When Sunday Comes
It was on Monday, years ago, when Kale Crunch first arrived in Bloomstown to start his farm.
Back then, it was a quiet place, close to the very edges of Equestrian territory. It was so far from the metropole that the newspapers often came days late, deliverable only by hoof-courier, and the nearest telegraph office was a day’s trot away. That served Kale Crunch just fine, and as the appropriately kale-coloured earth pony trundled into his claimed lot, hitched to a large cart containing the bulk of his worldly possessions, he marvelled at the opportunity he had to start a new life. Burdened as he had been with his dreary warehousing job in Las Pegasus, he nevertheless was able to squirrel away enough savings to buy a homestead property, and he fully intended to make the most of it, as his ancestors had done.
For now, the lot was an empty field and a rickety old shack that purported to be a house. This also served Kale just fine; he’d got the lot for cheap due to the “fixer-upper” nature of the place, but he knew some methods of getting the domicile back into tip-top shape. His father was a construction worker in Vanhoover, and had taught him a bit of woodcraft here and there when he found time between contracts. Kale’s cart was laden with some spare tools and materials, and he was certain that with those and his skills he could get the job done.
Before then, he would resort to sleeping in a tent. Spring was in full bloom, and he’d have plenty of time before he needed a real shelter. Full of enthusiasm, Kale strode into his new property, only to promptly be barred by an irate stallion.
“So you’re the guy, huh?” the other stallion said, his roan-red fur standing out amidst the greens and browns of the field. “Coming here from the big city, just snapping up lots? Right... right.” He glowered at Kale. “You watch yourself, city boy. This isn’t a cute little hobby.”
“Hey, buzz off!” shouted another voice, a female one, coming up from somewhere behind a flustered Kale. There were two other earth ponies, a mare and a stallion, and they seemed outwardly perturbed by Kale’s nemesis. “The land belongs to him, Onion Peel,” the mare asserted, “fair and square, just like the council said. You can get back to your lot now, eh?”
Onion Peel grumbled and turned about kicked some dust off his hooves as he did so. “I’m gonna get my due one way or another!” And he trotted off in a huff.
Kale blinked and sighed in relief, turning to face his apparent saviours. “Didn’t think I’d run into the local politics so soon!” he declared, a bit giddy from anxiety. He looked over the two ponies, both good examples of country stock, with the mare sporting a pearl-yellow hue while her companion was more of a mauve. “Thanks for the backup, Miss, uh...”
“I’m Daisy Petals, and this is my brother Jovial Juniper,” said the mare. “Welcome to Bloomstown!”
“Thanks for having me,” said Kale. “I’m Kale Crunch, and I just moved in from Las Pegasus.”
“Las Pegasus!” Jovial Juniper exclaimed. “What’s a townie like you doing, coming down here and giving up on the big city?”
“I wanted a big change of pace,” said Kale. “Found out that they were looking for more farmers here, so I packed up as quick as I could. I’m hoping to harvest around next year.”
“Wow, you’re just raring to go, huh?” Jovial mused. “Say, I hope I’m not being rude, but what’s a ‘kale’, exactly? Is that a kind of flower?”
“Actually, it’s a relative of cabbage,” Kale explained. “They started growing it out east, and it’s a big hit in the cities. Here, I got some samples I tried growing in my hydroponics set-up...” He walked over to his cart and rummaged through it for a while before produce some shrink-wrapped leaves of the crop. Both Daisy and Jovial stared at them, looking especially confused by the exotic wrapping, but Kale demonstrated how to pull it open at the corners, which were designed to make it easy even for earth ponies. Soon enough, they both had some leaves in their mouths.
“Hey, this is pretty good!” said Daisy. “It’s got this weird sweetness to it, even.”
“It’s soft, but also crunchy,” Jovial stated. “I dunno if this will catch on here, honestly. It’s like it’s made instead of grown.”
“Ah, well, maybe it’ll be different once I get it growing out of the ground,” Kale replied. “I gotta fix up the house first, though. That’ll probably take me a few weeks, at least.”
“You gonna try and do that yourself?” Daisy asked. “That’s not right. We’ll get some folks over to help you do your housewarming; it’s tradition here, you know?”
Kale blushed. “Really? That’s just... I really don’t know what to say.”
“You can say ‘thank you’ later,” said Jovial. “C’mon, we have to show you around to everypony.”
