newspapers. At the present time, everyone has already learned to read and write, and they began to gather at the one who had a radio.

The big room was heated, and even a little stuffy. The art workers sat on the edges of the room, on benches and chairs. There was a radio on the table, Reinis Sr. greeted Reinis and Jurgis who came in (that was the name of the guy with whom he went to carry water), the young ones left water at Jurgis' house, and almost ran here. It was already freezing and blowing hard outside: there will most likely be a blizzard at night.
Reinis Sr. knew how to handle radio equipment, and he was good at it. It was said that in his youth, after military service, he studied for some time either in Vrax, or in Dirtrisium, and since then he knew a lot about various receivers. The one that was now on the table was very cheap and simple, catching only certain frequencies. The mass production of such devices was presented as "The high complacency of Her Royal-Imperial Majesty before her people." The receiver was turned on, interference began, which was quickly replaced by the voice of the announcer:

"The other day, the construction of a large pulp and paper mill was completed in the vicinity of Liktida. This large-scale construction has already provided many jobs, and will be able to provide even more in the future, have a beneficial effect on the rarefaction of the hive, the relocation of the Liktids to more favorable living conditions..."

— It's high time, otherwise they are already living on each other's necks...

— someone said, he nodded approvingly. The announcer continued to talk about what was built and in which hives. Weather news was also touched a little: they promised a snowy and cold winter, this was so understood by experienced and observant changeling peasants. They listened in silence, but occasionally someone made comments that were often unnecessary.
"Today, the final meeting of the Queen with her Council of Ministers took place. After weighing all the conclusions and suggestions, a number of significant decisions were made..."

Everyone froze abruptly, focused: this was the most important part of the broadcast, changelings across the country have been waiting for something important for a long time, waiting for the fulfillment of their hopes, hoping for the mercy of their power.

"... By the Supreme will, the Labor Code was established — a set of laws to regulate relations between the worker and the employer. There are many points in it, but the most important ones can be considered the widespread introduction of an eight-hour working day, the establishment of mandatory pensions for those who have reached an advanced age, cash benefits for victims at work and other payments in excess of wages. Also, a decree was issued on the creation of the National Workers' Front, a trade union organization, for the civilized mediation of workers and employers, and the protection of the interests of the former before the latter. Branches of the Front will be created in all large settlements where there is a factory, factory, on the basis of folwarks or other kind of production..."

- Hehe, it's funny how the Binenstockers live there. —

one of the young men smiled.

- Yeah, it couldn't be funnier.

Kiris answered him.

- Only here I have had occasion to communicate with workers and other people that are lower... In general, my Mother decided wisely, it should hardly concern us, but for others it is a great help and mercy.

Meanwhile, the announcer continued. Having finished a rather long list of innovations in terms of working legislation, the announcer paused. She was almost not noticed, the Changelings were talking in low voices about what they had heard. Reinis was calm, he was sitting at the threshold in an unbuttoned sheepskin coat. He did not want to joke and discuss what concerned politics. The pause ended, the announcer, who had taken a break from a long speech, began to read again. "Oh, we would put our harmonica player there! He was blowing for five hours in a row, and there was enough spirit...", flashed through Reinis's head, he remembered the cars, the warm cars, the close crowd in gray overcoats and the biting cheerful song "Laura, Laura, Laura!..".

"The economy of our country is getting stronger day by day. Peace and order have been established for a long time, the wounds of the past have been healed and the encroachments of enemies have been repelled. But foreign powers in the future will clearly not miss the opportunity for aggression against us. We need to be prepared for the fact that Equestria and Olenia will cross the line of our national interests. Therefore, Her Royal-Imperial Majesty declares: the term of military service should be shortened from six to three years, according to the Royal Decree, all male changelings, aged from 18 to 25 years, are called up to the troops. All changelings between the ages of 18 and 35 who were discharged into the reserve after serving must reappear at recruiting stations and join the ranks of the armed forces."

