The diary of Easy Green, a pony living in the Changeling occupied town of Yonderhill during the Great War.
The Great War was a great conflict that lasted four years and has claimed that lives of millions of Pony and Changeling soldiers. The death toll among the civilians might not ever be fully known. Almost half of Equestria was occupied at the peak of the war with millions of civilians being subjugated and forced to help support the Changeling's war effort.
This is the diary of Easy Green, a pony caught behind the frontlines in the town of Yonderhill. Here she shares her thoughts, fears and dreams in a time of paranoia, survival and strife. This story serves as the prolog of her journals and covers Ms Green's initial reaction to the conquering of Yonderhill and learning to live under the heel of the Changeling regime.
Edited and additional commentary provided by the Royal Military Historian, Aftermath.
Allow me to introduce the written diaries of Ms. Easy Green, a survivor of the Yonderhill occupation. It is rare to find such a vivid first hoof account of the occupation, especially one whose author survived and was an important pony who helped the lives of her fellow ponies at the risk of her own life. It has been an honor to work with Ms. Green in the editing and formatting of her words. With her permission, I have also added some addendums to help explain the occupation of Yonderhill within the context of the Great War and to clarify some misconceptions about the war that Ms. Green had due to not having a military background and being subject to Changeling propaganda.
This is the first of several written works by Ms. Green. This first bit of writing is a bit rough due to her inexperience as a writer, as well as the fact that it is mostly written on the back of a few medical sheets. But because it covers the battle of Yonderhill and the initial reaction to the occupation, it is perhaps the most important journal to share.
This journal, and the ones that follow, tell stories of fear and brutality, paranoia and secrets, but most of all, the struggle to keep the spark of hope and friendship alive through the darkest of times. We need to remember to carry that spark forward with us. The Great War may be history, but many have yet to heal from the ravages it caused. There are Ponies who want to continue the fight against the Changelings even after their surrender. Others are looking to use the tools we developed as a last resort, the megaspells, to force the rest of the world to bow to Equestria. The future might bring a war of the scale that will bring the Great War to shame. I hope that by sharing the cost of war, I can play a part in preventing that. For peace and Harmony’s sake.
I’m writing this because I may be dead soon. The Changelings have come to Yonderhill. I thought they were stopped at the Galloping Gorge for the Hearthswarming Ceasefire, we all did. They said that the ponies stationed at the gorge, the snow and the forests would keep the bugs at bay. But then Miriam came into the clinic with shrapnel and burns along her flank. She was in hysterics, claiming the Wendigos were back and had killed her whole family by raining fire from the sky in the middle of the night.
My senior partner, Doctor Heartland, said that Curdled Cream’s dairy farm must have been bombed by the Changelings and that if Miriam was here by herself, it was likely that there were no other survivors. Curdled Cream, his wife and sons, and all of Miriam’s sisters, all dead. It was a slap in the face. We needed to evacuate. I have parents back in Las Pegasus, I had a place to go. Heartland agreed, but he said he needed to alert the town garrison about the attack. He told me to keep looking after Miriam.
Fortunately, the wounds weren’t that deep and the burns not that serious, but she had irritated her injuries and lost a lot of blood limping into town. If she could stave off infection and keep off her hooves, she would be fine in a couple of weeks. Cows are as tough as they look. Then again, I don’t know if any of us will survive a couple of weeks
When Heartland came back, he said the military took some time to take him seriously, saying they would have heard something if a breakthrough happened at the front. Thankfully, Heartland was respected enough in the town to get them to send out scouts and they were preparing to evacuate and defend the town. I had to get home and pack things to leave, but I couldn’t just leave Miriam behind. Heartland said that packing up what medical supplies we could would be more useful for the evacuation. I had a couple important momentos in my loft, but nothing I couldn’t replace or was worth the trouble.
It was all moot. Soon a couple of soldiers came into the clinic and said that there wouldn’t be an evacuation. The town was already surrounded by Changeling tanks. They said that a few townsfolk already tried to drive out of town, only to be chased back by a hail of bullets. We were trapped. We are completely fucked.
The soldier asked if we could spare any medical supplies and Heartland, the softhearted lunatic, said he’d do them one better and volunteered to be a medic. What the Tartarus was he thinking, he’s no soldier! He’ll just go and get shot or panic or Celestia knows what else. I said as such!
The worst part is, the soldiers didn’t say no. They said they would need everypony they could if we were to survive this. All a bunch of manure, the Changelings have us bottled up. No town has survived a Changeling siege so far.
He said if he can go out and save at least one pony’s life, then it would be worth it.
I couldn’t argue with that. For as long as I’ve worked with him, it’s always been other ponies and creatures before himself. I often had to remind him when he sent a foal home with a healthy pet for free that specialized veterinary equipment didn’t come cheap. I mean, I enjoy caring for non-ponies myself, make sure they’re eating healthy and all that. But him risking his life out there? That was suicide!
He said that he was leaving the clinic in my hooves until he came back and to take care of any creature who came through those doors. He grabbed some of the medical supplies and left with the soldiers.
He’s going to die.
I’m going to die.
These scraps of paper will be my will and testament.
