> The Kingdom and the Leviathan
>  by beckoning devil
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Act I, Chapter I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Canterlot, Princess Celestia's Private Quarters

Princess Celestia, despite herself, couldn't help but pace. She saw it as unfitting a ruler, who should always remain calm when distressed. 

She had, in her many years as ruler of Equestria, encountered many strange races, such as the Changelings, and whatever thing that Discord was. She still didn't trust him, even after his reformation. 

But this was something different. This race, a member of whom had been presented to her just 20 minutes ago, could not be classified as anything close to what they were used to seeing. This creature had a pink coloring to him along with short brown hair, and was wearing rather dirty gray and brown clothing. 

And what made it worse was the fact that there were about 750 of them now living in to Equestria. They had taken them in, and offered them food. However, they had to make sure that more wouldn't come, so all communications with the outside were suspended, at least for now. 

"What would he do," Celestia asked herself, looking at a painting of Starswirl the Bearded "if only there was a way to make them disappear."

But that wouldn't do, and she knew it. Going through the options in her mind, she finally decided on the only humane thing, given the circumstances. Indoctrination.

Just as they had done with the other races, the only thing that would be fair is allowing them into their society with open hooves. However, just how much they would want this would be uncertain.

> Act I, Chapter II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fort Bliss, Texas
July 28th, 1851

"Today we're going to show how to kill a man with a bayonet."

Drill Sergeant Mondale, who had said that, couldn't have been a year older than me, so if he had killed anyone with cold steel, I figured, it had been as an infant. 

He produced his bayonet, which was obviously new, judging from its cleanliness, and the way that the afternoon sunlight reflected off it, almost as the sun reflects off water. 

"Standard-issue bayonet, to be fixed onto your .69 caliber smoothbore flintlock. When you are given the command, you will slide it onto the muzzle end of your musket. It is three-sided, which will endure that anything you stab with it will have a three-sided wound in its flesh. And even if the enemy surgeon, by some act of God, manages to close this wound, you've still got a three-sided wound in an organ..."

I tried to listen as he went on, but in all honesty I was too tired for this (we had been jogging all day), so I started a whispered conversation with Recruit Wright, one of my friends that I had met in training. He was a kind, respectful man, though a bit old-fashioned in his thinking. 

"Psst, hey, Tom," I whispered in as low a voice as I could, knowing my voice would travel quite easily in the still air, save for Mondale's voice, as well as the inadvertent shuffling of the 150 recruits in the training company. 

"Yeah?" His voice carried the Southern accent he was born with, a telltale sign of him speaking, since he was the only Virginian in the platoon. The rest of us hailed from Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, and New Jersey. 'The Alleyway Volunteers' was a term Tom was fond of giving to us, which seemed fair enough. 

"What do you say to some poker tonight, along with that Greene kid?" The Recruit I was referencing was a Baltimore-born kid (such a term seemed to apply to the eighteen-year old, he was obviously not used to the idea of being a soldier yet) whose skills at poker and acquiring extra food were becoming more and more well known within the company.

"Sounds like a plan, maybe after-"

"Recruit Wright and Recruit Carter, QUIET DOWN!" Mondale's voice nearly deafened my ears, as I fought the urge to laugh, given that he was asking the very thing he had been doing the opposite of since we arrived, a few weeks ago.

But, he was a Drill Sergeant, so that's what he was being paid for: the ability to yell in the faces of fresh conscripts, who had never held a musket (Tom was an exception) and were certainly wishing that the conflict with the Equestrians could be resolved peacefully.

That term still felt weird to me. 'Equestrian'. It seemed too long. In the past, we had given the British the term 'Redcoats', and the Indians were 'Redskins' or 'Barbarians'. In this war, we hadn't even figured out what the enemy looked like, so I guess the term 'Equestrian' was there to stay until we had our first battle with them. My guess was more Indians. That would be fun, more fights with those tomahawk-wielding devils. I hadn't personally ever seen an Indian before, but most people knew they preferred to kill you up close. It seemed glorious. Some in the company, however, were radical enough to suggest that they might be Russians. 

Mondale, satisfied that he had quieted us down through his ear-shattering voice, continued with his instruction. I briefly wondered how he had heard us, then simply decided that he had magical ears.

"Remember, when you use this, you will stab and twist, being sure to strike in the chest. That is all. Are there any questions?"

Drill Sergeant Mondale pointed to a recruit, probably in his thirties, who asked, at a rather sloppy imitation of parade rest, 

"Sergeant, I mean sir, what if they're not like us at all? What if they don't look anything like us?"

I got a good laugh from that, as did Tom and some of the others. The recruit's face turned slightly red as he was clearly cursing himself for suggesting something like that. The very idea was absurd. There was no way that we were fighting some kind of-

"Quiet, quiet down," Drill Sergeant Mondale was serious, something I didn't expect him to be on such a humorous topic, "You have to be ready for anything. We still aren't sure if these are Indians, Mexicans, Spaniards, Canadians, Russians, or rogue frontiersmen, or something else. Like I've said before, we know nearly nothing about this enemy, other than the fact that they are responsible for the deaths of over 800 settlers. You've heard this before, but you must keep in mind that they're willing to kill civilians without cause." 

The laughter had died down, and now Drill Sergeant Mondale was looking out on 150 white-coated recruits, all wearing dead serious expressions.

That little voice in the back of my mind, that I learned to suppress, was there again, with questions of 'Why am I here?' and 'Why not send in the professional army?'. I shut those questions out of my mind, like I had done so many times before, but this time they were replaced by a new one, which for the rest of my training never seemed to go away:

'What if they are alien?' 

I suppose I had been thinking that since that day that the conscription notice had been nailed to my door, and I had become a soldier in the Army of the USA. Perhaps the Recruit had finally gotten me to acknowledge that I honestly didn't know.

"Any other questions? No? Alright. Recruits, atten-HUT!"

We got off the dirt ground, and stood at attention, knees bent slightly, feet spread apart just enough to allow a foot's worth of space between them. 

The rest of the day was a blur for me. We drilled, marched up and down the field, fake muskets in hand, and took imaginary volleys at potato sacks. We even did a few bayonet charges on them, then retired for the day. 

I didn't have guard duty that night, so I would have been given a lucky day of full sleep. Not tonight. Even though Tom and I did best Greene at poker, I still couldn't shake that question from my mind.

Who are we fighting?

Suffice to say, I didn't get much sleep that night.

> Act I, Chapter III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fort Bliss, Texas
August 2nd, 1851

It was the week before graduation that we had our first training accident. 

The company was training in rank firing, a drill in which the first rank fires their muskets, then kneels, enabling the second line standing behind them to fire over their heads. Following this, the second rank kneels and so on down the line, depending on how many ranks we were deployed in.

Standing in the third rank, I didn't get a good view of what happened, since I had two other soldiers standing directly in front of me.

"Alright, one more time, and we'll go to dinner. Make ready!" Drill Sergeant Mondale was standing off to the side, possibly to prevent us from hitting him. There were a few men in the company that would like to do just that very much, the same kind that complained about nearly everything. 

I held my musket in front of me, and pulled back the hammer, adding to the symphony of clicking and clacking as the 150 men did it at the same time. Though I was not in the first rank, it was necessary for everyone to prepare, so that when it was your turn to fire, you didn't waste valuable seconds.

"First rank, take aim!"

"Fire!" The 50 muskets gave off a piercing, near synchronized, series of BANGs.

These were live rounds, so several of them struck the pots and pans in front of us with an audible CLANG, as the metal musketballs struck the metal pans. Smoke drifted from their weapons, and headed off to the east.

"First rank, kneel! Second rank, take aim!" 

"Fire!" More CLANGs and BANGs.

"Second rank, kneel! Third rank, aim!"

The soldier in front of me kneeled, and I tried to calm myself, to make my aim better. Deep breaths, deep breaths...the pans aren't out to kill you, nothing to be afraid of.

"Fire!"

"Sergeant I've got a-" Some Recruit had raised his hand, a practice done on the firing range to indicate a jam or misfire. It would've been fine, except he was in the first rank. That meant that, oh no...

He began to wail, or at least I could begin to hear him after I had fired, as had the other 50 men. He was now looking at his hand, blood spurting out of it.

"Break formation! MEDIC! MEDIC!" Sergeant Mondale was already pushing us out of the way.

We began to step away from him. Those who couldn't see him now got a clear view, and we saw that there was gaping hole right in the middle of his right hand, oh God you could see there was another hole...this one a bit lower in his right arm, where the blood from that was spilling onto his white recruit uniform...then spilled onto the ground...

"Snap out of it! One of you, uh, you! Help me stop the bleeding!" Recruit Greene walked forward, his hands trembling as he held down the wound, all the while avoiding the wounded man's eyes.

If you had told me that the war was over, if you had told me I could go home, if you had told me that this was all a dream, I wouldn't have moved an inch. The sight of blood, and this man's pain, simply froze me in place, as it did to the other 148 men, standing in a circle around the scene, all our eyes fixed on what we were sure to become. 

We were going to die. In some way or another, at least one other person in the company was going to wind up just like this Recruit, his eyes producing tears, as he knew, as well as we did, that his hand, no, his arm, was going to be amputated. But this time, he would be begging for life, not just him arm. 

"WHY! WHY! WHY!" He was screaming, wailing, calling for his mother, calling for God to tell him that this was a mistake, that he wasn't actually wounded.

The medics finally arrived creating a path through the circle around him, they knew this man's fate as much as we did, and didn't say a word.

As they loaded him away, I swear that, even though his face was contorted in pain, that he was staring right at me. Almost like he was whispering the words, "Carter...help..."

The circle of us simply stood there, either looking at the ground or looking at each other. We must have looked like schoolchildren discovering a new type of bug, contemplating whether to step on it or not. 

I noticed that Tom had his back turned from the circle, so I simply patted him on the back, as he looked at me, his face red from tears, as he made out the words, "Why?"

The only answer I could give was a sad, slow shaking of my head.

That night, there were no after-dinner drills or activities. We simply retired to quarters, and it was there I cried myself to sleep, as did the rest of the company. 

> Act I, Chapter IV
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clovis, Frontier Zone
August 4th, 1851

So this is what I had been waiting for, graduation. The time to finally become a soldier. Only, there wasn't much graduation. 

Sure, some civilians had come, but we were so far away from civilization that barely 40 people came. 

We did the usual marching past them, being called by name to receive a Private's insignia, and even fired a volley of blanks into them, which led to some children squealing and their parents laughing at their surprise.

Then came the matter of the women. I'm sure that Drill Sergeant Mondale had his own ideas about getting one of his own, but goddamn, the speed at which those 15 women were claimed by these 149 sex-starved men.

Tom, Greene and I, as well as some of the others, kept a tally for some of the more "gifted" members of the company. At least, that's what I thought to be the most correct term.

The following day, we were given our uniforms, the same kind of bluecoat that Mondale had worn, along with blue pants, a blue cap, and black shoes. We finally looked at least something like soldiers, and we were given our assignments. 

I was assigned to the 21st Infantry Regiment, along with Tom (thank God, him and I were becoming close friends), and 30 others. Following this, the 32 of us were given our muskets, and other equipment. Canteen, spare ammo, a bayonet, and so on. We put them on over our blues, and then were loaded onto a train heading West.