There was a dull silence again. Reinis Sr. got up, turned off the radio and sat down heavily on the studio. Someone looked down at the floor, someone silently looked at each other, trying to extract the meaning of what they had just heard with their eyes. This time they were really "touched", and "touched" seriously. Almost all young hunters in the artel fell into the category "from 18 to 25 years old". There were also "reservists", but all of them came out of military age, except one... Reinis was still sitting on the bench at the door, he was looking at his father sitting at the table. He looked with apparent calmness, but what was he thinking at that moment?

- Well... What are we going to do now?

Kiris finally broke the silence. At that moment, Reinis Jr. realized that everyone in the room was looking at his father. Not with pleading, not with suffering, but with the simple question "What now?"

Under the weight of other people's eyes, Reinis Senior hung his head. He, already an elderly changeling, pondered hard and strained over what had happened. Finally, he stood up and looked around at everyone gathered.

- Comrades...

- he said evenly.

— The choice, as you know, is not enough for us. The forest gives not just one skin, but also us, hunters. If we have to stand up for the Motherland again, then we will stand like our ancestors.

He paused, looked around the audience again. Everyone listened, there was neither anger nor indignation.

- To join the army means to go.

No one objected, no one agreed. Changelings always fell into a stupor at such moments. On the one hand, they have just been told that all their mature sons must leave the artel, that they are needed somewhere far away, for some great plans, that they are leaving, and may not return at all... But on the other hand, there was the inflexibility of the royal decree. For centuries and millennia, this people have been drilled, trained, and taught to obey the supreme authority, regardless of the fairness of its decisions. And now, when this supreme power contradicted their interests, they hesitated. The silence had been hanging for too long, apparently because someone just accepted everything as a fact and had already accepted it, someone just had nothing to say. Reinis Sr. hung his head again, and announced that it was time to go home.

After a while, only two people remained in the big room: father and son. Reinis Sr. was shaking a little

— That's how it happens...

He almost whispered, still not daring to look up. There was no sign of the calm and responsible head of the artel, an optimistic and cheerful hunter, whom the whole district respected and knew. In front of Reinis Jr. sat a broken, broken shifter, not the first and not the last victim in the name of a "better future".

— I had a son, and I don't have a son... I thought I'd see enough of you again, I'd see your grandchildren, but I don't...

Reinis Jr. got up and walked over to the table where his parent was sitting: the one he had respected and valued all his life. He looked into his father's eyes: green, emerald, exactly like his own. They glittered with a defeatist, suppressed brilliance, like shards of shattered glass.

"I'm sorry, Dad. But there is no choice.

- Reinis Jr. was surprised by the softness of his own expressions.

— If there is a war— I will return home, I give my word.

- No need for words.

Reinis Sr. was regaining his firmness.

— I know what it's like, they say first, "I'll come back, I promise," and then there's nothing to return, to scrape off the trench wall with a spoon into the pot. I wouldn't let you in if I could.

— I also heard this radio program.

- She began with restraint. Reinis looked at her face, caught in the light of the moon that came out from behind a cloud: two Lyctid green eyes glittered like emeralds from the tears standing in them. She didn't cry because she thought it was a shame.

"I'm going to the hive tomorrow. And from there to the army.

Reinis answered just as calmly, hanging his head.

— I'll come home alive, for you. It's stupid to ask you not to worry.

- It's a shame even.

She smiled, revealing beautiful white teeth. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Reinis hugged her again, burying his nose in the large woolen handkerchief she was wearing. They stood there for so long, not thinking to let go. Saying goodbye, maybe forever. They both disliked words and had their own pride, both were too firm to seethe with emotions in the hour of separation. Reinis wanted to ask his father for marriage, but tonight crossed everything out. They will break up without ever getting together. The embrace broke up, and the two gray figures moved in different directions. The wind began to grow stronger again, Rainis walked through the rising snow, towards the complete unknown.