Well, I lived through the day. I stayed at the clinic last night. The house I lived in was close to the edge of town and there was no way I was going closer to the Changelings. It wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable, but at least the mat Miriam had been resting on was big enough for the both of us. Though with the hug I got from her, I have to wonder who was taking care of who here.
For the clinic, it was quiet. A few no-shows and cancelations of appointments, quite understandable with the current situation. Every creature that did come in was on edge. I tried what I could with the patients I had, but ultimately I am still the assistant to Doctor Heartland and don’t have the experience or trust that he has. At least it was mainly dealing with check-ups and prescriptions. That I could handle.
But all anypony talked about were the preparations. Summer Sower who brought in Rusty, her barn cat, for concerns about pneumonia was worried more about her husband, Long Furrow, who was part of a team hauling cannons across town. Wrought Iron brought in Trax, his bearded lizard, for winter supplements went on about the argument he had with a soldier about taking all of his sheet metal. Spring Thaw came in with Tippie, her elderly mother's budgie, for a standard checkup and informed me that the weather team was flying from rooftop to rooftop, manually drenching them with buckets to prevent fires and they were forbidden to risk themselves by flying up to the clouds. Noon Glare, who came in with Scarfy, her ferret, to pick up some specialty ferret food proclaimed that she finally convinced her husband to get rid of their old couch by adding it to a steadily growing barricade on their street.
I had to go outside the clinic for my lunch break to get food and supplies to continue camping out at the clinic. While we had a large stock of pet food, and I can and have resorted to eating some in the past (don’t judge me, it’s part of my mark), I would prefer to stock up on something more suitable for ponies and cows. Outside, I could see that Yonderhill has changed. The sky is grey and stagnant due to Pegusi not being allowed up in the clouds. Rumbles and booms sounded off in the distance that I wished was thunder. No longer were ponies trotting through town doing their daily routines. The streets were the territory of the soldiers and those who volunteered to help defend the town. I was surprised to see the number of townsponies with rifles slung across their back. How many were planning using those, to die in a futile effort?
How many of them would die for their efforts? How many would die cowering in their homes?
Not to say I’m much better, trying to keep to normalcy while expecting the town to burn down around me. Sweet Celestia, I went to the market like it was any other day. I got enough supplies to last a while as well as a bale of hay for Miriam. We have a fridge in the clinic that is normally used to store medicine and blood samples that I can use to store some more perishable things. I was feeling pretty good shopping. Then I saw the note saying they didn’t get some of their farm fresh milk this morning. I had to tell them why they had to expect dairy shortages for the foreseeable future.
Happy fucking New Years Eve. I’d say good riddance to 1011, but 1012 is looking to be even worse. My New Year Resolution: Survive.
It’s a holiday so I didn’t have any clients today, besides Miriam of course. Of course, nopony told the Changelings that, so instead of fireworks and wine, there’s bombs and blood. I could use a drink.
I caught a glimpse of a plane falling from the sky earlier. Unfortunately, the red sun on its wing marked it as one of ours. At least there were some friends in the sky, we weren’t completely abandoned. Though I wonder if whoever’s house the plane crashed into would disagree.
Speaking of friends, Heartland came back to the clinic today. It was a huge relief to see him still alive. The pink cross on his jacket looked good on him, though I was more concerned about the blood stains. How many ponies had he saved? How many ponies did he fail?
He was still his chipper old self despite what he must have experienced. He wanted to check up on me, see how I was handling the clinic. It was sweet of him, but there really wasn’t much to do except tend to Miriam. He asked me if I wanted to help him, he could use my expertise.
I told him that I wasn’t going out there and risking my life. He said I didn’t have to. The hospital was being overwhelmed with casualties and it might become a target for the Changelings in the near future. He just wanted to know if he could send some minorly injured townsfolk to the clinic for medical aid, so as to not tie up the doctors from working on some of the more seriously injured. Even if I wasn’t a doctor myself and didn’t have the experience than Heartland did, I could do a simple cleaning and stitching or set a broken bone. Though anything more than that was out of my league.
I had to consider it. Being only a vet certainly didn’t stop Heartland from working on ponies. Anypony coming in would know that I wasn’t a licensed doctor, but I could quickly write up a small liability form for them to sign to cover my own rump. I was at the mercy of the doctors to vet (hee hee) the patients sent my way, but it should be obvious who not to send my way.
I agreed to help. I may be a coward and a pessimist, but I care about other ponies damn it! I will have the time for it as I expect very few animals will be coming in and they will be a lesser priority to the ponies anyways. I expect it to last only a couple of days anyways. The Changeling will win soon enough and either there will be less ponies getting injured, or I’ll be dead. Either way, I won’t have to worry about it for too long.
Heartland thanked me. As he headed out the door with more supplies in hoof, he told me about a speech the leader of the Equestrian forces in the town, one Major Red Flag, had made to the volunteers. The commander said that everypony mattered in the defense of the town and that the fate of Equestria rested in our hooves. Sounded like a bunch of manure to me. Yonderhill is just a little bump in the road for the Changeling warmachine. How does what we do here matter besides throwing our lives away?
Heartland said that fighting gave ponies hope. It feels like he’s trying to guilt trip me into helping more directly, but I have my own hope. Hope that I will survive. It will be under the heel of the Changelings, but survival nonetheless. Is that really that selfish of me?