Along the way, we were briefed about the current situation. While we were in training, militia units had been formed along the border states, and they had orders to simply hold position and wait for us to arrive. 

That didn't fare so well with the Equestrians, who had increased their activity. Namely, more and more people were reporting sightings of them, yet sorting through claims of them being fish, horses, birds, and even reports of them being simple Indians was tiring for the bureaucracy. So, we had no idea who we were fighting, even after all this time.

And there was no chance for peace. General Scott, the commander of this new Army of the West had made it quite clear that we were to shoot first, and ask questions later. After all, they attacked first.

The plan at this point was to form three armies, all three would move straight west, and each army of about 200,000 men would then split off into three prongs and spread out when we met resistance. The idea was that one prong would attack the direct route to their capital, while the other two split off and gradually encircle it. General Scott called it the "Trident Plan", and he also told us that, barring any sort of heavy resistance on the part of the Equestrians, we would "be home before the first snowflake".

This certainly helped raise morale, as we traded stories about our pasts, and what we planned to do when we got home. 

When we arrived at our destination, the rather large frontier city of Clovis, which had about 4,000 residents, we were formed into our regiments, and simply told to wait for a week while the top brass got everything together. We were given rather strict instruction to not be outside after dark (unless on duty), after all, this city of Clovis was a frontline one, and Colonel Gearhart, in command of the 21st, didn't want any unnecessary casualties.

I didn't blame him. On my first assignment of  guard duty, now being called 'ghost duty', I was unlucky enough to get the night shift, which meant long hours in the cold, and the dark that prevented you from seeing your own hand in front of your face. 

I was scanning my area, left, right, up, down, and about to be relieved, when a gust of air hit me in the face. I started to spit out sand that was blasted in my face, when I heard the most haunting laugh I have ever heard. 

Immediately I tried to come up with an explanation. Surely it was a trick of the wind, or the sound of some Private pleasing a lady.  

I reached for my beans, and tried eating them again, when for a second time, that laugh was there, more haunting then the first.

I suppose that I now wanted to believe that it was a child, because I knew that accepting the glaring truth that I was about to die would be more painful than if I simply went without knowing exactly when it happened. Almost like a man asking for a blindfold before he is shot.

Might as well die on a full stomach. I forced myself to eat, and I saw my hand trembling as I did so. It made quite a mess on the dirt, as nine out of every ten beans missed my mouth. 

"Look at him! He's so ugly!" A feminine voice.

More laughing, and I decided to end this, partly because I had finished, or in this case, dropped my beans. I grabbed my musket, and started moving towards the sound. 

You know that feeling when you're being watched? The hairs on your neck stand straight up, and you go into the 'fight or flight' response that was, through so many deaths, put into the human race. Well, imagine that, and you choose the 'fight' option. You start to get that adrenaline rush. You feel superhuman, like you can do anything, if you so choose. And you're armed. You're ready to show this thing who's the true master of the American continent. 

Then reality hits you in the face. You're alone. You can't see more than five feet in front of you, and Jesus is it cold, even with your Army uniform. Also, you haven't got the slightest clue whether you really want to take a life or not, and you don't even want to be there. 

So, your adrenaline starts to fade and you begin to feel fear. I was in that state, that halfway point, when I saw it happen.

There was a collection of rocks that they were behind. I heard their giggling, and had my musket at the ready, remembering my training. "Shoot for the center of the formation," Mondale had insisted, "If you're shooting at one man, then don't. Capture them, or bayonet them if that fails. Shooting is a waste of ammunition at that range, especially if you're alone". 

I was about to realize my mistake, about to call for help, when they bolted out. 

Three, I could make out three, of these figures, they were on all fours, started running away. I panicked, and in the brief moment I had, fired a shot at them, missing spectacularly.

I knew it! We were fighting Indians! Huzzah!

Before I could decide what to do next, the alarm had sounded, though not because of my shot. We were under attack.
I could hear one of the feminine voices yell back at me, "JERK!" as I sprinted to the assembly area. 

Colonel Gearhart was in his element, arranging us into a 200-man column (I was in the fourth rank, each rank had about 10 men, since we were to march down a tight street). 

"Fix bayonets." I produced mine, and slid it on, just like Mondale had shown us.

"Forward, MARCH." 

I made sure to be standing next to Tom as we began to march into the fray, civilians running and pushing through our formation as we struck up Yankee Doodle.

"Back there!"

"There's so many of them!"

"Help us!"

"Save my baby!"

That was when we heard the phrase that would forever change human history, and the nature of this conflict.

"They're not human!"

I tried my best to ignore them, reassure myself that we were fighting Indians, as our regiment started to encounter less civilians. Then the striking of hooves on dirt was heard, followed by Colonel Gearhart.

"Column, halt!" 

We stopped, and saw them for the first time, illuminated by the lamps that had been hung up on the buildings. 

My God...they weren't human. 

The word of this spread through the column like wildfire, as we all simultaneously experienced an intense 'fight or flight' moment. 

They were like horses, only they weren't being ridden by anyone. Our enemy were horses. I saw Tom cross himself, and I did the same.

"Sweet Mary, mother of God, please deliver me-"

"There's about 100 of 'em! Come on, we got this!" Tom.

"No we don't! Fuck this, I'm-"

"Steady!" Colonel Gearhart. "STEADY UP YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"

"We're in range!"

"They're running at full gallop!"

"FIRE BY RANK! MAKE READY!" Colonel Gearhart knew we didn't have much time, they'd be on us in just under 20 seconds. I heard the same ugly chorus of weapons preparing for death as I had heard in training. 

"FIRST RANK, AIM!" Looks of confusion in these devil-spawn, as they seemed to understand us. However, they didn't understand why we were pointing our weapons at them. They slowed down, allowing us, clear, slow-moving targets.

"FIRE!" The same series of BANGs that we had gotten used to in training. This time, they were joined by screams, as several of them collapsed, blood beginning to leak onto the street. Their armor, that I could now see them wearing, was obviously not built for this.

In the distance, we could hear other volleys being fired, as the garrison of Americans began to do something we had done since Bunker Hill. We held the line.

"FIRST RANK, KNEEL!" These grotesque beings now realized that their hope of survival lay in reaching us before we could fire more volleys, and they picked up speed once more. We had time for just one more volley, something Colonel Gearhart must have realized, because we could hear the urgency in his voice.

"SECOND RANK, AIM!" No pause this time. "FIRE!"

The figures that had been hit disappeared underneath the others, who simply jumped over them. I could see the hate in their eyes as they closed in, and before the third rank had a chance, they were on us. I readied myself into the melee position, something hard to do when you have people standing to the front and back of you, but I tried it anyway, being careful where I put my bayonet.

The war cry that they bellowed was now covered by the sound of men becoming what we had been all these years. Animals. 

We had progressed in technology, and we had progressed in our understanding of the world and ourselves. But that didn't change the fact that right now, it was kill or be killed. Right now, we killed, impaled, stabbed, and bashed as much of these heathens as possible, because it seemed to be the noblest thing a man could do, to sink down to the level of savages, and fight off this foreign enemy.

In the confusion, I found an opening, where I could see one of them, with an orange coloring to him. Or maybe it was a female. In any case, this one was wearing a brown hat, one remarkably similar to the ones that the civilians here seemed content to wear.

I looked to my right, found Tom, and pointed this guy out. He nodded, and we approached him, keeping our bayonets in front of us. 

I approached it from the front, and it finally noticed me, and then, to my surprise, I could hear it muttered in perfect English, above the din of men in hand to whatever-they-had combat, with an accent similar to Tom's, "You wanna go? Alright, sugarcube." Its voice was very similar to a female, and I briefly imagined this being the same one who had taunted me earlier.

I started to stab with my bayonet, but it was too quick. It dodged to the side, and before Tom or I could react, struck out with its hind legs, in the same way a real horse might try to buck a rider off itself. 

Thankfully, it was a grazing hit, but it still was the most painful thing I had ever felt. I promptly coughed up blood onto it, as 
Tom slashed its side, causing it to howl in pain. Good. The sight of their alien blood made me grin, despite myself.

I now tried tackling it, and I briefly managed to succeed in doing so, but damn, this thing was strong. It managed to get me off, and rolled before Tom could sink his bayonet into her flesh.

"Y'all are makin' this too easy! I wanna see you monkeys fight!" It now charged me head on, and before I could ready myself, it knocked me off my feet, and onto my back, where it raised it's...hoof-looking things...and prepared to take my life. I closed my eyes in fear, and knew that it would be over soon.

Then, the call came out. 

"RETREAT! EVERYPONY RETREAT!" 

There was silence, as we tried to figure out  just which side's commander had said that. Oddly enough, there was no question now that these things spoke English, after all, when you're eye to eye with them, you can certainly pick up on their speech patterns.

The thing on top of me promptly broke and ran, as did the others. Tom gave me his hand, as we began securing the area. 

The other columns had driven back the other horses, and now we faced the agonizing task of counting our dead. There were no songs, no bands struck up a tune, nothing. 

It was our first experience with the enemy, and we had won. However, at the end of the day, they had lost 67, and we had lost 238. The wails of our wounded, as well as theirs, was something I will never forget.

"Acceptable casualties" as President Fillmore put it when he personally toured the site the next morning.

> Act I, Chapter V
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Wild West, August 5th, 1851
Day 1 of the Invasion of Equestria

We were moving out. The time had come, at last, to take this fight to them.

Over the course of the last few days, we had assembled the three army groups. The 21st Infantry was placed in Army Group A, which would directly attack their capital. Good. Time to pay for our losses with the razing of their foul place...

Oddly enough, there had been no mention of a change of tactics, only a directive saying that our service was of great importance to the survival of the human race. 

We were also given a paper, signed by President Fillmore, that essentially stated the same thing.

All bullshit. How can our cause be worth that when we lost three times as many men on the first battle?

Marching out in our long blue lines each numbering about 1,000 men, that easily stretched as far as the eye could see, was the Army of the West. Remarkable still was our cavalry, what Scott had called our 'secret weapon' in the sense that these devil-horses, which some were beginning to call 'ponies' to reduce to confusion, had not seen our horses yet, so there would be plenty of confusion in their lines as they saw our men on horseback, sabers drawn, running at full gallop to them.

And finally, in the rear, were our artillery pieces. Most of the crews were veterans of the Mexican-American War, where we proved that our men could reload five times faster than a Mexican, so, if they had any sort of artillery, I wondered how long it would take them to fire it.

We had 12-pounders, to be used in normal engagements. We also were packing our siege guns, 18 and 24-pounders, along with our 8 and 10-inch mortars. Perhaps the one part of General Scott's directive that I agreed with was that we were going to "blast these things to kingdom come" before they could even reach us.

So we marched. We marched, and we marched, for days on end. Thankfully, the Army Groups were arranged so that Army Group B led the assault, followed by Army Group A, then C. I suppose it was to give us veterans of the Battle of Clovis their much-needed rest. There was barely any guard duty, so we had some time to reflect. 