The next few days were a whirlwind of action. Kale was walked about everywhere, to the pub, to the seed shop, to the hill on top of town that, on a good day, would let you see all the way to Whitebell. He stayed over for a day or so at Daisy’s and Jovial’s farm, where they helped their parents grow flower, but much of the time he spent rebuilding his new home, gleefully assisted by seemingly a third of the town, until it was finally finished by Saturday afternoon. With great cheer and much excitement, they enacted longstanding Bloomstown tradition, carrying Kale into his domicile through the largest door.
Kale Crunch lay in his country bed for the first time that night, marvelling at all that had happened, the new friends he’d made in such a short time, the great cheer and wonder at being part of this community. He had never felt so close to so many in larger, more populated cities. Tomorrow, local tradition demanded a housewarming party, in which his guests would bring the food. He sighed happily as he drifted off to sleep, looking forward to when Sunday came.
It was on Tuesday, a few years later, when they first heard about the fall of Olenia.
By then, Kale had become a fixture in Bloomstown, his “Crunch’s Crunchy Kale” having proven to be a bestseller in town, and even in several other towns and villages nearby. This was despite the narrow niche he’d had to carve out, the market in soft, yet crunchy greens already being saturated by cabbages and collards. Still, he had an advantage in being, as far as anypony knew, the only kale producer within 100 miles, and this had allowed him to develop a sizable revenue for a sole proprietor.
More important to him than mere lucre, however, was the respectable camaraderie he had developed with the ponies of Bloomstown. He had become close friends with Daisy and Jovial, and they often visited each other’s farms to trade stories and offer to help with troublesome projects. He had made connections, too, with many of the other townsfolk, from the baker to the farrier and even that one elderly deer couple who lived next to the river. He had made more friends in a few years than the decade he had spent in more established Equestrian cities, and that only confirmed to him his choice to come out here.
The one intransigent element was, not unexpectedly, Onion Peel and his small band of followers. They had never set hoof on his property since the first day, but Onion had strove to be a nuisance to Kale. In the months following his arrival, Onion would deposit the leavings of his harvests upwind from Kale’s lot, which thereby received a healthy helping of chaff. One time, the recalcitrant stallion and his band of miscreants engineered a cart accident down the road, the very same road that Kale needed to transport his newly-harvested goods, causing him some distress. It was never proven that it was Onion and his gang that did it, but all unofficial indications certainly pinned them with the deed.
Kale had challenged his nemesis several times for answers, but Onion steadfastly refused to communicate in anything but retorts, insults, and the occasional body-sound. Daisy and Jovial, for their part, could only cite an old tale concerning Onion’s grandfather, and how he had lost the land in a bet, but they knew of no details, and Kale had be too preoccupied with the business of agriculture to do further research into what was, in actuality, a minor inconvenience. In any case, the intrusions soon faded, and Onion was reduced by Kale’s resilience to glowering at him from a distance.
So it was somewhat of a surprise when, while everypony was winding down in the pub after a hard day’s work, it was Onion Peel who first approached Kale’s table and gave him a copy of the Vanhoover Tattletale. The headline said: “OLENIA FALLS! Changeling Empire occupies Hjortland.”
Kale stared at the paper, then gave a look of suspicious anxiety to Onion. “Why are you-”
“You got family in Vanhoover, right?” said Onion. “They’re right on the border; you should talk to them.” With that, the stallion quickly departed for his own place, in a corner far from everypony else.
With Kale at the time were Daisy and Jovial, and studiously ignoring Onion’s involvement they unfurled the broadsheet and looked it over, with Daisy providing recitation. “’Equestrian authorities assure citizens that the problem is merely a local dispute that will resolve itself.’ Doesn’t seem like a big problem,” she said.
“Hey Sis, read the rest!” said Jovial, who continued the reading: “’However, witnesses report the movement of large vehicles across the border, with some even claiming to have heard loud explosions in their wake. Their descriptions seem to match a new type of fighting vehicle which was developed by the Griffonian Empire...” Jovial trailed off, staring at the tale. “The griffons have an Empire?”
“They’ve had one for a long time,” Kale explained. “Not as long as Equestria, mind you.”
“I thought the griffons were just living out of ruins, too busy fighting each other to rebuild anything,” said Daisy.