Heartland left and for all I know, it will be the last time I’ll ever see him. I wished him a happy New Years anyway, for all the good that will do. I’ll probably end up staying up late myself, not to celebrate, but because the gunfire and bombs will probably keep me up all night. See you next year.
Well, I survived the year. We’ve lasted longer than I expected, but at the cost of how many lives?
I’ve been seeing pony patients all day. Fortunately, they’ve all been rather minor injuries: light gashes and shallow shrapnel from flying debris. The worst of it was the town potter, Argile, who had serious burns on his hoof due to mishandling a Molotrot Cocktail. He was apparently making some using his own jars and some fuel siphoned from a supply truck and giving them to pegusi to drop on the heads of the Changelings. He had spilled some fuel on his hoof and when passing a cocktail to a member of the weather team, a static spark ignited it. Fortunately it was doused immediately, but the damage was done. All the hair of his terracotta coat around his right fetlock was burned off and left angry red blistering skin behind. A nasty 2nd degree burn, worse than the ones Miriam had. I was surprised that they sent him my way with a burn like that, but by the way Argile is acting, he probably downplayed the severity of his injuries. I guess if he is used to working with a kiln, he knows how to handle burns. Still, even with him leaving here with his hoof in a brace and sling and me warning him to take it easy, I imagine he’ll get right back to work making firebombs.
What does it say when ponies, civilians, are injuring themselves in the slim chance they can make a difference? This isn’t Harmony, this isn’t the Equestrian way. Though I guess if the Changeling conquer us, we’ll be at the risk of losing Harmony anyways. Is it better to die with anger in your heart, or to hide and keep your own spark of Harmony alive?
Sweet Celestia, I sound like a philosopher. Have many other ponies have had these thoughts? I should just focus on my job. Then again, focusing on my job is what got me here in the first place.
It looks like I’m going to be busy until this is all over with.
It just occurred to me that somepony might find these pages on my corpse and not have a clue who I am, so I guess formal introductions are in order.
My name is Easy Green. I’m a young Earth Pony mare. I’m nothing special to look at. Straw coloured coat, short cropped vibrant green mane, dull brown eyes. Pretty average in most other aspects. I don’t really accessorize beyond my doctor’s coat when on the job. I wish I had a picture with me at the clinic, but back where I live all I have is old family photos that might not be the most suitable for this.
I was born and raised outside of Las Pegasus to a couple of ‘grass farmers’. The joke is that while that sounds pretty useless outside of supporting cattle, they are in fact managers of a high end golf course. Fairway and Sandtrap (Mom and Dad). While it is a joke, growing grass still is a family talent going back generations. Even I’ve inherited the talent, to a degree that is. My Cutie Mark is a hay bale surrounded by various greens (clover, thistle, grasses, etc.), and while that seems to be obviously related to growing lawns, it apparently represents my talent as a veterinary dietitian. Yeah, seems kind of odd, but it manifested when I discovered that while rabbits love eating clover, a diet solely on clover will kill them. I saved the lives of dozens of rabbits from a new breeder’s ignorance.
Mom and Dad supported my talent and after graduating from Las Pegasus’ veterinary college, I found an assistant’s position here in Yonderhill under Doctor Heartland. While it is rather far from home, I took to the rural community quite well. The close knit, small town feel made me more comfortable than I ever felt back in Las Pegasus. I’ve lived here for a few years and have become part of the community.
How many of this community are already dead? How many more will die, believing that they can still win this?
I don’t know if that’s enough for a good introduction, but I guess you’ll get to know me better as you keep reading.
Just a quick note on Miriam. She’s recovering fine and while she’s yet to put much weight on her hoof, I’ve managed to help her stand and exercise. I’ve also undertaken the effort of milking her. Somepony needed to and Miriam was looking a little desperate. No real problems there, learning how to milk cows is one of the first things anypony learns at the veterinary college. I was a little rusty, but Miriam was patient and talked me through it and gave me tips about what works best for her. At the very least, her milk looked healthy.
The bigger problem is the pasteurization process. I understand the mechanics of it and while I could cobble something together out of the equipment here, it’s easier to just take the raw milk to the market and let Cheddar Wedge deal with it. I may have to find a long term solution, but I don’t know if I’m going to survive long enough for there to be a long term.
I have killed today. Honestly, it comes with the job description, but with death surrounding us it seems a little more poignant.
Upwind flew in with Max, his Griffionian Shepard cradled in his hooves. Judging by the amount of blood on the both of them, I knew it was serious. I helped Upwind get Max onto an examination table and I could already tell the dog was in a lot of pain. I gave Max a shot of sedatives and started examining him.
Upwind said that Max escaped from him while taking the dog out in his yard and Max ran off towards the Changelings. He said that Max probably just wanted to go say hi to the strange ponies. The Changelings shot him. He yelled at the Changeling for shooting Max and to his surprise, they allowed him to retrieve Max. He then flew to the clinic as fast as he could.