The strategic reasoning behind this was that should Army Group B encounter resistance, Army Group A would not be touched, and thus ready for the hard campaign to their capital. Logistically, this sounded genius, but tactically, each Army 
Group marched within eyesight of each other, which raised a cloud of dust that could be spotted well before we arrived. 

On Day 4, we encountered a signpost, with a rather happy pink horse drawn onto it, welcoming us to Equestria, and telling us to "Enjoy your Stay!".

The day following, we encountered a settlement that wasn't on any maps, so Army Group B deployed in battle formation, with the rest of us placed on standby. 

I got a glimpse of the battle from what the soldiers of Army Group B told us later that night.

They had seen tents pitched around the city, obviously the base of an army. So, the artillery had begun bombarding the town, which caused them to assemble into their formations remarkably similar to ours. 

It was then decided to send the advance guard of about 7,000 men forward, and use them along with our artillery to take the town. Our cavalry were going to be used later.

They deployed in a single large mass, which was being straightened out right before the eyes of Army Group B, their force numbering about 5,000 horses, was perhaps trying to mimic us, but we had our muskets, something they didn't.

As the soldiers of Army Group B advanced, they came under artillery fire. Great blasts of purple and pink exploded around them, only two shots causing any casualties.

So the order was given to close into range with them, and we did. They simply stood, watching our every move as Army 
Group B let loose with a thunderous volley that even I could hear, all the way behind them.

About a fourth of their line fell, and they promptly decided to charge, not sitting around. 

However, this time, we had artillery, which started opening holes in their charge, which made them fall back while our lines were reloading.

That was the Battle of Appeloosa, as we called it, judging from the signposts. The Army of the West halted there for the night, as we saw that this town was not unlike Clovis, and their architecture was remarkably similar to ours.

Losses for the day, 20 men killed through artillery on our side, and 2,100 killed on theirs. That was more like it. 

We didn't, however, capture their artillery, which we had seen fled the scene as the battle began.

I wonder if their leader had told them that they were acceptable losses, or what type of propaganda they had used.

As the Army of the West settled down for the night, there was some talk of finding some of their women, and using them to our advantage, so to speak.

Colonel Gearhart had overheard this, and gave us a speech that we must not sink to the level of savagery that these brutes had become used to. And, there were no civilians there to begin with. They had been evacuated, we presumed, before the battle began.

The next day, we awoke to see multiple birds circling over us, but we then saw that they were some of these horses too. 

We saw them perform intricate tricks over us, perhaps to intimidate us. But we held steady, and held our fire as well.

The order was given to now begin the Trident Plan. Our Army Group would continue marching straight west, as the others took up our flanks and pushed forward. 

Thus began another cycle of marching, marching, marching, to the point that we figured that we had won the war already. 

We had only encountered one city, and had taken it easily enough. But those people that had suggested that we had won should have taken a look into the sky, seeing that we were being trailed by these flying devils.

They would follow us, perhaps 20 at a time, then the original 20 would be replaced with another 20, and the now tired ones would fly back to someplace out of sight.

That someplace was decided to be the direction of their capital, so we marched after them, the tunes of Yankee Doodle and Old 1812 becoming burned into my mind.

I heard some of the more inexperienced men calling it the splendor of war, but I refused to believe that. 

To me, the splendor of war was lost at Clovis.

> Act I, Chapter VI
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ponyville, Equestria
Sugarcube Corner, now Headquarters of the 1st Eastern Army
Day 10 of the Invasion of Equestria

For just a moment, the Ponyville headquarters was in chaos. Messengers were giving reports right on top of each other, and every colonel of every regiment, it seemed, needed to talk with General Shining Armor. 

"Ok, enough!" His voice caught their surprise, and he then added in a more conversational tone, "One at a time, please."

The first messenger awkwardly shifted from hoof to hoof, looking around the headquarters, which had actually used to be his sister's library.

Twily...General Armor felt tears pricking at his eyes as he tried not to think about how she was stationed on the front at this moment, directing the artillery batteries that had been hastily set-up at the frontier. 

"Well, sir, our reconnaissance pegasi have determined that there are indeed, three armies invading us." She pointed them out on the map, placing them just three days from Ponyville at this point.

"Ok, anything else?"

"Yes, uh, we have received word as to the size of their army, it numbers at about 600,000, sir."

Damn.

"Alright, next, uh, you!"

And so the process began, as each messenger gave Shining Armor a report that further turned the odds in the favor of this General Scott, as he was now being called.

At the conclusion, Shining Armor had figured out that the invaders had their own type of ponies, which were a bit larger, though they didn't speak, or have cutie marks, so the order was to regard them as combatants when being ridden by a human. He had also heard about the battle at Appeloosa. Nasty business, that.

He sighed, and thought about the circumstances so far. He had about 50,000 ponies under his command, about 5,000 of them trained soldiers (what was left of the Royal Guard),  the rest were conscripts, or worse yet, the town militia. They were expected to receive the garrison of Appeloosa in the following day, as they had fallen back rather rapidly.

All other reinforcements were out of the question. The Princesses had decided that there were to be two main armies, one stationed in Canterlot, another stationed near Cloudsdale.

As he closed his eyes, he remembered his first day in tactics training. Prewar life was beginning to be more and more harder to remember, and so this memory was strained.

"How can a nation such as ours stand a chance to the Griffons?" This was before the days of the Changelings, back when 
things were simpler, it seemed. "Our warriors aren't exactly on par with them, but we lack in fighting ability, we must make up in our magic, and our tactics."

The instructor, an aging former general of Equestria, had surveyed the class, and removed his glasses. 

"Imagine that you're fighting an enemy that has better warriors and has the capacity to match you in terms of magic. What do you do then?"

"Well", a mare had stood up, and began to answer. "You have two options. Either engage in a guerilla action, or attack them when you are numerically superior."

Shining Armor remembered that the older stallion had looked her over, and then said, "That would be correct. However, what if you must fight in open battle?"

The mare had paused, and searched for words.

"Alright, sit down. In such an engagement, you must find tactics that take away their advantage, or find flaws in their army, and exploit them. Or...you must change tactics."

Going back to the present, Shining Armor struggled to see how this could work. He thought about all the types of tactics and strategies that could be used, and he eventually decided on something that the humans had been reluctant in doing thus far...


Eastern Approaches to Ponyville
August 18th, 1851
Day 13 of the Invasion of Equestria

The regiments were ready. We were deployed in two waves, my regiment being in the first. Here it seemed my luck ran out, and I was in the first rank. Tip of the spear, as it were.

We all knew that we were in Equestria proper, since we could see that this was a major army base for them, and if one squinted his eyes, he could just make out the towers of what was assumed to be Canterlot, their capital that we had been hearing quite a bit about.

The air was still and tense as we were given instruction by Colonel Gearhart, instructing us to take no prisoners, in a rather poetic way.

Next, we were given the doctrine of the day, which stated to avoid civilian casualties when possible. I personally didn't want to be anywhere near their civilians, those things were becoming increasingly nauseating for me to look at, because with them came the fear, and memories, that I was beginning to collect on this "just crusade".

Finally, we were given a drink of whiskey, which helped steady the nerves of some, and further deteriorated those of others.

"Fix bayonets!" Here we go.

"Hey, John," It was Tom, standing to my left "If I don't make it, give this to ma and pa in Virginia." He produced a case, which when I opened it, held some letters, and a lock of his hair.

I nodded, kicking myself for not doing the same. We shook hands, as Colonel Gearhart began to speak.

"Soldiers of the Army of the West! Take no prisoners! Forward, MARCH!"

The tune of Yankee Doodle began to play, as our long lines, which must have looked very impressive to the defenders, began marching towards them. A few men began to sing it, and I decided to join them.


"Yankee Doodle went to town a'ridin' on a pony, 
stuck a feather in his cap and called it maccaroni! 
Father and I went down to camp, along with Captain Goodin,
And there we saw the men and boys as thick as hasty puddin'!"



The whole line had erupted spontaneously into this song, and if one listened, they could hear the response of the defenders. We had more men, and Colonel Gearhart, on horseback, was encouraging everyone to sing it.

We began to notice some rocks that were laid in front of us, which were oddly enough, painted yellow and red.

"Go around them, men!"

As soon as we did that, we were rewarded with a series of explosions, all coming from the town of Ponyville. Their artillery was firing, and their shells began exploding overhead. Behind me, the line must have been in chaos, as soldiers struggled to fill in for the fallen ones, as those who were hit were begging for their help.

"Steady, steady! Keep moving!"

Then it hit me, as we approached another set of rocks.

"THEY'RE RANGE MARKERS!" I screamed it as loud as I could.

"Who said that?" 

"John, this better not be a joke-" 

Another series of explosions struck our line, as their artillery began pounding the whole line.

We continued to advance, and we began to cheer as our artillery, having found a firing solution, began responding with their own percussion-capped shells, which began blasting the hell out of these satanic creatures' imitation of our cannons.

Then we found the first trench. The regiment to our right, the 42nd, if I wasn't mistaken, was about 30 feet from it when a series of war cries were let out, and the horses hopped out of the trench and started galloping toward them. The Colonel of that regiment quickly halted them, and fired a volley, but that was all they had time for, and in a few more seconds, the horses were on them.

Colonel Gearhart answered our turned faces with a simple command.

"Continue marching, the second wave will take care of them."

We did so, as the several of the regiments ran straight into these trenches. Each time they did, the horses would hop out, quickly kill a good part of the regiment, then pull back to Ponyville.

We must have spent an hour clearing the field to Ponyville, there was a total of four lines of trenches dug into that field, which showed that they had developed a rather clever counter to our muskets, namely, not allowing us the time to properly fire volleys at them.

Our regiment, in all of this, was pretty unscathed, having lost only a few men to artillery. We were ordered to hold position, along with four other regiments, and wait for the second wave.

They didn't need to tell me twice. After 5 minutes, the second wave caught up with us, and we began to enter the city. We knew what we were getting into, judging from the sheer number of them that had pulled away from the trenches.

If the streets of Clovis had been hard enough to hold on to, then I shuddered to imagine how much it was going to take to clear out a street, when we needed to kill as much as possible.

As the regiment, now in a column (I was still in the front rank) turned a corner, we were promptly greeted with a hail of spears, tossed by the enemy. The soldier to my left wound up with a spear sticking through him, and he begged me, with fear in his eyes, to help him pull it out.

"HALT! MAKE READY!" More spears flooded the area, killing about 20, judging from the grunts and wails. The sound of their grunts was loud enough to cover us pulling back our hammers.

"TAKE AIM!" I sighted a rather conspicuous looking one, (hard to call one of them conspicuous, they all had different bright colors), and tensed my finger on the trigger.

"FIRE!"

Oh God...I did it...

I hit him, or her, judging from the stature of it. It fell over, grasping at its side as blood poured out of it from where I had hit it in the chest.

"Front rank, kneel! Second rank, AIM!"

I began to reload my musket at a kneeling posture, all the while watching the life empty out of this thing. I wanted to finish the job, if not for my sake, then to at least end the suffering of this poor thing.

She must have been young. As I started to begin ramming in the musket ball, and the second rank fired its muskets, the horses began retreating. They were nearing the end of the village, and it was then that I noticed the horse had stopped moving.