“Well, they are too, sometimes, but that’s besides the point.” Kale sighed and took a good, long look at the headline once more. “Onion was right... I need to call my parents to see how they’re doing.”
“’Call’? You forget where you’re living?” Jovial retorted. “It’s almost a day of walking to the telegraph station. Maybe we could come along and keep you company, and then you can tell us about this ‘Empire’ the griffons have. What do you think, Daisy?”
“He has to tell us about Olenia, too,” said Daisy. “I’d talk to Mister and Missus, uh, Deer, but I can barely understand them through their accents sometimes.”
“They have names, you know,” Kale stated. “It’s ‘Vaeltaja’, and, yeah, I know a little about Olenia.”
It was on the morning of the next day that they set out for the telegraph station, which only took them a few hours given their brisk pace. Along the way Kale told the two siblings all the history he had learned in his urban school, about the rise of the Empire, and Grover II’s conquests, and about the history of Olenia, too, and the strange culture of the deer. While he was no historian, and admitted to eliding over the details, he still maintained a good grasp of the basics from his half-remembered classes. All the time, as well, he had to make reference to the history of the Changelings, a topic fraught with speculation given the paucity of verifiable data from their mysterious lands.
“So there’s more than one Changeling queen?” Daisy inquired. “And they’re actually some kind of... committee of love stealing?”
“Nopony really knows for sure, I’m just telling you what I heard,” said Kale. “Hey, we’re already here!”
Coming around the next bend of the road was the town of Petalsfield, a sizable community to which many of the Bloomstownians sold their goods. Relatively tall buildings of more than 3 stories could be found here, and the town as a whole had been deemed sufficiently large for its own wagon station. The telegraph office, close to the town centre, was minutes away.
“Not gonna lie, big towns like these weird me out,” said Jovial. “How can anypony really know anypony around here?”
Kale had to chuckle at his friend’s casual provincialism. “I know what you feel, trust me.”
The telegraph office, adjunct to the wagon station just down the main street, was a metal-laden structure, with a tall spire for the telegraph lines leading off into the distance. The three ponies found the place moderately busy; it seemed there were others also hoping to contact their families. Hushed conversations drifted into their ears, and they were able to assess definite worries for relatives in Vanhoover and Acornage, right by the border with the Changelings. Numerous open copies of the Whitebell Courier and the Vanhoover Tattletale concealed the faces of avid readers, whose faces, when Kale managed to glimpse them, were full of anxiety.
There were a few phones installed, a relatively new feature, but as they were charging the exorbitant price of twenty bits for ten minutes of use, Kale opted to send a telegram instead, depositing the much more affordable one bit per 10 words. He strove to be concise:
HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL MOM AND DAD STOP YOU CAN COME VISIT STOP TOWN IS GREAT AND SO ARE THE PONIES STOP.
After he delivered his message to the telegraph worker for transmission, he made his way back to the lobby to meet his friends, only to literally bump into another pony.
She was a unicorn, lavender-coloured, and she was coming out of one of the other booths as well. As she and Kale recovered from their mutual encounter (with the stallion having unceremoniously fallen back onto his rump), the mare was the first to apologize. “Real sorry about that,” she said.
Kale took note of her familiar accent. “You worried about the folks back home, aren’t you?” He suddenly asked, unaware of the reason why.
The unicorn nodded, and she, too, took notice. “You’re from Vanhoover, too, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” said Kale.
“Me too,” said the mare. “I’m Floral Font. You are...?”
“Kale Crunch,” he replied. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“I just felt city life was a bit too fast for me, to put it simply.”
Kale felt suddenly giddy. “Yeah, me too.”
They talked for a while longer after that, long enough to prompt Kale’s friends to search for him. The stallion introduced his new friend to the others, who politely kept their own counsel as to the portent of their meeting. Floral was living in Petalsfield, making flower arrangements for various events and establishments (and, felicitously, she had bought several flowers from Daisy’s and Jovial’s farm). She hadn’t yet tried any of Kale’s produce, however, and through the exchange of pleasantries she resolved to do just that soon.
At which point, Kale asked: “Maybe I give you some samples over coffee in town here. On... Sunday, maybe?”
Floral grinned. “Good timing; they just opened a coffee shop in the wagon station. Yeah, I think make some time for that.”