Max… required a miracle. The bullet shattered his collarbone and there was no exit wound, so both the bullet and bone splinters were lodged in his chest. I was surprised that something vital wasn’t hit, but I honestly only thought that because he wasn’t dead yet. There was a lot of blood lost and he was in a lot of pain. I doubt even Heartland had the surgical capability to remove the bullet without doing any more damage, much less myself. Even if the operation was successful, the recovery would be difficult and it was likely that his leg would be useless. Max would be suffering throughout it. There was no other option besides mercy.
As it always was, telling a pet owner that there was no hope for their loved one was tough. Some lash out and blame us, some insist that they can handle the struggle to care for them, only to come back a couple of days later when they can’t handle the suffering. Others go as far as to travel as far as Canterlot to get a second opinion. Upwind was understanding, saying through tears that he thought Max was dead the moment he heard the gunshot. At the very least, Max would die with dignity here with those who cared for him and not in the street at the hooves of the Changelings.
Then was the hardest part: Max’s last rites. Some ponies have a talent for talking for animals, and I’ve picked it up to a degree. Given enough time to get to know and connect with an animal, I can have a conversation with them. This wouldn’t be a problem if I had a pet of my own, but for the most part I’m dealing with animals I get to see once a month at most. I don’t have the time to do that with client pets. Fortunately, I have a bit of a short-cut. It is much easier for us to understand each other if we’re sharing a meal together. It is the one edge I have over Heartland, for as good as a surgeon he is, he doesn’t quite understand who he cares for like I do. So mercy is my duty.
At this point, Miriam had stuck her nose into the room. She had been curious about my job tending to ponies over these last couple of days so was wondering what I was doing now. It admittedly confused me about how calm she was watching me stitch up wounds, most cows panicked at the first sight of blood. Then again, for all I know she’s seen much worse when her barn got bombed. She’s been quiet about it and I won’t press the issue. Regardless, this was a more intimate process and she would only get in the way. And I didn’t want her to see more death. So I told her to wait outside and tell anypony who might show up not to interrupt us. She seemed to understand what was going on and left alone.
I then took a small can of wet dog food and split it onto two plates for the both of us. I also prepared the syringe for the euthanasia drugs for the final sleep. Setting Max’s plate in front of his nose to weakly lick at and having a bite of my own helping of sadly familiar meat scraps, I helped Max and Upwind take the time to reminisce. To help Upwind to tell Max how much Max playing with his foals meant to him. To tell Upwind that Max loved him and his family with his whole being. They exchanged the joys that each other brought to their lives. To help Max understand that his time was up.
But it was soon time for both of them to say goodbye. With tears in everycreature’s eyes, I injected the euthanasia drugs into Max. It wasn’t long before his eyes closed, and soon enough we felt the life, his spirit leave his body. I have killed an innocent. Another in a long list of pets, but it never gets any easier.
We usually help with burial, but the pet cemetery was on the outskirts of town so it wasn’t feasible. Upwind said not to worry about it, he would dig a grave for Max in his backyard. As he picked up Max’s body, I noticed the look in his eye. A cold righteous anger. I thought he might try to get vengeance on the Changelings for what they did to Max, so I told him to take care of his kids. I needed to convince him not to strike back at the Changelings. Him getting killed would do nopony good.
Upwind thanked me as he left and said he’d pay me back once he got home and got some bits. Because there were always bills associated with death. The medicine needed to be replaced, but how likely would that be once the Changeling took charge?
We’re low on the euthanasia medication. Heartland must have taken a bunch of it with him. How many ponies did he give the same mercy that I just gave Max? How many of our own soldiers has he killed? The thought of death is monstrous to most ponies, yet here we are. Murderers. Executioners. And here I am the cowardly killer, knowing the necessity of death, yet hiding from those whose deaths might be the most necessary. Fuck me, I don’t know what to think!
I’ve been too busy and too tired to write. Too many ponies are getting injured and at all hours explosions are going off.
I drew the line today. Fractal Flake was dragged in by a few other members of the weather with his leg blown off at the hip. I was the closest medical professional they knew of and got him here as fast as they could. Blood was still pumping from the wound and there wasn’t enough leg left to get a good tourniquet around.
Flake bled out on the table in front of me.
I lost it.
I told the weather team to go to Tartarus and take Flake’s corpse with them. To let everypony know I wasn’t going to help anypony ever again. I slammed and locked the door behind them.
What kind of caregiver, no, what kind of pony does that? This wasn’t Harmony?
I cried, curled up next to Miriam until Heartland came to visit me. He came as soon as he heard what happened. He wanted to comfort me and said that he understood what I was going through. Of course he did, how many ponies did he fail to save over the last few days? Still, even now he sees himself as a father figure to me, instead of just a mentor and partner. It is a little overbearing at times, but he did help me calm down with his kind words. He said it was ok for me to be overwhelmed, no pony should ever work like this. If I needed to stop, I could. No pony would force me.
But then he told me the bad news. The Changelings had captured the hospital. There were only the army medics and a few volunteers like himself left. They needed my help more than ever.
I said no. Well, I used much stronger language than that, but the meaning is the same. I couldn’t stand to see another pony die for this lost cause. I wouldn’t allow myself to prolong the suffering of Yonderhill.
Heartland seemed… guilty. He apologized, saying that he had to ask. There were ponies out there that desperately needed help and he couldn’t do it all on his own. But he said that he understood. He couldn’t ask me to make the same sacrifices he has.