I almost didn't notice the charge of their heavy infantry until it was too late. I blinked, saw them bearing down on me, and assumed the posture to receive their charge. It didn't help. I was still knocked onto my back, and it was now that I noticed the drawings on their flanks. 

I saw that Tom was being attacked by a rather well-dressed horse, it must have been a leader, dressed in a bright red uniform, not unlike (damn, I was beginning to use that phrase a lot) the uniforms of the British. He had a white mane, and what seemed to be a shield as a drawing.

Wouldn't it be ironic... I gave a thrust toward it's shield drawing, as if a bulls-eye.

Right before it could pierce the skin, another horse kicked me onto my back, and I was confronted with a rather...cute...face, one that belonged to a purple-colored horse. 

Though it's face was contorted in anger, and it did yell "GET OFF MY BROTHER!" I still felt that it was the cutest thing I had seen in this war.

I saw it's hooves raised, in the same pose that the orange one had held. I quickly pulled my bayonet off my musket, fashioning it as a knife, and kicked it off me, rather easily, by sweeping its hind hooves off the ground.

I slashed at its face, perhaps the soldier side of me reminding the civilian one that this was an enemy, and to make it easier for the both of them, taking away the cute part of it would make it easier to kill, to do my duty.

It covered its face with its hooves, as I could imagine the slash across its face.

I pushed it over, got on top of it, and prepared to finish it off. 

That face.

I saw its puppy-dog looking expression of fear, as I lifted my knife, and then stopped.

I tried it again.

Nothing.

I couldn't do this. It must've not even been an adult.

"Get away from me, and keep this a secret between us." I looked it in the eyes as I picked up my musket, fixed my bayonet, and began looking for Tom, as the horse coughed out, "T-thank you...mister..."

I saw Tom, who had managed to beat off that white-colored horse, but not kill it. It yelled the words "PULL BACK!", and the horses began to retreat. 

They began running, as our regiment broke formation, and watched them run away at full gallop. We had taken Ponyville. 

We saw them notice our cavalry, and our men on horseback, fresh and waiting, began to charge at their flanks. 

The one in the red uniform organized a hasty rear-guard, which was promptly slaughtered, the sabers of the cavalry cutting through the gaps in their armor. The others made their way back to the almost medieval-looking castle of Canterlot.

That night, I gave Tom back his package. He said I could hold onto it, because judging from the ferocity of the defense of just an interior village, there was a very good possibility of more deaths at their capital.

We later learned that Tom was right. What we had just lost thousands of men capturing was a mere village, more important symbolically then in strategic location or resources. And their army?

It was a fraction of their army, which we were sure to meet in all its might at Canterlot.


> Act I, Chapter VII
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Canterlot City, Celestia's Briefing Room
Day 15 of the Invasion of Equestria

The solid white of Celestia's coat was a stark contrast to the dirty rainbow assortment of colors before her. In truth, she couldn't have been more bored, as Rarity gave her newest report on the status of the supplies available.

"We have 15,000 spears available...in my opinion, we should give them to some of the civilian ponies here, so if the enemy makes it through, they can resist them in some way, which brings up article 3 of my proposals..."

Here she was, leading a nation at war, and she was bored. It seemed that those words shouldn't be in the same sentence together, but at the same time, it seemed that she shouldn't be fighting humans either.

Where had they come from? Why were they fighting?

Then it came back to her. 

Freetown. The name that started this war.

Well, Celestia had tried to do the right thing by trying to assimilate them into society, but they had simply refused to. One had escaped, passed the word along to the others, and all-of-a-sudden, 600,000 angry soldiers on your front door in three weeks.

They claimed self-defense, but Equestria had done nothing wrong. Celestia briefly wondered if any of the soldiers out there were unwilling, and what lies and deception had brought them out of their houses, and into her land. 

That didn't matter. The ponies were in the right here, and they were fighting to protect themselves as much as to protect their land. Already a third of Equestria had been taken, as General Scott, the name now synonymous with death and destruction, had sent his two-thirds of his men around Canterlot to attack deeper into their territory. They were now in position to take over all of Equestria, and they had only 100,000 ponies in their way, not counting those in Canterlot.
As bad as it may have seemed, Fluttershy, in charge of morale, had turned the Battle of Ponyville into the largest victory of the war. 

There, she had said, an army of noble militiaponies, brave volunteers, and resolute guardsponies had made the enemy army of thieves, rapists, and killers pay dearly for every inch. The casualty figures for their side had fallen from a realistic 200 to 100, then 50, then 40...while the enemy's had jumped exponentially, from the accepted 4,000 to 10,000 then 50,000...there were some ponies who believed that as much as a third of the enemy had been slaughtered.

For an extra punch, Fluttershy even drafted a paragraph about the way that the heathen marching songs were drowned out by the Equestrian national anthem.

A round of applause caught her attention, as Celestia snapped out of her train of thought, and saw that General Shining Armor, who was rapidly becoming a legend, had arrived, along with Twilight, who had a bandage wrapped around half her face.

"Good afternoon ma'am." Shining Armor saluted, as Celestia nodded to both him and her student.

"Welcome back Twilight, may I ask what happened to your face?"

"Well, uh, of course. I, uh, ran into something!" She saw her five other friends were at the briefing table, and rushed over to sit next to them.

They shared a rather touching group hug, as they started excitedly trading stories. Celestia simply smiled, remembering the days when she was as young as them. As their laughter died down, they remembered that there was a war on, and turned their attention to Celestia.

"Thank you. I'm sure that you've all heard of Shining Armor's victory at Ponyville. And I'm sure that you've also heard that we're expecting an attack tomorrow."

They evidently had not, and a few had gasped, and even Shining Armor had apparently been unaware that the invaders were ready to attack this rapidly.

"Which brings us to the matter of just how to defeat them. I believe that Shining Armor had given us an example of how their drill and discipline can be used against them, which is what I intend to do. I want everypony out there digging trenches, digging spiderholes, even dig some booby traps. Then I want every section of it secured by our ponies. As for the battle tomorrow, we must follow a tight schedule of events." She looked out on their faces, knowing that what she was about to tell them could send some of them to their graves.

"The signal to begin the battle will be Shining Armor dropping the shield that he will raise 5 minutes after this briefing. This will allow our artillery to fire on the enemy's guns, which will have revealed themselves by that point, trying to take it down."

"Twilight, you will be in command of the artillery. Don't miss, the enemy's artillery, take them out as soon as possible. They can fire remarkably quickly, perhaps quicker than our own." Twilight nodded, and began taking notes. 

"Pinkie Pie, you will be in command of the first line of defense. Wait for the enemy to come close, and-"

"And throw a party! With lots of streamers and balloons and cake!" She started giggling as the other ponies looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Um...right. Applejack, you will command the main body of our infantry. Don't let us down, and kill as much of the enemy as possible." Applejack smiled, already relishing the thought of getting right in the face of the enemy, a job that she found herself enjoying.

"Rainbow Dash, you're commanding the Pegasi. The key to this battle will be your Pegasi being out of view, until the most critical moment, just when the enemy thinks it can win. At that point, you will come over the clouds, and make sure they never dare to set foot in Canterlot." 

"Sweet! Time to show these guys who's boss around here!" She closed her eyes and smiled, already imagining herself on the battlefield. 

"Fluttershy, I want you to do anything in your power to help boost our morale. Play some songs, do something." 

"And Rarity, you already know your job. Does anypony have any questions? No? Then may Equestria prevail tomorrow."
They stood at attention, did one last group hug, and went their separate ways. 

It struck Celestia that this may be the last time they are ever all in one place, something that saddened her.

However, she had to endure. Equestria must endure.

> Act I, Chapter VIII
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fields outside Canterlot
August 27th, 1851
Day 17 of the Invasion of Equestria


"I bet 20."

"I fold."

"Fold."

"I'm out." 

As Tom collected 20 coins of the looted money we had acquired, we heard another volley or artillery going off. But it was old news.

When we had arrived in position to bombard Canterlot, the ponies (I was getting much more comfortable with that term) had put up some kind of bubble around it, and our siege artillery had been bombarding it non-stop for two days.

Which left the rest of Army Group B to simply wait and watch. Half of the Army Group would sit in the field, ready to stand up and deploy in line of battle should the shield fall. The other half was busy entertaining itself by collecting money, or just trying to pass the time by some other means in the nearby village, which we had cleared out rather quickly. This would rotate every four hours.

Our game of poker was halted by a messenger arriving at the door of the house which now served as our living quarters. These ponies may be brutal, but they sure had nice beds.

Where did the ponies go? Simple. They were rounded up, and put in two different houses. We noticed that they appeared older and younger than the ones we had encountered in combat. Perhaps their soldiers were conscripts, just like us...

"Ok guys, time's up. Colonel Gearhart wants you to report to him in five."

A chorus of groans followed, as the relieved section began taking our spot. I grabbed my musket, my cap, and a copy of our orders for the day, and headed out.

We found Colonel Gearhart, and the regiment began to gradually fall in, until all 800 of us, of an original 1,000, had fallen into line of battle, then we were told to sit.

We began our game of poker again, this time it was me who got the most coins, I think they were called "Bits", but it didn't matter. Money was money. 

Just as I had sealed the deal with a pair of queens, the alarm went off.

"Stand up! The shield has fallen! Everybody up! We're heading out in two minutes! You there, get UP!" Our regiment's sergeants got us into line of battle, as the other regiments fell into formation. 

It was now that one could see the sheer magnitude of our nation at war. We had everything. We had our normal infantry, cavalry, and artillery, but we now had light infantry, who would skirmish in front of us, and even some dragoons, who would be quite handy for outflanking the enemy. But how does one outflank a city on the side of a mountain...

"What's going on?" People were beginning to ask that, and Tom knew the answer.

"I think we've won. They're surrendering."

From the second rank of men, I couldn't see much. Our regiment was in the second wave, with fresh units making up the first and third. Perhaps the Trident Plan now applied to the amount of waves we were to be deployed in.

"Wait...what's that...GET DOWN! EVERYBODY DOWN!" We had seen the explosions of their artillery going off, as it impacted to the left of us, straight at our own artillery, which was massed in a single grand battery. 

In just a few seconds, a good half of our artillery crews were either dead or their guns simply exploded.

Even though I couldn't see them, I could imagine the scene in my mind, of their sergeants getting them back together, re-assigning crews, and preparing a response. "Counter-battery fire, let's go! Shift your fire to their guns!"

This time there were no speeches, no prayers, and no whiskey. The first wave began to march, their regimental bands playing Old 1812. We saw them march, just as we did, in line of battle, then they encountered the first trench.
We couldn't see them, but we could hear the screams.

I've always heard that story about the Good Samaritan, who helped that man in need. Well, we wanted to help them, tell them that it was going to be ok, but for a good half hour we heard them, then their voices disappeared, as Colonel Gearhart watched them with the help of his binoculars. 

"Sweet Jesus..." he would occasionally mutter, followed by a "Get out of there, you fools! Can't you see the leaves rustling to your left?"

After a total of an hour, we were told to advance.

"Fix bayonets! You're gonna need them!"