And so the week proceeded, with Kale spending an inordinate amount of time picking through his produce for the choicest selections. He was engrossed enough that he didn’t really notice the gossip that had quickly sprung around him and Floral, much less the sudden, greater involvement of Onion in town affairs (and activities of a constructive kind, as well). Without really knowing his own reasons, Kale went about his tasks, looking forward to when Sunday came.
It was on a Wednesday, many months later, when the draft notices were first posted at the town square.
They had come amidst a whirlwind of activity. In the past few weeks wagons and carts and trucks and large, heavy vehicles that most ponies had never seen had driven along the main thoroughfare right outside town, to the astonishment of everypony. Whispers spread throughout the region of Royal Guards marching towards the border, of train and wagon stations being seized for use of the state. Most ponies were in a daze; many had never seen any tangible evidence of Canterlot’s authority in their entire lives.
For Kale, the implications already filled him with a healthy dread. He was well aware of the political movements, thanks to the free subscription to the Tattletale that Onion Peel had inexplicably gifted him. The papers had always tried to downplay foreign conflicts as far away, exotic, not worth worrying about. Now every edition was devoting substantial coverage to the building tension with the Changeling Empire, every other page was some new rumour or sighting of supposed Changeling activity. Kale traced the sourcing in the articles, and a lot of them were unnamed government officials; this was a deliberate public relations program by the Crown, hoping to prepare the ponies for conflict.
Bloomstown being what it was, however, it took time for the information to really seep into everypony’s consciousness. A scant few of Kale’s associates had thought of preparing for the crisis, and even Daisy and Jovial were quite nonchalant about the whole affair. Only Floral was of one mind with him, which was expected given her own connections to Vanhoover.
So, when Kale strode into Bloomstown to purchase supplies, he was shocked, but not surprised, by the presence of a platoon of royal guards taking up the whole town plaza. They had set up a few tents around the edges, and Kale could see them milling about, but most of the action was close to the centre, where a guardspony in a fancy headdress had stood up onto a podium.
“Listen up, everypony!” he announced. “By command of Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, all townsfolk are required to be registered for the draft! Present yourselves to us, and we will determine your fitness. Make it quick!”
Kale found himself lining up behind dozens of other ponies. Without really thinking about it much, he walked onward towards the guardsponies, reaching them after what seemed like half an hour. They ushered him to one of the tents, where doctors wearing bright coats emblazoned with the Equestrian coat-of-arms examined him, tested his vitals, measured his health. Did he have any allergies, or pre-existing conditions? Did he experience a major injury within the past 12 months? Was he aware of hereditary illnesses in his family? Kale answered in the negative to all, and before his eyes one of the doctors stamped his medical results and filed it away. Then he was ushered out, the next pony being admitted immediately afterwards.
Only much later, at the pub, was Kale able to gather his thoughts sufficiently to discuss them with Daisy and Jovial. “You think you’ll all get in?”
“I guess so,” Jovial responded. “I’m pretty fit, I think, and so is Daisy.”
“I can speak for myself!” Daisy interjected. “But... I think I made it in, too.”
“Same here,” said Kale. For a while, there was silence as he sipped his ale. “You both seem pretty OK with this whole thing.”
“Oh, what’s the worst that could happen?” said Daisy. “I’m pretty sure we’ll just be helping out in the back, anyway. Equestria has real soldiers to do the fighting. Don’t worry, Kale, it’ll blow over, you’ll see.”
Kale sipped his ale again, more deliberately, more sombrely. “I hope so,” he said. But all he could think about was his parents, and Floral.
So he took an extra trip to Petalsfield the next morning, showing up about an hour after Floral’s studio opened up for that day. When he came in she found her calm, but clearly distracted. Upon seeing Kale she quietly walked over to the door and flipped the sign to the “Closed” position.
Within minutes, she had poured them both some tea and was beginning to pour out her fears. “They came for us yesterday, too,” said Floral, sighing. “It’s the same thing over here, too; nopony really knows what it could be like, how terrible things could become. The world outside is just... unreal.” She steepled her hooves on the table, nervously flexing them. “I sent a telegram to my parents, telling them to move out of Vanhoover for a while. I think it might be a good idea for you, too.”
“I should, yeah,” said Kale reflectively, himself starting to feel some of Floral’s anxiety. “I dunno if Dad’s gonna listen, though, he was always really stubborn.”