I told him that he could stay here with me, that he didn’t have to make any more sacrifices. He said it was already too late for him, the Changelings have seen him helping our soldiers, so he’s a target for them. He said it was a risk to even come here to the clinic.
I told him to get out. If the Changelings knew him, he was putting me and Miriam’s lives at risk just by being here. How could he be so foolish to do such a thing?! His efforts were only going to get more ponies killed! They already have gotten more ponies killed, I saw the euthanasia drugs!
He looked hurt. I didn’t care, the sooner he left the better. He asked if he could take more supplies. I conceded and allowed him, but I’d rushed him out as soon as I could.
I’ll never be sure if those were tears in his eyes as he went out the door.
I just threw Heartland under the bus. If he dies, those would be the last things I said to him. I might never see him again.
Does it matter? Why can nopony else see how futile this is? Why can’t we lose already?
The bugs have won. I'm writing this while pretending to be writing some medical reports with a Changeling watching me from across the room. I expect I’ll soon be shot, to have a sentence cut off, to have these pages stained with my blood. Until then, I’ll use whatever life and freedom I have left to continue to tell my story.
I knew from the sounds outside that things were almost over. There was less gunfire and what was there was close. I was hopeful that this would be finished without being involved in the fight.
And then I glimpsed the first tank plow through the makeshift barricade on main street. A beast of steel hide, leaden breath and chattering roar. No monster, be it dragon, hydra or sea serpent would ever compare to the terror of seeing that tank’s cannon barrel sweep across the street towards me. I hid. I curled up next to Miriam and sobbed, simultaneously trying to tell her to not move and keep quiet. We held each other and cowered there until...
Until a Changeling soldier prodded me with the butt of a rifle asking me if I was the nurse.
I’d never seen a Changeling before first hoof (as far as I knew of course). I've only seen them in the newspaper, but the black carapace, sickly legs and grey uniform in front of me was unmistakable. I was expecting to see a monster, a freak in the mocking shape of a pony. Instead, I saw a dirty, tired young stallion who looked like he was just through Tartarus. He repeated his question about if I was the nurse and gestured towards another Changeling slumped against the clinic wall, green ichor seeping from a crack in his shell.
The intent was obvious. He must have recognized this as some sort of clinic and thought to seek help for his friend here. I'm not a trained nurse and I don't know the first thing about treating a Changeling, and I told him as such. He said to make an attempt and pointed his gun at me.
(Sweet Celestia I sound so analytical about all of this. I've spent way too much time writing medical reports)
The only time I've ever had to treat a bug was when poor Crawly came in with his pet stag beetle after it was attacked by a bird. The colt learned a valuable lesson in loss that day. With my track record for insectoids in mind, I tried my best under gun point. Cleaning the wound was easy enough, though I will never forget the stench of Changeling blood. When it came to patching the crack, at the very least whatever caused the damage never penetrated the shell, so I didn't have to fight the chitin to remove any shrapnel. Internal injury from the impact was still a factor, but I wasn't going to be rooting through an alien body while someone with a gun was ready to kill me if I screwed up. Still, the crack needed sealing and I didn't think that traditional stitching would work with the carapace. I asked the wounded Changeling's friend what they usually did to patch a wound, seeing as soldiers should have some first aid training.
All this time, the other Changeling kept peeking out the doorway, probably to keep a look out for our soldiers. He looked at me as if he only just realized that Changeling biology is quite different than pony biology. He tossed me a vial green goop that looked all too similar to the blood I just cleaned up. He said to pour it over the crack and hold the halves together until it set. I was wondering why I was needed to do this procedure as I needed to be talked through it, but it's better not to argue with someone who is holding a weapon. The ooze set much quicker than I had expected, sealing the wound almost perfectly. Infection might still be an issue, but if the ooze was standard medical equipment for Changelings, it should be sterile. It might be an interesting tool for us ponies to adapt for our use, but again, difference in biology and I do not want to try washing that slime out of my coat.
The soldier guarding the door seemed to relax a bit now that his friend was stable. He took another look out the door and called out in a harsh language that I couldn't understand. I heard a similar response in the distance. The two talked for a bit, then the soldier turned to glare at me. He said his squad was coming to occupy the clinic and that I was to keep my mouth shut. I immediately did so, just giving a nod in response. However, as the soldier looked outside to cover his squad's approach, I quickly took the time to hide some bandages and painkillers under Miriam's bulk, disguising it as merely adjusting her cushions. I figured they'd loot the place for all that it was worth. I whispered to Miriam to tell her to keep quiet and to not move. At least she understood the severity of the situation and gave me a slow nod.
There were seven Changelings in total in the clinic, including the one that I had just patched up. They all kept a wary eye on the two of us, but they seemed more focused on the fighting outside and securing supplies. They seemed content to wait in the clinic, popping off some shots every once in a while. But for the most part, they sat around talking in their foreign language. At one point there was a period where they'd just look at me and Miriam, one of them would make some sort of comment and then they would all laugh. Most likely making cruel remarks about us as a captive audience.
Poor sweet Miriam tried to introduce herself to the Changelings. One of them told me to “tell that fat cow of yours to shut up”. It’s like they didn’t even see Miriam as a person, like she was some sort of pet of mine to control. I bristled, but there was nothing to do but do what I was told.
