> Die Heimat ist Weit
>  by Grainne Ni Bhroin
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Homeland is Far Away
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How much farther is it, I’m freezing back here?”

That was Coldstream, ironic for his name but he always got the worst of the cold. Though to be fair to him we were 4 hours out into the drifts a long way away from the Grifreich border. To be fair to me though, he was in the back seat snuggled up with Gordon while I had to drive. Still, I checked the maps.

“We’ll be at the outskirts of Oberhasli in a couple hours, we’ll have to lose the car there though.”

It was unfortunate but the car was too visible. We’d, well, ‘liberated’ it a couple days ago. To be fair it wasn’t like the previous owner was going to use it, some hot shit goat who thought he’d managed to capture four ‘insurgents’ single hoofed and forgot that three of us have talons. 

Coldstream grumbled at that, again. We’d all agreed when we took it that we couldn’t take it all the way but well, it would be hard to say goodbye to the heater. Before I could tell him again though Hawthorn chimed in.

“You know we have to. It’s going to be way too suspicious, three birds and a deer in a Capran Security car trying to cross the border? We’d be arrested on the spot.”

It was the same reason it was just the four of us traveling together, Gordon, Coldstream, Hawthorn, and myself. There had been some 20 of us left in that field hospital, wounded, broken, but alive and determined to get everyone home. So we agreed, travel in small groups. The heavily wounded would be smuggled out in medical convoys, the medical and relief workers who weren’t already friendly to us could at least be counted on to turn a blind eye. The lightly wounded would be grouped with the uninjured. 

Before you ask, I was the injured member of the group. The concussion had passed yesterday, hence why it was my turn to drive, but I had been right on the edge of a blast and only survived due to my armored wing. Shrapnel is a striapach. 

We had all set out armed, agreeing that until we got to the cities it was safer that way. We’d also agreed, no symbols, no marks, nothing that could tie anyone to the FCF. Most of us had still kept something, an armband, a moral patch, some memento. Something to remember the lost. Hidden in pockets, worn under coats. Mine was tucked into a breast pocket, next to my heart.

Everything else was stashed under the seats, by this point if we needed them in a rush it was already too late. So it was better to keep them well hidden. And once we got to the edge of Oberhasli we left them with the car to make the rest of the way on paw. I was still leaning against Hawthorn for support as we walked.

“One more time. Our cover story is?” Gordon prompted us all in turn.

“Same as when we entered, relief workers.” Replied Hawthorn. A job we honestly could have done. I still had combat medic certifications, and all the others had learned from me.

“And we’re leaving now because?

Coldstream piped up, “We’re going home now because the intervention has rendered the job too dangerous.” Again, not entirely false, the EEF had hit a hospital. ‘Missile guidance failure’ they had called it. The reality was probably more likely intelligence failure but they could never admit that.

“And Gráinne, your injuries?”

“Ambulance hit an IED, I survived because I was in the back with the patient.” No one was using IEDs in this, but the EEF and Equestrian media said we were. So we might as well use their own stories as cover.

“And everyone has their passport?”

We all nodded silently. This was the risky part, we’d all left our phones, ID’s, anything that could be used to track us, back home. All we had were the passports. There was no way home without them, and they might have at least spared us a bullet for treason if we were captured, they were all Grifreich issued. Can’t betray a nation you aren’t a citizen of after all.

But it meant that, once again, there was a record. Someone would note that we had crossed the border again. Grifreich might have stayed neutral, but Equestria developed all tech used at the border, and probably had a half dozen backdoors into it all. But it was better than risking crossing through the drifts. If a patrol picked us up there then no amount of explaining would get us out of trouble.

“Then let’s get this over with, waiting in the cold won’t make a difference.”

The other side effect of leaving our phones meant that, until we reached our contacts on the Grifreich side of the border, no one knew we were coming home. We had no idea what news everyone else had gotten, and no idea what was waiting for us. A hero’s welcome? Driven out of town for getting everyone killed? A CBCI tac team? I honestly don’t know which would be worse. If nothing else I’m sure Blackthorn’s sister will never forgive me.

It really did feel like everyone in the checkpoint was watching us, and it didn't help that a lot of them were actually watching me. Or, staring but acting like they’re not, because they know it’s rude to stare. Between the antlers and the injuries I tend to stand out and you learn to recognize that particular look when you’re a hybrid. But by now we’re all ready for a Capran strike team or EEF Spec Ops to come for us so the staring was very much not helping. 

While we didn’t see any signs of an ambush, a couple of the border guards gave us a knowing look. Had they remembered us from the last crossing? Were my antlers going to blow this whole thing for all of us? Gordon handed over our passports and just as I was ready to hear a ‘step aside please’ all we got was “Welcome back to Grifreich, must be nice to finally be coming home.”

My heart was in my throat by then, so it fell to Coldstream to respond, something about how he couldn’t wait for a proper meal again. A couple of laughs, and we were through and I was breathing again. Though we all held our tongues until we were all the way through and out of the building.

“I’m pretty sure she recognized us.” I started.

“What, the ‘coming home’ comment? I’m pretty sure she just saw the date on the Capra stamp.” Hawthorn replied, already tucking his passport away.

“No, the way she was looking at us, like she knew something.” my voice grew agitated. “I should have crossed alone, I’m too recognizable.”

“Gráinne,” Gordon’s voice was steady in a way that cut through everything else. “If anyone did recognize us, they didn’t say anything. We’re safe as can be now.” He counted out credit chips as he continued. “All that’s left now is to find [Insert Contact name] and we can arrange a train home. And then we can… we can figure out who’s left, and who else got home safe. And if I got anyone else killed.”

Coldstream cut him off there, “You’re not responsible for anyone’s death, I’ll keep saying it until you get it. Now let’s get to the safehouse, we could all use some rest in a real bed before the train.”

Everyone murmured their agreement to that. It had been months now of rough sleeping; shelled out buildings, tents, car seats. A real bed would be good, even if I no longer had anyone to share it with. And I’d be able to reach my parents, tell them I was alive, tell them who wasn’t. Tell them we were coming home.