Tom looked over at me, and we shook hands, knowing that this could be the final battle in this cursed war.

"Regiment, forward, MARCH!"

Our regimental band began playing Yankee Doodle, and we began marching closer to the sounds of battle. 

As we closed in, we swiftly came under fire from their artillery, which had near completely destroyed ours. Their shells began exploding in the air, raining shrapnel down on us.

"Steady! Steady!" There must have been 100 of us that had died in that volley alone, leaving us with around 700 men now.

We kept our pace, and soon were in the midst of combat. We could see that the advance had stalled at the edges of the city, and we were needed for the push in.

"Regiment, HALT!" 

I saw the first wave had been broken up into three areas, all of them keeping their heads down, hiding for their lives. They looked at us, almost as a man welcomes a savior, only they now knew as much as we did that so many of us were going to die.

"Make ready!" The ponies now saw us, and spears were beginning to be tossed our way. The soldier to left of me had his head taken off by one, and the disgusted Private behind him had to step over him, then he promptly vomited.

"The bastards with the spears! Front rank, take aim!"

"Fire!"

Our muskets went off, and they impacted several of them, but now the ponies began to retreat into the city. We knew what was next.

"Form column of fours! Come on, move!"

After the column was set, the men of the first wave got their act together and began moving down the street to our right.

We began moving into the city, and it was eerily quiet again. 

"Shit...sergeant, I can't do this..."

"Yes you can! Keep moving!"

There they were...in the buildings now. "Halt!" 

Spears...so many of them...impacting the whole line...

"Aim!" Anybody who could find a target did so, not just the men in the front rank.

"Fire!" They promptly hid in the buildings, and now we knew what came next.

"Split into groups, take the buildings! Go! Go! Go!"

Tom and I, along with about 50 others, split up and kicked down the door to one of their houses. The first soldier that entered had his head promptly smashed open by a pony behind him, which I wasted no time in bayoneting.

I scanned the room. It was dark, there was barely any light, and I could hear them moving in there. Tom came in after me, and the fifty of us began clearing the bottom floor, knowing full well that the spears had come from the top floor...

We looked at each other, and I nodded. Tom and I, with the others, cautiously went up the stairs, one by one, and began clearing the rooms. Nothing...nothing...nothing...nothing...

Then there was one last door. We prepared to enter, but before everyone was in place, they swarmed out. The Private nearest the door was consumed by a storm of blows, and before he had a chance to scream, he was dead. 

"Shit!"

"Goddamn!" I was near the back of the hallway, and was then pushed by the others, who tried to escape their deaths. I didn't blame them.

"Out! Get out of the house!"

We fell out of the house, and the ponies inside didn't follow us. They promptly began throwing spears at us.

Colonel Gearhart saw us outside the house, and began bellowing commands, seeing that the others were falling outside of their assigned houses. "Find the largest one, get everybody inside!"

We saw what looked to be a theater of some kind, kicked open the door, and the few hundred of us that were still kicking began to clear the house, except we saw that this was some kind of hospital, for them...

The theater was cleared of any of them who wished to fight with us, and we began taking positions at the doors and windows. There were only a few, so I got to guard their wounded. The chairs in the theater had been pushed to the sides, to allow the numerous cots and beds now arrayed inside.  

We were stranded here, the other regiments were God knows where...

"Here they come!"

"Incoming! Prepare to receive them!" 

The ponies in the other buildings now began sprinting toward us, and they promptly broke open the door, and began simply slaughtering us. They obviously wanted their wounded, who were beginning to trot outside if they could walk.

In all the confusion, I saw that orange pony again, this time flanked by a rather pink one, who jumped up and down, perhaps in excitement.

I knew that this was the end of my life. I could either die now, trying to kill one of them, or I could die trying to hide.

I walked up to the pink one, called out, "Hey, asshole!" and swiped at it, cutting it's chest a bit with my bayonet. "Hi!" It responded, and it and the orange one began to close in with me, rather menacingly, though the pink one had a smile as it looked over me.

"Don't worry John, I got your back!" Tom was to my right now, and he saw the grin of the pink one, and was briefly taken aback by it.

"Oh, lookie here, Pinkie! It's the fella ah was tellin' you about!" The orange one smirked as it saw me, trembling in fear, debating whether I wanted to run and hide or not. 

I started approaching the orange one, bayonet forward, as Tom started to approach the pink one.

"Fuck!" Tom exclaimed, as the Pink one suddenly bolted to his right. I made the mistake of turning to look, and was rewarded with a swift kick to my musket, as the orange one kicked my musket out of my hands. It slid over to where a soldier was desperately trying to grapple with a green-looking pony.

I began searching for a weapon as the orange one pushed me to the wall, and held me there with a hoof, pushing hard against my chest.

"You...devil..." I made out, and it simply looked at me, almost with pity. "You poor thing...what lies brought you here?"

I started kicking, and it seemed about to let me go, when a Private called out to us, from the top floor, "Reinforcements! They're sending in the third wave!"

The ponies looked confused for a second, then the orange one called out, "RETREAT! FALL BACK TO THA PALACE!"

I remember the orange one looking into my eyes for a moment, shaking her head, and then she simply trotted off.

We could begin to hear the strained tune of Yankee Doodle as our men began heading down the street. We saw that some of the wounded ponies, who didn't have the strength to walk, started to shudder as they remembered that tune, and all that came with it. Their nurses simply looked at us with a disgusted face, and continued to treat them. 

"Men, now's the time! Onward, rally behind them!" Colonel Gearhart's voice was beginning to become hard to hear as Yankee Doodle took it over.

We formed outside the building, after a column of the third wave had passed us. We formed our own column, and began following them.

We knew that it was now or never, and through repeated bayonet charges, massed volleys, and some luck, we began getting closer and closer to their palace. As we approached it, a fire began to form at the top of the palace. 

I thought nothing of it, but the screams of those banshees...

The winged ponies began falling from the clouds at us, who were now all tightly packed. One of them plowed through easily fifty tightly-packed men, leaving behind a rainbow trail as we saw them collapse, all missing parts of their body.

"FORM! FORM! FORM!" 

Our regiment now formed into line of battle, and saw the winged ponies prepare to charge us.

"Retreat!"

"Fall back!"

"WHO SAID THAT!?"

Colonel Gearhart looked and saw, as we all did, soldiers of the first and second waves begin to run for their lives. 

"STEADY UP! STEADY UP! HAVE NO-"

I thought I had misheard him, but there he was. Colonel Gearhart clutched at his throat, where a spear had been thrown through it. He coughed up blood, then collapsed.

For the first time in the war, our men began to rout. They turned and ran, first as a trickle, then a stream, then all our regiments began to run. 

I looked at Tom, and he looked at me. What were we going to do? We were right at the palace, it was so close...we could see that the end was in sight...and we were running...

"John...I think we'd better follow them."

"..."

We saw a wounded soldier near us, picked him up, and began to run.

We ran, and ran, and ran. We eventually ran so far that they began cheering, and our own lines were in utter chaos.

After we had cleared the city, we didn't stop there. We took a right turn, and ran straight into a forest. Tom and I, along with our wounded soldier, were well away from where we were supposed to be. The rest of the regiment...were they still alive?

I doubted it. 

However, we had bigger problems. We were lost.

Not just us, but this war...it would take much longer...and I could only imagine what that would bring us.



> Act I, Chapter IX
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unknown Forest outside Canterlot
August 28th, 1851
Day 18 of the Invasion of Equestria

"Dammit, Tom, I think we made a wrong turn. Check the map again."

"No, we're goin' the right way, trust me."

I sighed. It was getting dark, and we still hadn't found our regiment in this confusing landscape. And we were carrying Private 
Wallace, who had been wounded with a spear through the leg, so of course I got to carry him.

He had passed out long ago, and I was starting to get tired from carrying him. 

"Hey, Tom, want to switch?"

"Sure," I set down Private Wallace, and Tom gave me the map and compass. I looked at the map, found Canterlot, and approximated where we were.

As we began trekking toward the edge of the forest, our feet crunching on the dirt, I froze. Tom stopped behind me, and we both listened.

Voices. 

"John, you sure this is near our lines?"

"Shit, Tom, it's getting dark. Let's just take our chances."

In all honesty, I didn't care if the ponies captured us. I just wanted to go home. Back to where I could try to live the rest of my life, and not have to worry about trenches, or their spears, or the way to kill a pony with a bayonet.

We slowly approached where the voices were coming from, and I could begin to see a trench of some kind. I fixed the bayonet onto my musket, and I slowly hopped into the trench. Nothing.

I could still hear the voices, and as Tom followed me, with Wallace in his arms, we found a room that had been dug into the side of the trench. The voices were coming from there.

I slowly entered, along with Tom. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

Before I could get a response, I saw them.

There were two ponies there, one was a rather brown color, and the other had was a shade of yellow. The yellow one had a horn on its head, from what I've heard, it let them perform sinister feats of magic. They saw me, and quickly grabbed their spears. 

"No no no! I don't want to hurt you!"

One of them slowly approached me, spear in hoof, and at that moment Tom arrived, carrying Wallace. 

"See? We're carrying wounded!" My voice was becoming desperate as they still didn't believe us. 

I set down my musket, and held up my hands. "Please...we don't want to kill you..."

"Oh yeah?" The yellow one nearly yelled with a feminine voice her horn glowing at the tip, "When did that ever stop you? I was at Canterlot, you apes advanced three times, so much for 'not wanting to kill us'!" Her spear was beginning to touch my neck, "How about we decide it right now?"

I was speechless. I wonder how we would've felt if they had invaded us.

"Hey, we were at Canterlot too," Tom began, "and yes, we were under orders to continue advancing. But that shouldn't matter now. We're just soldiers, just like you are."

The yellow pony started into a rant. "See, Boulder? They are savages! They just want to kill us! They won't stop until-"

At this the brown pony, Boulder apparently, set down the yellow pony's spear with a hoof. "It's alright, let's just see what they want."

I began to slowly stand up, but was pushed back down again by the yellow one. "Alright, but I still don't trust them." 

I answered slowly, and told Boulder about the condition of Private Wallace. "Is there any way you can treat him?"

"Well, uh, let her check, I don't really know any first aid." Tom and I lifted Wallace onto a table, after clearing maps from it.

Boulder beckoned the yellow pony over, who opened a medical kit of some kind. She angrily began poking and prodding Wallace, who regained consciousness. "Hey, where am I..." His eyes opened, and he sat up, and tried to get off the table. "HOLY CRAP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!? TOM!? JOHN!? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Tom grabbed his hand, like how a father reassures his son, and looked at him. "Listen, Ben, I know it's confusing. But they want to help you, alright? They probably know more about how to treat your leg than our doctors." Ben looked over at me, then looked at Tom. He sighed, and lay back down, Tom still holding his hand.

I watched as the yellow pony started to examine the wound more closely, her horn glowing as she did so. She touched it, poked it, and studied it for a good couple of minutes.

Finally, her horn, as well as Ben's leg, began to glow a blue color, and Tom held onto Ben's hand, trying his best to reassure him. The wound closed, and to both Tom and I's amazement, Ben didn't show any signs of pain. He sat up, looked at his leg, and pulled his pant leg up to touch the skin.