Floral managed a wan smile. “He’s quite a character, isn’t he? My own father is... a bit passive sometimes, but his calm amidst all sorts of trouble is something I want to imitate.”
Kale looked at Floral, at her finely-kept mane and her bright amber eyes. He stretched his hoof forwards until it was close to hers. “As long as we look out for each other, I think we can keep as calm as can be.”
Floral smiled again, much more fully this time, and she lay her hoof atop his. “I’m sure we will,” she said hopefully.
The rest of the week passed by, with Kale tending to his farm as the military trucks rolled by and the planes began to do exercises in the skies above. Pegasi in combat uniforms would occasionally fly past, as well, and Kale would wave at them if they got close enough. Sometimes, they would even wave back.
On Saturday, Kale received a letter in a mail with government markings. As he had expected, he had been accepted into the draft, and it was only a matter of time before he was called upon. He sat on his couch and thought about his lot, about his family back in the city. Among these thoughts, he also began considering wrapping up the farm’s business, let the fields go fallow this year, or perhaps rent it out to some of the more marginal townsfolk who hadn’t made the draft.
But first thing was tomorrow, when he had another date with Floral. He sat back into his seat, hoping to unburden himself of his dark musings when, at last, Sunday came.
It was on Thursday, several weeks later, when Kale and his company were deployed to the field.
They had barely graduated from basic training, having endured all sorts of harrowing experiences: the obstacle courses, the loud bang of weaponry, and most terrifying of all their drill instructors, who hounded them even into the night, rousing the whole camp to fight fires or constructed enemies. They had come out of it somewhat worn, but hardened, prepared, ready to take on the challenge of warfare, or so many of them believed.
Kale has fostered a number of expectations to aid his adaptation to military life. He knew that it was going to be hard, and that he would be tested to his limit, and that his welfare would be tied quite closely to the competence of his fellows-at-arms, to the camaraderie they shared. Circumstances had arisen in such a way that he found a new crop of friends among his company. As he stepped into the modular tent that functioned as their makeshift galley, he spotted a few of them gathered around a supply crate, upon which they were playing cards.
“Hey, Kale! Come on and hang with us!” said Stony Lane, a rather buff, golden-hued stallion that had been one of his battle-buddies in basic training. Slyly, he leaned his head over and whispered: “You still got some of those kale chips? Been raring for those lately.”
“I’m kinda running out, sorry,” Kale stated. He was still a bit amazed that he had been able to sneak his contraband past the NCOs without detection. “Maybe next time we’re on leave...?”
“If we ever get it!” Stony guffawed, and the others joined in the merriment. “It’s all good, Kale; you’re great stuff either way. Here, I can deal you in this game, if you like.”
“We won’t have time for another one,” said a voice.
Kale and Stony looked up, and they saw a well-known member of their company, a certain Onion Peel. He and Kale has silently agreed not to mention their rivalry to anypony else, and so Onion had been able to carve a niche as the resident brooding warrior, having few friends but many admirers, something that Kale found rather strange given his previous reputation.
Before their eyes, Onion reached into his saddlebag with mouth and produced a memorandum. “Sarge told me to bring you guys this. We’re integrating our unit with some others to make a battalion. We’re supposed to form up on parade in... 10 minutes.”
“What, so soon?” Stony declared. “That just figures, lousy- I mean, real inconvenient, this is real inconvenient, but, well...” He sighed, standing up and putting on his uniform cap. “Let’s get a move on, then.”
Outside, it was a dry, but windy, day, with the cool air buffeting them from the north. The sergeants, of course, had ordered hats to be worn with chin-straps, but nevertheless some stray headgear could be found milling about the edge of the clearing that functioned as their parade square. In short order, they were all formed up, platoon upon platoon in columns. Kale recognized a few of them from previous exercises, but some were definitely new.
A stallion in a fancy uniform stepped up to the podium (really, a stack of boxes) and addressed them. “Ponies of Equestria! Today marks the first day of our great mission, to drive out the Changeling threat from our lands and restore peace and Harmony to our beloved realm. Together, we will see the enemy turn tail and cower back to their hives!” And so he went on, and only at the end of his speech did the gathered ponies break out into the permitted applause.
Then, he began to point to their new companions. “By order of High Command, our battalion will be integrated with specialist companies that will serve the division. Look at your new fellows-at-arms, everypony, because we’ll be working together very closely from now on.”