As the day dragged on, the soldiers got out some, what I could assume, passed as food for Changelings. It certainly didn't look appetizing, and this comes from a pony who’s eaten dog food (don’t judge me). I was hungry myself, but the soldiers raided the food I had stored away. And I wasn’t going to stick my neck out and ask if I could have some back.
After a bit, one of the soldiers came over and asked if I owned Miriam.
How was I supposed to answer that? As a sentient being, one could not own a Cow. While you could say Cows were subservient to Ponies, the better term would be that they were tenants. A dairy farm hosted cattle who repaid them in milk and labour. They were free to come and go as they pleased. I thought he might have meant if I was her host, and I had to consider my answer. With Curdled Cream presumed dead, there was nopony to protect her. I wasn't certain I could handle the responsibility of caring for a cow. But somepony had to. So I nodded.
He then asked how much would it be for her leather, for they needed new boots.
I shrieked. I told them to go to Tartarus. I told them that may Dragons feast on their corpses. I told them to fuck themselves in front of their Whore Queen.
I should be dead. Shot for defying them, for insulting Chrysalis. Instead, I felt… something leave me. My fury drained from me and I saw a faint glow of magic being sucked into the Changeling’s maw.
He fed on my love for Miriam. My love, expressed as rage. He then went back to his squad where some cigarettes exchanged hooves. They paid out a betting pool about him getting love from me.
I felt hollow. Like I was in a daze and nothing mattered. Not Miriam, not the war, not even my own life. I’ve somewhat recovered now, but is that what living under Changelings is like? To have your love, your soul sucked out of you whenever a Changeling feels peckish?
I have to ask myself, is that a life worth living? It will have to be. I now have no other choice.
Miriam told me not to worry, that these Changelings weren’t worthy of her boots. That’s a statement that I just can’t handle right now.
Looks like these bugs are staying the night. Looks like tomorrow will be the dawn under Changeling rule.
I’m home now. Miriam is with me. Sweet Celestia, it feels like forever since I've seen it.
At the very least, besides the blown out windows and a few bullet holes, the building seems intact. I’ve been trying to set things up to make Miriam comfortable, but it’s difficult to figure out how much I can do without Adze, my landlord. I don’t know if he’s dead or fled. Until I know, I’m limited in what I can do to make things comfortable for her. I’m assuming he’d allow me to extend my garden of grasses to feed Miriam, but it’s kind of moot because winter. Until then, I’ll have to pick up any hay bales that can be spared. I’ll also need to figure out where she can sleep besides curled up under a bunch of blankets on the front porch.
Still, Miriam seems content enough considering the situation. But she’s just been so quiet the last two weeks. I don’t really know how much of a toll losing her herd had on her.
Ugh, here I am worried about Miriam when… that happened in the town square. I’m still sickened by it. I can’t bring myself to write about it right now. I’ll just say:
Fuck those Tartarus damned Changelings, fuck Whore Queen Chrysalis and may Celestia smite you down ‘Administrator’ Coccyx!
(Thank you Appendix of Animal Anatomy for knowing how to spell that)
Ok, I’ve had time to settle. Time to talk about what happened in the square.
The Changeling squad spent the night with me in the clinic. While I managed to get a little bit of sleep at some point during the night, I kept expecting me and Miriam to be killed in our sleep. While that obviously didn’t happen, we were watched all night. I guess sheer exhaustion was a factor.
We waited around the clinic until midday, then the soldiers said they were gathering everypony into the town square. They didn’t seem to mind the fact that I told Miriam to stay in the clinic. I guess when they said everypony, they meant every pony. Speciesist assholes. But then again, here I am telling Miriam what I think is best for her. But I think it’s a good idea for her to stay out of what was happening. If everypony in town will be there, then there will be a large herd. Things were likely to get messy and I didn’t want her getting hurt or hurting anypony else in a stampede. She agreed that it would be best to stay at the clinic until I got back.
The town square was packed and though I was relieved to see many familiar faces, just as many, if not more, were missing. I saw familiar merchants like Cheddar Wedge and Integrity, but not my postalmare Sealed Slip. I saw Fascination the party pony and Clamshell the (self described) town slut trying to raise spirits in their own ways, but not a police officer in sight. And how many ponies I did see were actually Changelings? There were a lot of armed Changeling around to keep an eye on the crowd, just how many more didn’t I see? The bugs even had a couple of their war machines flanking the stage.
On the stage was Mayor Notary with a bunch of Changelings. After a while, once enough ponies had filed into the square, one of the soldiers fired his gun into the air to draw everypony’s attention. A couple of townsfolk tried to bolt, but were herded back into the square by the Changelings. Then a brown-eyed Changeling in a suit, not a uniform, addressed us. He introduced himself as Administrator Coccyx and said that he would be in charge of the occupation of Yonderhill and the Galloping Gorge area for the foreseeable future.
He then beckoned Mayor Notary forward. The poor mayor’s legs were shaking and his voice was stuttering, but he said the words I was waiting to hear for two weeks. The Equestrian army had surrendered and control of the town would be turned over to Administrator Coccyx. He pleaded with us to not resist the Changeling occupation.