"Th-thank you..." He looked gratefully at the yellow pony, who simply grunted.

"Your leg is healed, though I wouldn't put too much strain on it for a day or two." She said this rather coldly, and Ben got off the table under his own power.

I steadied him as he took a few steps, getting used to walking again.

"Ma'am, we are forever grateful to you..." I looked at her, and realized that perhaps there wasn't too much of a difference between us, just unwilling soldiers filled with promises of glory and honor, told to fight in a war that they never fully understood.

"Yeah, well, don't mention it." She looked down at the ground, and Boulder approached us.

"Normally at this point, we would be taking you prisoner, but how about we just look away, and you figure out a way to escape?" I nodded, and we collected our gear.

As we left, Ben suddenly stopped. "Hang on, I forgot something." He ran back inside, and emerged a few seconds later, not really forgetting anything.

So we began to search for our lines again, this time with a new, traitorous idea in our minds. Perhaps these ponies, after all, weren't our real enemies.

> Act I, Chapter X
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chicago, Illinois
September 4th, 1851
Day 25 of the Invasion of Equestria

That was a week ago.

After Tom found our lines, we and the 40 remaining soldiers of the 21st Infantry were formed up, and told by a Lieutenant to pack our bags, because we were going home.

At first I didn't believe him, even as the rest of the regiment erupted in cheering. 

Following the Battle of Canterlot, it had been decided for us to dig in, and stabilize our lines. General Scott was still in overall command of the invasion, but our leadership at the regimental level was going to be changed. That is, after we got back. I didn't want to think about it, and neither did anybody else.

The 42 of us only occupied a small part of the train, and as we rode back on captured railways that the ponies had constructed long before we arrived, I saw the scars of invasion. Small holes in the land marked where we had fired our artillery, and of course we saw their trenches, though I couldn't bear to look at them for long. 

Our railways hadn't been joined with theirs, so we had to march for a day, then board another train, this one smaller, probably because of the realization that an original regiment of 1,000 men had been dropped to 42 over the course of 25 days, something unheard of in the midst of all the propaganda that I'm sure was going around.

After two more days on the train, we finally arrived at Kansas City, a railway hub. 

Our first taste of home was the Star Spangled Banner, sung courtesy of the thousands of civilians who had gathered to cheer us. Their multitude of colors could rival that of the ponies.

We were then greeted by President Fillmore himself, along with a battalion of reporters and politicians who wrote and talked about our every move. We were the first veterans to return home, and I now could see why: watching your entire plan to invade a country fail spectacularly in one pitched battle has got to be demoralizing.

We were called to attention in a parade formation as President Fillmore gave each of us a handshake. When he got to me, I made sure to look him in the eye as he talked with me.

"Hello, soldier. What's your name?" He shook my hand with a firm grip.

"Carter. John Carter, sir."

"Well, Carter," His face was beaming as he looked out to the reporters, "what do you think of the war?"

"...I think it's, uh..."

"Yes?"

"I think it's...scary."

"Scary?" He looked confused, all a show for the reporters. "How could this just war of self-defense be scary?"

I wanted to tell him about the way the pony artillery whistles as it comes toward you, how the spears usually had messages written on them, like 'DEATH TO HUMANITY!', and I wanted to tell him most of all about the spirit that these ponies had when they saw the shock and surprise of the new soldiers when they hop out of trenches and let loose with their war cries. 

I knew I couldn't, but a deeper thought came in...a far memory...but one which I felt the need to voice.

"Well, Mr. President, I think the war is scary, but I'm sure that any losses taken are acceptable casualties." I gave him an almost sinister look when I said that, and he was taken aback. He knew what I was referencing, the day that human history changed at Clovis.

He smiled, turned to the reporters, and tried to convince them that I was either forgetful, or that I needed some rest.

"It looks like this young man has been too far away from home!" 

But the 42 men of the 21st Infantry knew all his false promises and propaganda well enough. After all, they were what kept us going.

After all the ceremonies, speeches, and general pomp and circumstance, we were taken into a rather large building to be debriefed. Again, apparently the bureaucracy expected more survivors. 

We were greeted by a rather thin Lieutenant, who seemed incredibly pale. 
"Hello, my name is Lieutenant Sutter, here to help debrief you, and help you adjust to civilian life. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them at any time."

Oh great, speeches. Just what I needed.

"When you left, you left with an army of 600,000 men, all aged 18-35. This obviously led to some changes in our society. During the first week of your training, draft riots began breaking out all over our major cities, I don't think that a single city went without a riot."

I knew that there had been some trouble back home, judging from the stories of  the soldiers who lived in the big city. It struck me that every single one of them was dead. 

"The result of this trouble was the creation of the Internal Security Department. They're made up of militia, specially-trained soldiers and other volunteers whose job it is to maintain the internal security of our nation."

"Sir, if I may?" A soldier had raised his hand, and Sutter nodded.

"Well, uh, what do they look like? How do they dress?"

"That's a good question," Sutter began, "To be completely honest, they dress as civilians. However, they wear these black armbands," Sutter held one up, it had the American Eagle gripping the olive branch and arrows, only it was pointing towards the arrows, "Which as you can see, are black with this white image. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, sir." The soldier nodded, so Sutter resumed where he had left off.

"Things went well for a while, but about the time that you were being shipped off to fight, our economy crashed. The value of an American dollar has fallen considerably, such that what used to cost you a nickel will now cost you $10. There has also been a large increase in unemployment, as much as 40% of the country is unemployed."

Jesus.

Our faces must have turned very grim, because Sutter began to sway awkwardly.

"That is the current situation at home. On the international scale, news of our war, and the discovery of sentient life has reached Europe and Asia. As far as any international reinforcements go, there has been no real effort by any of our allies to join us in this conflict, though there have been some officers who wish to help us. Most of them are from Germany and Britain, and you are still required to treat them as you would an American officer.

Now, your time off will be for three weeks. You can re-enlist, and become a sergeant at the very least. Or you can stay home, and become a Interior Security officer. I don't see why you'd want to stay here, personally. This is not the America you left when you were conscripted."

You could say that again.

"Well, that just about covers it. Any questions?"

There were none. We were all in various states of shock.

Following the briefing, we were allowed to go to our various train stations. I saw Tom about to board his train, and I stopped him.

"Here, you can have this back." I handed him the package he had given me that warm morning outside Ponyville.

"Oh, uh, thanks," He took it, and then whispered, "are you thinking of going back?"

"To the war? Possibly. It depends on how bad it is at home."

"I'm not sure myself. Be sure to write me. Tell them to mail it to the Wright residence in Richmond." At this the train horn sounded, and he shook my hand. I couldn't imagine life without him, and in that spirit, I pulled him close for a quick hug.
We hugged for a second, then he boarded his train. I saluted him as he left, knowing that I couldn't go back to combat without him.

I then boarded mine, and began the journey to Pennsylvania, or more specifically, Philadelphia.

This time, there was nothing natural to look at, no feeling of coming home. I knew that I had just gotten out of one war, and into another. This one, however, had no massed volleys, no blue-coated men in tight lines, no ear-shattering artillery barrages, and certainly no terrifying trench charges.

This war would be fought in the American mind.

> Act II, Chapter I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 5th, 1851
Day One of 21st Infantry's Furlough
Day 26 of the Invasion of Equestia


After being searched by a rather gruff looking gentleman, wearing a black armband, of course, I was allowed to step off the train.

I paused briefly to take in the sights of Philadelphia, and try to contrast it to when I had left. The city looked...dirty. The people were dressed in browns, blacks, perhaps they had previously been brighter, but the dirt that they had been forced to live in (I could spot many shelters, hastily made of whatever was available) had gotten to them. 

The sight of a blue-coated soldier, in contrast to their dark and dull colors, was enough to turn me into a celebrity. 

Everyone seemed to flock towards me, and all had something to say.

"Fucking fascist!"

"Did you kill any Equestrians?"

"Spare change? Please?"

"Hey, I know you're probably lonely...how about later tonight?"

The armband wearing civilians began to try and disperse the crowd, pushing and shoving them away from me. 

The civilians groaned, dispersed and I made  my way past all the thieves, whores, homeless, and the insane. 

I was able to pass into an alleyway, which seemed abandoned, until a man stepped in front of me, knife in hand. 

"Where do you think you're going, soldier boy?" His face was bruised, he had obviously had a bad day. I saw that his eyes were at a squint, and his voice was very hoarse.

My first instinct upon seeing the knife was to grab my musket, if only I had one. I was ordered to surrender mine upon boarding the train home. 

He must have recognized this action, and began stepping closer. "Sorry, pal, your musket ain't gonna save ya." He was on me before I could react, and I was able to easily push him off me. I delivered a quick kick to the groin, and as he sunk to his knees, I took his knife, and stabbed it in him.

His life left him with each stab, and I looked down at my work with trembling hands. I dropped the knife, and ran to where I knew my parents house. Luckily, it wasn't far, and I could see Internal Security officers beginning to investigate the body.

I was greeted by my mother a now aging woman, who cried as she recognized me. I held her in a hug for what felt like an hour, and I was finally invited inside.

My father was there, who looked me over behind his glasses with tears in his eyes. He embraced me briefly, as my mother shut the door to our house. 

"John, please, sit!" My mother brought over a rocking chair, which I sat in as I removed my cap. My father took it, and placed it next to the shako that he had worn in the War of 1812. He smiled while looking at them, and comparing the two.

Our house was kept in good order, and sitting in the kitchen, I felt the same sense of order that I had left with. Everything was kept where it was supposed to be, and as such, the house gave off an almost military feeling to it.

My parents sat down too, and I was treated to my first warm meal in months. I ate every last bit of it, and after finishing, my mother sat back in her chair, and said, "So tell us about yourself! We haven't seen you in so long, and your father has been very interested in what's going on!"

"Well, I'd probably bore you to death, I haven't seen much action." I knew I was telling a lie, and my father picked up on it. He nodded slowly, and my mother continued on like this, letting me tell her everything about life in the army. I carefully changed my story so I wouldn't have to tell her about the terror of combat.

"It seems like quite an experience!" She stated, and then her tone became serious. "Now, I know you've only got three weeks of break, and in that time we'd like you to wear this-" She gestured to my former civilian clothes, "the beggars are beginning to target soldiers more and more."

I nodded, and went upstairs. After taking off my army uniform, I noticed how dirty it was. I changed into my civilian clothes, a brown coat over tan pants and a black shirt.

I gave my uniform to my mother, who began washing it outside. I looked around my house, and began to feel bored. Army life may be dull, but at least you got to do something.

My father called me over, and gave me 50 dollars. He told me to spend it however I wished, so I naturally began looking for something useful, perhaps a gun.

Stepping aside, I was once again bombarded by the ugly appearance of the city. I found the closest sane man that I could, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, would you happen to know where I could buy a gun?"

The stranger looked me over, and pointed to a merchant who had about five large, beefy men near him, all armed with pistols. I thanked him, and walked over.

I found my place in a rather long line, and did my best to ignore the disgusting smell that radiated off the man in front of me. 

A group of children had approached from other vendors, all of them carrying what seemed to be either porn or political handouts. They began handing them out to people in the line, and I politely refused them all. 