They were soon dismissed, allowing Kale to take a closer look at these attached units. There was a radio company, and a mobile hospital, but there was also a company of unicorns. They were specially trained, he heard, in the use of magic as an offensive weapon. A sharp instinct struck Kale, and he found himself wandering over to the unicorns, and he saw what he was looking for quickly enough.
Floral Font turned her head and gasped. “Kale! You’re here!”
“Floral!” Kale declared, dashing over to her and almost giving her a hug before she stepped back. He looked at her plaintively, confused.
“Not out here,” she said. “Remember the regulations.”
“Oh, sorry,” he replied. “Funny how we ended up serving together after all!”
“It’s a pretty neat coincidence, yeah,” Floral added. “Hey, isn’t that that one stallion giving you problems?” She lightly pointed her hoof towards Onion Peel, brooding, as he always was, at the edges of their little society.
“Actually, he’s been pretty good to me this whole time,” Kale responded. “It’s weird; don’t really know what’s gotten into him.”
“That is worth investigating, I think,” Floral said. “Anyway, we’re marching to the front on Monday. How about we meet again on Sunday, like we always do?”
Kale smiled. “That sounds like a good plan,” he answered.
With future events taken care of, Kale decided to satisfy his curiosity once and for all and challenge Onion about his motivations. He found him outside the mess tent, smoking from a pipe, and the other stallion gave him a knowing look. “What do you want?”
“Why are you doing this?” Kale demanded. “You laid off from the pressure, even started acting nice, when Olenia happened. Then, during training, you actually supported my fireteam in addition to yours. There’s a pattern here, and I want to know what it is.”
Onion nodded his head. “City boy like you need a hoof-up in these parts.”
“What?” Kale spluttered. “I can take care of myself, thank you very mu-”
“That’s not the only reason,” Onion interrupted calmly. “You’re a smart guy, smarter than a lot of the townies. You got a big future ahead of you, and if you’re gonna hold onto grandpa’s land, I might as well make sure you make the most of it.”
Kale gave Onion a quizzical look. “They tell me your grandpa lost the land in a bet.”
“Yeah, he did,” Onion admitted. “It was new land the family brought from the money he sent back. He was a mercenary, you know, doing jobs here and there over in Griffonia and Zebrica. Last trip he took, though, messed with him. He started acting like a real pain-in-the-flank, lashing out at everypony, making folks’ lives miserable. Only friend he had was your besties’ uncle, Summer Bud. He was the one who won the land, you know, and he was thinking of just giving in back... but then he died, and the rest of the family, well... they didn’t forget what grandpa did to them.” Onion scoffed before puffing from his pipe, showing clear resignation and regret.
Kale listened, and learned, and felt his heart sink, but he still knew the facts. “...I still own the land fair and square. If you really want it...”
“You can keep it,” Onion said. “You’ve done a better job with it than I could have. It’s a good thing that it was you who got it, and not some pampered yuppie looking for a hobby.” He leaned forward and said quietly: “You’ve got a real talent, Kale. Keep it up.”
Kale shifted uncomfortably. “Not a really useful talent right now, though...”
Onion just shrugged. “We all gotta learn something new.”
That night, Kale lay on his cot restlessly, thinking of all he had learned, about Onion and his plight, about the upcoming deployment. He thought, most of all, of Floral, and Floral’s face, and the prospect of seeing her again one more time, when Sunday came.
It was on Friday, days later, when Kale found himself under heavy bombardment.
The Changelings had pushed their frontline back sooner than command had expected. Acornage, he had learned just a few days ago, had already fallen when their unit was formed, and the ‘lings were rapidly approaching the first line of defence. He had not heard anything about Vanhoover; the very thought of what might have happened filled him with a fear he could not assuage, so he refused to consider it at all, to keep his memories of family far away from him, lest he crumple, impotent amidst an assault by his own anxieties.
Not that he had much else to think about, given a rather different kind of assault he was presently experiencing. For the past quarter-hour, his position had been bombarded by artillery, shell after shell exploding around and above him. Even with his earplugs, his ears stung and throbbed from the pressure, and he was barely able to remain cognizant of his surroundings, of the ditch he had found himself in when this whole thing started.
Still, he did what he could, and he was able to maintain focus on the few companions he still had with him: Stony Lane, some soldiers from the radio company, and Onion Peel. Having lost contact with their sergeant, Corporal Kale found himself in the unenviable position of being in charge.