These were words I was expecting, but hearing them out loud made me feel hollow inside. I was proven right. All of these lives lost amounted to nothing. But it felt as if a flood of grey had washed over the town. The hope of thousands of ponies snuffed out. There was yelling and crying and there I was just numb.
Coccyx returned to center stage. He looked over the crowd and started to make a speech. He said to remember that we lost, that we are weak little ponies who will come to bow before the might of the Changeling Empire. I’m paraphrasing here, but that is pretty much what all his blathering came down to. Changelings rule, ponies drool, and so on and so on. It seemed rather pointless until he gestured toward town hall saying that here were some examples of those who didn’t understand how to surrender.
A dozen ponies in shackles were marched out of the building. Most were in army uniforms, but there were some townsponies there as well. Postmistress Manilla, Police Chief Stern Longhoof, Head Doctor Rapid Pulse and Argile, shackles over the hoof that I had bandaged last week. Coccyx read their names as if he was a judge. The soldiers were Major Red Flag and other leaders of the soldiers in the town.
Coccyx said that there were hundreds of other ponies that had been arrested but while those were still being processed, these leaders would stand trial and face punishment for them. He said that it was only fair, most of the ponies only fought because they were naturally subservient to their masters. Celestia tells us to throw our lives away while sitting on her throne, safe in Canterlot and we listen. Pretty hypocritical seeing as Changelings are nothing but drones to Queen Chrysalis, but I am ashamed to say I see a point, at least in terms of what happened here in Yonderhill. If Red Flag didn’t rally the town, we wouldn’t have suffered as badly as we did.
That am I thinking? That's what the Changelings want me to think. They are already getting into my head and it’s only been a couple of days.
And it’s going to get worse.
The prisoners were marched in front of a makeshift barricade to the side of the stage, while a vehicle that looked like a car that grew a shell drove up. There was a shout from the crowd as the shackled ponies were chained in place. The accent and Prench obscenities identified it as Bastion, the elderly father of Argile. He tried to make a break for his son, but was knocked to the ground by a soldier.
Coccyx seemed to take the interruption in stride. He said that this will be a lesson to those who wouldn’t submit. He gestured to the car. The Changeling operating the gun on top of it opened fire on the chained ponies.
It took one second of the roaring gun for all twelve ponies to fall to the ground dead.
The next two seconds of an unrelenting stream of bullets reduced the bodies to bloody chunks.
The image won’t leave my head. Ponies screaming in fear. Steam rising from the gun barrel. Gore staining the town square. Coccyx smirking. The smell of sweat, vomit and blood. May Luna safeguard my dreams, but I’m sure she is much too busy for that.
It might have been shock, might have been my veterinary training left me less sensitive to the sight of blood. But while most of the crowd was whipped up into a panic, I stood my ground. Good thing too, any who tried to flee were beaten back by the soldiers.
Once the crowd settled down again, Coccyx had the gall to praise the machine that just mowed down our ponies. He called it an amazing feat of Changeling engineering and that it was the least of the Changelings’ war machines. I grew up in Las Pegasus, I know that Equestrian engineering can be just as impressive. But then where the Tartarus was it?
Coccyx continued by saying that the rest of the prisoners would be put to work to aid the Changeling war effort. Slave labour. He said that if anypony disobeyed the rules, they may end up working alongside them. He then laid down some basic rules. A curfew. Restricting the use of radios to only authorized channels. Changelings must be permitted entry to our houses at any time. All firearms must be forfeited. All in all, nothing too surprising.
Then he said “one last rule”. He then pulled out a gun from his holster and shot Mayor Notary in the head. As Notary’s body fell to the stage, Coccyx said that he would be the sole authority of Yonderhill.
Coccyx had just created a power vacuum and intended to fill it with himself and other Changelings. And how many other positions have been replaced already with any of us none the wiser?
“Know your place, my little ponies. You have lost. If you forget that, there will be more deaths, and the blood will be on your hooves. You will serve me and the growing Changeling Empire. You will feed us, work for us and obey us. No Princess, no harmony, no friendship will save you. We Changelings are here and among you. We will be watching you. Closely. Choose your actions wisely.”
Those were his words. He then let us, his captive audience, go.
I think everypony stumbled back to their homes in a daze, or at least I did. Well, I went to the clinic first to retrieve Miriam and the supplies I hid away. I haven’t told Miriam much, just that the Changelings were in charge now and we were allowed to go back home. She still must have understood some of what happened because she said I looked like I needed a hug. I took her up on her offer.
So many ponies I know have died. I don’t know if Heartland or Adze survived, I didn’t see them at town square. How many of my clients have died, leaving their pets parentless? What would working as a vet under the Changelings be like? Will I be able to secure the food and supplies I need? Would the Changelings even care about my job?
What should I do? What can I do? Is it possible I can go on like nothing has happened? Can I even trust anypony anymore? If Heartland came back to the clinic, how would I know it’s really him?
If there is no pony I can trust, is it even worth trying?
Fuck, there are a lot of questions. I don’t know what to do or what to think. I can’t even bring myself to get pissed properly. I just feel drained.
I guess I can keep writing. Coccyx has committed a bunch of atrocities in the square, so perhaps this will serve as evidence. But if the Changelings find out that that’s exactly what I’m doing...