After this, it was my turn in line. 

I noticed the five men look me over, and I heard the distinctive click of someone pulling back the hammer on a weapon.

"Hello, sir." The storeowner greeted me, and he must have noticed the general contrast I had in terms of appearance with the others. "I can see that you've been gone for a while." He winked, and whispered, "Your secret's safe with me, always good to help another soldier."

"Uh, yes, thanks." I noticed his age, he must have been a veteran of 1812. 

"So, what brings you here?"

"Well, I'm looking for a gun." 

"A gun?" He looked around, almost laughing. "Well, you've come to the right place. What can I get you?"

"Well, I'm not looking for a musket...perhaps a pistol of some kind?"

"Oh, yes, I have lots of those, what kind would you like? I've got flintlocks, and even some new revolvers."
Revolvers, that would come in handy.

"Ok, how much is a revolver?"

"Well, since the most of them went to the Army, they're 45 bucks, but, since soldiers have to look out for each other, I'll give one to you for free, along with some ammo. Ok?"

I didn't expect him to be so kind, so I accepted. I was given a revolver, 30 bullets, and a holster.

I thanked him, and went home. It was getting dark out, and I didn't want to be jumped by anybody.

When I got back, I was given my army uniform again, this time it was washed.

However, right before I was to go to bed, my father called me over.

"Son, tell me about what really happened."

"What do you mean?"

His tone became a bit louder, perhaps becoming frustrated. "I can appreciate that you lied to your mother, and I understand that. But if you're struggling with anything, you can tell me. I won't tell her, I promise."

I sighed, and looked at him. "Father, how would you describe the War of 1812?"

He took off his glasses, and thought deeply, recalling his service. Perhaps I would do the same, if I made it out of this war in one piece.

"Well," He began, searching for words, "I would describe it as a mostly boring affair...we did see some action at Fort Erie, but we sat out on the big stuff like New Orleans or Fort McHenry."

I nodded, and followed up with another question. "How was combat back then?"

"That's a rather personal question, John, I don't really see the point of-"

"Father, if you want to hear what I've been through, then please answer it." I looked at his eyes and met his glare.

"...Fine. Settle in, this is going to be quite a story."

I assumed a more comfortable position, and he began.

"When the British lay siege to Fort Erie on August 4th, I remember that we were told that reinforcements would be coming. The sight of the British, and the thought of death that came with them, was particularly unnerving to some of us. 

Well, those reinforcements didn't come in time. The British, after nine days, decided to attack us. Following an artillery barrage, they sent three columns of infantry at us, trying to overwhelm us at the same time. I was in the fortifications when a column of the British began advancing toward us. 

The order was given to fire when they were tightly packed, which worked. They suffered terrible casualties, and at one point, they began calling out, 'Stop firing, you're hitting your own men!'.  The fighting stopped for a what seemed an hour, when one of our officers called back, 'To hell with you!', and we fired again. The British were driven back, and at least on this sector, we did not suffer any casualties.

Let me tell you something about those British, they sure were determined. They suffered nearly the same amount of casualties as us, and kept persisting. Overall, John, I would not want to go through it again."

He stopped, and let that sink in. "Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes father. Now, let me tell you about the war with the Equestrians." I hadn't used that term in a while. "But before we begin, we're going to refer to them as ponies."

"Ponies!?" My father laughed, "Is that what you call them? Ponies!?"

"Yes, father. That's what some of the men who've been in combat with them call them. Can you please call them ponies?"

"Sure!" He tried hard to control his laughter as I began.

I told him everything. I told him about my experience in training, and described to him in graphic detail my first encounter with mortality at the hands of the fire by rank drill. I told him about my experience at Clovis, the way the civilians had begged us to save them from the ponies, and how our dreams of glory were shattered.

In detail, I told him about every aspect of the Battles of Ponyville and Canterlot. I saw his eyebrows furrow, and saw his lip tremble as I told him about the tactics the ponies used in defending themselves, and their gruesome effect. Then I told him about the most damning experience of all, when we had fled. We had been so close, and we gave up. I called myself a coward for joining them, and a traitor for helping to effectively prolong the war. We had lost the most important part of any invasion: the part where you capture their capital.

After describing the encounter with some of the ponies, I ended with, "That's how this war is going."

He sat in silence as he looked me over. I was on the verge of tears, and couldn't bear to look at him. 

"Well...that's quite...revealing...just know that you're welcome to stay here after your three weeks."

Before he could get up and retire for the night, I heard the glass breaking upstairs, followed by laughing. I knew the sound before it though. The sound of gunfire.

As my father handed me a musket from a stash he kept hidden, we both found ourselves in a shootout.

Doing what I found myself doing best, I was repulsed with how easy it was to find the flash of a gun, aim for it, pull the trigger, and occasionally hear a scream. 

It felt...good, for some terrible reason that I couldn't comprehend. After about five minutes, the shooters were arrested, and Internal Security officers began questioning us. Satisfied that we didn't cause it, they warned us to leave justice in the hands "of the professionals", and told us that this wouldn't happen again. Judging from the multiple muskets my father had stashed, I could tell that this was fairly common.

I could also tell that I wanted nothing to do with home. As I tossed and turned under my blanket, I heard a voice call out, "Ready," and I jumped out of bed, startled at my reaction. I looked out the window, and saw the Internal Security officers making sure that such an incident would never happen again.

> Act II, Chapter II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 7th, 1851
Day 3 of 21st Infantry's Furlough
Day 28 of the Invasion of Equestria


My father must have seen me pacing, and twitching at the sound of every damned firing squad out there. The sound of muskets going off in unison, a sound I knew all too well, was making me lose my mind.

He commanded me to do something productive, so I began to write to Tom. 

Dear Tom,

I hope that by now you've arrived safely at home, I know that those Internal Security officers sure are vicious. I hope your family hasn't been hit too hard by the economic situation, here in Philadelphia it seems that everyone is either out to steal money or acquire it using their bodies.
Yet, above it all, I can't help but feel that life would be better on the front. It sounds disgusting, but I feel that at least you didn't have to put up with the whores and thieves there. 
Which is why, I suppose, I'm writing to you. In all honesty, I'd like to return to the Army, but I don't want to drag you in with me. I need to know, above all else, if you would re-enlist with me. 

Warmest regards,
John Carter

It seemed short, but I was never one for writing letters. I walked down to the post office, and was greeted by a woman with a sagging eye.

"Hello, ma'am."

"Hello..." Her voice was disgusting, and I felt revolted at the sight of her. Funny how I never felt that way for the ponies...

"Well, uh, I'd like to send this letter to Virginia."

"Virginia now...are you kidding?"

"No...ma'am, I'd like to send it. Richmond, the Wright residence."

Her laugh was even more horrid than her voice, and she coughed up phlegm, which she spat into a bucket.

"Sorry, boy, but that's gonna take some time...about 2 weeks to be exact."

"What!?"

"Ever since the Internal Security Department took over internal communications, we just don't have enough postal workers."
I sighed, and rolled my eyes. Those armbands were getting more and more annoying.

"Well...is there any way that I can hire some third party? Surely there must be some company, maybe an independent-"

"Sorry boy, but you're out of luck," She looked me over, and smiled, "unless...you'd want to do something extra, maybe convince me to pull a few strings..."

"No!" I was so revolted by her, that I wanted to simply slap her across the face. "Fuck you-I mean," I took a deep breath, "two weeks is fine. Good day to you." I handed her the letter, and left that wretched woman.

"FIRE!" I ducked, and heard the report of multiple guns going off. Thankfully, I wasn't being shot at. I frantically looked over, and this time pulled out my revolver. 

Over there, behind the wheelbarrow...there were three of them...they couldn't have been teenagers...they were boys...

"Alright, get their bodies out of here, Johnson, secure their weapons. I want this place cleaned up immediately! Move!" The black armbands told me everything I needed to know.

I quickly holstered my revolver, not wishing to be shot. A crowd was gathering, and the armband wearing monsters simply opened fire on them. I ducked and ran back to our house, and without saying a thing went up to my room. 

I am not proud of this fact, but I considered suicide. I wanted to end my life then and there, and get out of the situation I was in. I stared at the revolver, then at my bullets, then at the revolver. 

A good long hour was spent simply contemplating my resolve to live.

I finally set down the revolver, deciding that my parents at the very least needed me, and I wasn't about to trust them in the hands of the Internal Security officers.

Looking up, I saw my blue army uniform, which seemed to be calling me. Perhaps calling me to a slow death at the hands of the ponies. But I knew that would be better than being killed by your own countrymen.

I walked out of the door, and stared outside. Children were playing, kicking a ball back and forth. It brought a smile to my face, until I saw the Internal Security officers near them. They were digging pits, and what followed I suppose will always be with me.

One of them mounted a horse, and ran off. About 10 minutes later, a carriage arrived, carrying what seemed to be 50 dead civilians. Those bastards...

The officers began dumping the bodies into the pits, and those children...they didn't understand what was going on, they just stood and watched.

After that devilish act was done, I noticed that there were tears coming down my face. I wiped my eyes, and now saw civilians being ordered into their homes (a rather quick act, so many people simply lived on the street; the smart ones ran before the officers closed with bayonets and loaded them onto carriages). 

I later found out that they had done this because of a suspected outbreak of Typhus, almost like the one which had killed so many in 1837.

But I didn't care. I had to get out of this damned city. 

I had to find Tom.

> Act II, Chapter III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Route to Richmond Virginia
September 8th, 1851
Day 4 of 21st Infantry's Furlough
Day 29 of the Invasion of Equestria

So I rode. There was no way I was going to walk the way to Richmond, so I packed a few essentials, and stole my way onto the nearest train. I didn't bring my Army uniform, it would attract too much attention. I managed to hop onto a train when nobody was looking, and I was able to stow away with a surplus of food and medical supplies that were being sent to the front.

I followed the route to Washington D.C., and when I reached it, I saw the complete opposite of what I had seen in Philadelphia. The people there were well-dressed, they were clean, and there were no black armbands that I could see on any of them.

It disgusted me. 

Boarding the next train, I was greeted by four rather poor gentlemen, who then proceeded to walk towards me with knives. I drew my revolver, and pointed it at them, stating that there was no point for them to die here. 

They were happy to comply, seeing that I was much better armed than them. While I had my pistol pointed at them, the train began to move. I didn't have time to admire the change from an industry-driven area to an agriculture-based area. 

When the train finally stopped in Richmond an hour later, they faked surprise as they got up from what was an obviously fake attempt to make it seem as though they were sleeping. 

"Thanks for the smooth ride" With this, I hopped off, holstering my revolver, and spotting a carriage nearby, quickly mounted it, pushing aside a woman who was rather well dressed. 

Come to think of it, Richmond wasn't as big as Philadelphia, but it's citizens surely were in a much better state. 

The carriage driver looked me over with distrust, perhaps spotting my revolver. "Wright residence, please. I'd prefer not to push anybody else today." I gave him the most nasty look I could muster, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

"Hey, here we are! Come on, get up!" Strangely enough, the carriage driver didn't seem to have any form of accent at all. 