“Where’s the rest of the company?” he demanded, shouting at the PFC who held the radio.
“All scattered!” said the radio pony. “Sergeant’s two grids over, and no report from the LT!”
“Gods damn it,” Kale cursed. “Everypony, we need to-”
A large explosion came particularly close, knocking everypony off their feet. As his ears rung, he desperately shouted orders, and whether or not he could be heard, the others acted. Getting to his feet, Kale saw as Stony picked up the groaning form of one of the radio ponies and slung him over his back as Onion carefully peered over the ridge and lay down suppressive fire. Without further word, they retreated from their position, following the ditch until they could enter the woods not too far away.
For what seemed like hours, they trotted along, keeping clear of any gaps in the trees, the artillery sounding farther and farther away. They all knew, however, that it wouldn’t last, that the Changeling panzers were likely already over-running their previous position. Kale nevertheless pressed on, hoping to find some sign of the rest of the unit, or anypony, really.
He got his sign soon enough. Crouched beneath a rocky outcropping was a small group of Equestrian soldiers, and a couple of them were quite familiar to Kale. The stallion found new energy, and dashed towards them at once. “Daisy! Jovial!” he shouted, coming right up to them. “You’re here, thank Celestia!”
“Kale!” shouted Daisy. “Thank goodness you’re all right! We got separated from our units, too. Our LT, he’s...”
“He bit it,” Jovial said sadly. “Our sergeant took command, but we haven’t seen him since the first bombardment. I think...” He looked around, noting the extra hooves. “I think if we make it back to battalion, we’ll be all right.”
“That’s my plan, too,” said Kale. “Stony, that radio guy doing good?”
“He’s hanging in there thanks to my patch-up,” he said,” but he’s not walking around just yet.”
“That’s good enough. Onion, what’s the ammo situation?”
“Managed to find a few more boxes from abandoned equipment,” Onion said grimly.
Kale pursed his lips and exhaled. “That’ll have to do. Let’s move out.”
They crept through the forest towards the purported location of headquarters. Kale realized they had no way of ascertaining that it still existed. The radio had been destroyed; all they had were the rough maps that the sergeant had given him. It would have to do; they had no time for any other plans.
It was only ten minutes later when gunfire erupted from the woods.
Stony screamed in pain as he was struck in his side, and he crumpled to the ground. The one other radio pony still standing was even less lucky: he was hit in the neck, and faded from the world quickly.
Kale and the rest of them reacted swiftly, taking cover behind the trees and firing back with their rifles, their bullets heading in the general direction of the attack. Whether or not they hit anything was beyond their perception; they only knew that they had to keep up the pressure, somehow, to stay alive. They went though a couple of magazines each as they stemmed the assault, flitting shadows at the edges of their vision their only indication that the enemy still lurked.
Onion was the first to devise a plan to extricate themselves. Reaching into his pack, he produced one of their few remaining grenades, pulled the pin, and threw it towards the enemy. The insectoid screeches of the ‘lings bore into their ears right before the grenade exploded, filing the air with fire, powder, and flesh.
There was some more gunfire on their part, but slowly they came to realize that their fusillade was only met with silence. Jovial peered up from the tree he had hidden behind. “...Are they gone. I...” He sighed aloud. “I think they’re gone!”
Kale exhaled in relief, watching as Daisy approached her brother, took out her knife, and- oh no. He acted on instinct, raising his rifle and firing at “her” head. Blood and brains splattered across a shocked Jovial, who gaped as the still form of his sister morphed into the changeling that it really had been.
Immediately, Jovial raised his own rifle and pointed it at Kale, his hooves shaking. “T-t-t-tell me a secret that I told you!”
Kale didn’t move or flinch. “You actually like your dad’s cooking better than your mom’s. Now...” He pointed his own rifle. “It’s your turn.”
Jovial gasped and cringed. “I-I-I-I remember you saying that you thought your dad was just some blockhead who don’t learn nothing, but you were just a dumb kid!”
Kale swallowed, and then turned to point his rifle at Onion, but the stallion didn’t react, except to say: “When we get out of this, I’ll tell the whole town that I think you own the land.”
All three stallions stared at each other, and slowly the tension ebbed until they all collapsed onto their haunches. Jovial, however, was quickly losing his composure, shaking and shivering where he sat.