Fuck it.
Whatever the case, I guess I should get an actual journal instead of writing on whatever piece of paper I can find. Hopefully I won’t lose any of these pages.
At first glance, the Battle of Yonderhill is much like the other battles involving the small towns of north-western Equestria. Due to the Changelings’ need for prisoners for love extraction, work camps and hostages, the Changelings needed to force our soldiers to surrender more often than wiping them out to the last pony. This was accomplished by developing a doctrine focused on armoured spearheads into the Equestrian lines and cutting them from supplies and reinforcements. It often led to situations that looked like old castle sieges, though often the only walls involved were the metal armoured Panzers. While our heavily armoured Cerberus tanks were more than capable of beating Panzers in a fight, they more often than not never got the chance to get to the battle in time to break the siege. The Changelings had infiltrated communication lines to cause confusion and delay, while lack of railways and good quality roads in the Equestrian countryside meant that vehicles had to drive for hundreds of miles over untamed land. Terror bombings and infiltrations added to the stress of the defenders, often causing them to surrender without the Panzers having to actually enter the town.
Yonderhill was in a similar situation, Ms. Green’s summary was rather textbook to the Changeling doctrine. But there are a couple of key things to note. First of all, the Hearthswarming Ceasefire and the Battle of Galloping Gorge happened immediately before between the Changelings’ 4th Panzer-Division and 34th Jäger-Division and our 4th ‘Highlands’ Onhooves Division. I’d like to clearly point out that while the ceasefire did leave our soldiers’ guard down to an immediate Changeling attack and breakthrough over the gorge, the majority of the Changelings who directly partook in the ceasefire were not the ones who attacked. They were sadly arrested and presumably executed once they got back to their own lines for affiliating with the enemy. But there were a few enterprising Changelings who took advantage of the partying over campfires and hot cocoa to infiltrate the 4th Division’s headquarters and sabotage their communication equipment once the festivities were over. Then in the early Hearthswarming morning, the Changelings had their Jägers fly over the gorge to establish a bridgehead for the Panzers to come over and annihilate the unprepared 4th Division. We had a giant hole in our frontline, and because of the sabotaged equipment, nopony knew about it.
The other key factor was that the Galloping Gorge was one of the last lines of defense before the Shire River and the famous Shire Defensive Line. If the Changelings could push their advantage, they could cross the Shire River before the rest of the Equestrian Army could fallback and reinforce the Shire Line. If the Changelings were to pierce the Shire Line, it would allow them to press onward towards Canterlot and the heart of Equestria.
The only thing in their way was Yonderhill. It is the largest town in the Galloping Gorge area and home to about 20,000 ponies and at the time held a reserve force of a couple thousand soldiers. Caught by surprise and surrounded on all sides, and faced with a force of greater numbers than the entire civilian population of the town, Yonderhill should have fallen immediately. And it would have, if it weren’t for the efforts of Major Red Flag rallying the defenders and having the luck that a large supply convoy was held up in town before it headed to the frontlines. And while Major Flag managed to radio out to Equestria High Command about the attack, besides sending a couple of squadrons from the Royal Air Force for air support, there would likely be no reinforcements coming in time to relieve the siege.
However, Major Flag was given one task: hold the Changelings at Yonderhill long enough for the Equestrian Army to fall back to the Shire Line. A monumental task, a suicidal order, and morally questionable in risking the lives of thousands of civilians. But it risked the fall of the Shire Line and the entire war if not done. So, Major Flag raised one of quickest and proportionally largest militias of the war, doubling the number of defenders throughout the siege. These ponies, postal officers, police, doctors, weather teams, craftsponies, townsfolk, are all heroes of Equestria who gave their lives so that others may live. I wish I had a copy of the Major Flag’s rallying speech, it must have been legendary.
Beyond the volunteers, the supply convoy meant the militia was well equipped, especially with six 2-pounder anti-tank guns and two Bofurs Anti-Air guns that could threaten the Changelings’ Panzers. By barricading the roads and fortifying hard points like the hospital, post office and town hall, they tried to last as long as they could. Another factor in the defenders’ favour was that the unprepared attack on the Ghastly Gorge and the rush to Yonderhill meant outpacing their supply chain. Overextended and keeping to the doctrine of preserving civilian lives, the Changelings drove straight into town expecting minimal resistance. The first wave was quickly stopped by the defenders’ anti-tank weapons and Molotrot Cocktails. Even after the town hall was captured and there was an official surrender on the evening of the 10th of January, there were still several pockets of defenders fighting. These were quickly stamped out the next day.
The official casualty reports are spotty, but it is estimated that between 2,000 and 4,000 ponies died in the siege, but had cost the Changelings at least the equivalent amount of soldiers as well as almost forty Panzers. The air skirmishes were better recorded, with both the Royal Air Force and the Luftwaffe losing a couple dozen aircraft to skirmishes.
In the end, while the Changelings succeeded in capturing Yonderhill, Major Red Flag accomplished his goal of delaying the Changeling advance long enough for the defenses at the Shire Line to be established. The sacrifices of all the ponies of Yonderhill will be remembered, including the sacrifices made by Ms. Green.