Kale took notice at once. “Jove...?”
“They took her!” he exclaimed. “They took her, and she’s gone, and...” He covered his face with his hooves, no longer capable of participating in the world.
“We’ll find her out there!” Kale tried to reassure him, but Jovial was quite beyond such platitudes. All he could do was tag along, his eyes staring far away, as they went over to check on Stony.
The big stallion was in rough shape, still alive but quite injured, with a large bruise surrounding the wound in his side. “Nothing important got hit!” said Stony, who made to stand but, in a flinch of pain, groaned aloud and fell back to the ground. “Not moving from here, though. You gotta, uh...”
“We can make a drag-carry,” Kale said. “Just gives us a fe-”
There was rumbling, and the clanking of metal, and the whirring of gears. Kale craned his neck over, and he saw it in the distance: a panzer, rolling along the nearby road. The Changeling assault column was here.
Stony looked over, and he saw it too, and sighed. “You three need to get out of here. I’m more valuable to them alive.”
Kale shook his head, defiant and distressed, but he could find no counter. “For Equestria,” he whispered aloud, and he turned to run.
The three stallions left made a break for it, dashing headlong to open the distance, but it was not enough. The trees were thinning, and they were only getting more exposed the farther they went. The panzer fired, and a shell exploded close behind them. They kept running; they had to keep running, no matter what.
The woods faded away into rocks and dirt by a riverbed. Freed from the restrictions of the forest, the panzer trained its main gun and fired right by the fleeing stallions. The force of the explosion threw them all aside, but each of them was still whole.
Kale scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t see what had happened to his companions; all he could see was the panzer, drawing closer and closer. He could see the panzer commander, grinning sadistically as he ordered the machine gunner to aim straight at Kale.
Then the panzer was struck by a great bolt of energy, the crackle of power surging around that deathly machine. Kale turned and saw his saviours, the unicorn company from his division, which meant...
“Looks like we’re just in time,” said Floral, stepping forward to inspect the scene. Catching sight of Kale, her eyes widened, and she dashed towards him. “Kale! It’s... are you all that’s left?”
“Onion and Jovial are over there!” Kale said, picking himself up, straining through the pain and aches. “Their column is closing in. We need to-”
Another blast struck them close by, and everypony scattered once again. Kale and Floral ran, making it all the way to the river before turning around to see the carnage, to see the panzers emerging like ants from the forest.
“I’ll take care of this,” said Floral, her horn charging up with magical energy. “Go!”
Kale found his body stiffening. “Floral! We have to-”
“There’s no way both of us can make it,” she insisted. “But you can, if you run fast enough, and I hold them back. I'll..." She leaned forward to whisper. "I'll see you Sunday." Then, she pushed him away. Go!”
Kale turned and ran, fording the river, the rushing water drowning out the sounds of the panzers, the sound of Floral’s attacks discharging until, some time later, they fell silent.
It was on Saturday, hours later, when Kale was debriefed in battalion headquarters.
They had moved several kilometers farther back into Equestrian territory; the first defence line had been lost for good. Kale’s company had been thoroughly destroyed, with he and Onion (who had miraculously escaped as well) being the only survivors.
He stood outside the medical tent, bandages covering his relatively minor wounds. Idly, he tugged at his epaulettes; just ten minutes ago, his battalion commander had field-promoted him to Sergeant. The new rank felt like a weight bearing down on his whole body. At the edges of his vision he saw another coming: Corporal Onion, the bandage across his face already having bled through. Silently, he reached into his saddlebag with his mouth, producing a folder.
“They’re forming a new platoon around us,” he said. “New recruits, mostly.”
Kale nodded somberly, tucked the folder into his own bag. “Are you... hanging in there?” he asked, staring at the bandage.
Onion’s lips hardened. “War broke my grandpa. It...” He grimaced, his jaw shaking, but, very quickly, he was steely and cold again. “It won’t break me.”
Kale sighed. “I’ll be fine, too.”
He began to walk, away from the tent, away from everything. He stepped forward, for a moment, into another place untouched by his present struggles. The camp, the injured ponies moaning behind him, the whole mechanism of war around him; it all faded away as he thought of his family, and of Floral.
He sniffed, tears moistening his eyes, as he hoped, and longed, for when Sunday came.