I tried to get off the carriage normally, but I was so tired I wound up falling, as I looked up at a rather small looking house, around it every form of crop from tomato to cotton. I shuffled my way over to the door, and knocked as politely as I could.

"Howdy." The man who answered the door was rather large looking, and was armed with quite an accent, perhaps more than Tom's. 

"Hey, uh, is this the Wright residence?" My voice alarmed him, and he grabbed a pistol, and before I knew it, he held me dead to rights. His eyebrows were not unlike the ones of the ponies, especially that one I had bayoneted in Canterlot...

"We don't lak any Yankees 'round here...'specially not any from tha ISD..." I cautiously held up my arms, and replied, staring at his pistol, "Listen...I'm not an officer! I don't have an armband! See?" I turned, and showed him my right arm. 

"Well, I'll be damned! A good Yankee! Come on in, fella!" His deathly stare turned to a happy smile as I stepped into his house, my feet creating a series of creaks on the wooden floor. "Hey Tom! Mary! All of y'all, we got ourselves a good Yankee!"

I breathed I sigh of relief as I heard Tom's name, followed by his tired voice "Come on, father, it's gettin' dark...I'm ti-JOHN! IS IT YOU?"

I smiled, and Tom embraced me in a suffocating bear hug. "Oh my God, father, it's him! John Carter, the man I told ya about!" He broke off his embrace, and was bombarding me with questions. 

"John, how was it? What's the city like? How's Philadelphia? Did you see the renovations they're putting in? Oh my God, I have so much to-" I put up a hand, and he stopped. 

"I'm sorry, but I'm very tired. It wasn't easy getting here, what with train tickets costing $200. If you don't mind, sir," I looked over at Mr. Wright, "I'd like to use a bed for the night, if that wouldn't be too much to ask?"

He nodded, smiling. "Sure, Yank! Make yourself at home!" Tom looked over at his father, and was giving him an instruction on not to call me a 'Yank' when I promptly fell asleep right then and there.

The next day, I awoke to the sound of someone playing a violin, and it only took me a few seconds to realize the tune was Yankee Doodle. "Oh, I see that you're awake! Come on, soldier, time to muster! Colonel Gearhart wants us in line of battle quickly!" Tom started to laugh as he set down his violin, and my eyes struggled to adjust to the sunlight coming through the window. 

I got out of the bed, and looked over at Tom, confused. "Don't ya remember? You collapsed right then and there! You were out," he snapped his fingers, "like that! I carried you up, and got you in this bed, and you know the rest!"

I looked down at my clothes, the same from yesterday. "Hey, Tom, I don't suppose that you've got anything I can wear for the time being?" Tom nodded, and tossed me some farming clothes, a bit too large, but fitting nonetheless. He turned around, and I slipped them on, and I patted him on the shoulder. 

"So, I don't suppose that you have any food? Breakfast, maybe?" Tom's eyes lit up, and he guided me downstairs, where his father was reading the paper. I was seated, and the Wrights began to assemble for their early meal. 

There were five of them, including Tom. Mr. and Mrs. Wright, of course, and two of their daughters, one of them about my age, the other far smaller, around the age of 5. They seemed disinterested in me, and took their seats. When Mrs. Wright brought eggs and ham, Mr. Wright stood up, and began to speak.

"I'd like to propose a toast, to our newfoun' friend, Private John Carter. Tom has told me much 'bout you, and you is always here."

I smiled, and nodded, more concerned with the warm food sitting on the table in front of me. I eyed it rather intently, and did my best to wait patiently while the other members of Tom's family began passing it out. 

Finally receiving my portion, I began to eat viciously, hungry from my long journey. After I had finished, Mr. Wright looked me over, and asked, "So, I hate ta be rude, but just what is it that this Yank-I mean, young man, wants here?"

"Well, sir, I frankly need to get away from Philadelphia. It's hell up there." 

Mrs. Wright nodded, trying to understand. "Is it now?"

"Yes, ma'am, it is. It is...well...more terrifying than battle with the ponies..." I let that out, and forgot that this wasn't my father I was talking too.

"Ponies, you call the Equestrians-"

I smiled, and interrupted him. "Sir, it's the term we use. Please, it's just a nickname we give those devils." I was kicking myself inside for calling them devils, when the real ones were in Philadelphia.

Mr. Wright nodded, and shrugged, "I guess they had ta be called something..."

"Well, father, if there's nothing going on that's of any importance, I'd like to take John outside. Stretch those legs of his." I stood up, along with Tom, and were given a prompt "Sure".

We stepped outside, onto the green field that was the Wright residence. I was given a much better view of the Wright residence: it was a rather small farm, big enough to sell their product, not big enough to warrant slaves.

There were some farmhands tending the fields, all of whom were white.

"You're probably thinkin' that we own slaves, but we don't. Father is very against forcin' a man to work." Tom muttered this, looking down at the ground. I nodded slowly, and he stopped walking. "Listen, now that we're out here," I began, "I'd like to ask..." I almost couldn't say it, and I had to close my eyes, forcing the words out. "...If you're going back to the war. I will be."

He turned around, looking me over with a frown, and a rather dark expression. "I...don't know how I feel. This war will be the end of me if I go back...yet at the same time, I can't live here. I've been an absolute wreck at home, when you came around...it just...reminds me of who I was."

I nodded, tears beginning to form. "I can't live in Philadelphia...there's a man on every corner who wants to kill you, the insane always swarm you, asking for help, food, or something impossible. And you know what's worst, Tom?"

He shook his head, and tears were now falling out of my eyes, so much that I couldn't see him crying either.

"The...these people...they think that we're saving them...when all we're doing is pulling them to the brink! THEY THINK THERE'S HOPE! THESE PEOPLE ARE DOOMED!" I noticed that I was kicking the ground, punching the air, finding something tangible to release my anger. The farmhands in the fields turned to look at me.

I noticed Tom sniffling, and he told me to wait where I was. 

"John, if you want an answer, here. This is it."

It was the package he had given me at Ponyville. 

We were going back. 

> Act II, Chapter IV
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
September 11th, 1851
Day 6 of 21st Infantry's Furlough
Day 31 of the Invasion of Equestria


I didn't wait to get home, and inform my parents of my decision. After a tearful goodbye, I met up with Tom at Chicago, where we were promoted to Sergeants. I didn't have much time to admire my new chevrons, we were stuffed into another train heading toward Fort Bliss, where we would be transferred to the 40th Infantry, a new regiment of conscripts.

On the way there, we were briefed about the current situation of the war. The war had changed from swift engagements of annihilation, into one of attrition. We had lost easily 80,000 men in just a few weeks of open fighting, a statistic that President Fillmore had now dubbed as "unacceptable casualties". 

So, we began to dig trenches. This new war required a new kind of strategy, and as such, the old customs of war were no more. To be frank, there were none. This was a war of one race exterminating another, so there was no room for any kind of pleasantry. Civilians that we hadn't already captured were to be considered soldiers, along with any of their doctors and surgeons. Prisoners were not to be taken, because after all, the Equestrians were "animals. Ruthless, vicious, animals who would do the same to you if given the chance," as the manual put it. 

In this new kind of extermination, leadership at the regimental level was reformed, with more emphasis on Sergeants and Lieutenants, rather than Colonels and Generals. 

When we got to Fort Bliss, I had memorized so much battle doctrines and recited so much pure propaganda that I could easily tell you the proper placement of a battle group in respect to the enemy, I could tell you the number of men required for a volley to be successful, and on and on. I never knew that being a Sergeant would be this hard, yet I was eager for a chance to get away from Philadelphia.

I was greeted by a drill sergeant and then met the men I was to command. I was to command a unit of about 50 regulars, along with Tom. They seemed eager, ready to kill the Equestrian menace. I didn't do anything to try and stop this, I figured that it was natural. 

After giving them a short speech, congratulating them on completing training, I got them aboard the train to Ponyville, now a major Headquarters for the Army.

Tom and I decided to split the unit in two sections, Detail A and Detail B, each numbering 25 men. We introduced ourselves to them while on the train, and I began to learn some of their names. Travis, Waldman, Gambino, were a few of those that stood out. I watched their amazement develop as they watched the landscape change, watching the dry farmland develop into the multiple hues of Equestrian territory. 

"Remind you of anybody?" I asked Tom, who blushed, remembering the way he had looked with more curiosity than the others.

We finally reached Ponyville, and I assembled the men into an inspection formation, as a thin, young, and well-dressed gentleman in uniform, stepped forward. Accompanying him was a rather dirty looking Lieutenant, that I could see from the feather that he wore.

"Greetings, men of the 40th Infantry!" The other gentleman called out to us, drawing the attention of the nearby soldiers that were patrolling the city.

I noticed the looks of some of the Pony civilians that looked at us, staring from their windows. Looks of disgust.

"I am Colonel Keys, your new commander. I know that some of you were expecting me to march you off to battle, but that's not the way this army works anymore. We must rely on attrition to win the day, and the ability of the human to endure. And most of all, this army needs discipline." Right. I'd seen the results of discipline at Ponyville and Canterlot. 

He then gestured to the Lieutenant, who didn't bother to give us his name.

"We are going to be occupying trenches that were held by the 24th Infantry, before they were rotated. Our orders are simple, to dig in, and take no prisoners. Any questions?" He was rather brief, perhaps he didn't want to get to know the faces of the men that would soon be dying.

A soldier's voice behind me called out, "Sir, where will the rest of the regiment be?"

"An excellent question." Colonel Keys started,  "They will be occupying our flanks, however, our position is where there is a salient in our lines, which should ensure that you get your fill of killing these Equestrians."

I noticed the grimaces of some of the soldiers that were on patrol, knowing what we would run into. It seemed the Army listened to everyone but its veterans. I sympathized with them, seeing fresh meat for the grinder, that didn't know what it was getting into.

"Any other questions? No? Then let's move out." Tom and I formed the men into a column of fours, and we began marching through the city. Colonel Keys stayed behind, and began to brief the next group of soldiers.

I have to say, it looked more organized than it did before. We passed through the town square, and I noticed a rather disgusting smell. "Hey, Lieutenant, what's that smell?"

"Why, the smell of the fires."

"What fires?"

"We burn their dead, Sergeant. It's our personal way of demoralizing them, to burn their dead. Remember, Sergeant, this is war." His by-the-books answer did little to soothe my stomach, and I soon lost my breakfast all over myself.

We soon reached the edge of a section of woods that gave me chills just looking at it. "This is the Everfree forest, gentlemen. I'll give the Sergeants a briefing when we get to our trench." As we marched deeper into the forest, I felt a distinct sense of dread forming within me. 

At last, we reached our trenches, slits dug into the earth.

"Alright, get in, everyone, quickly!" The Lieutenant began to yell, "They have artillery sighted on this area, get to the trench, NOW!" 

The column of fours began to dissolve into chaos as confused soldiers began running toward the trench.
I jumped in, along with the others, as Tom and I echoed the orders of the Lieutenant.

"Incoming!" I don't know who said that, but I heard that familiar whistle soon enough. "Brace against the sides! Hug the sides!" The trench was dug deep enough to allow a man to stand comfortably, with about three inches' space below the top.
The artillery shells began bombarding us, as I pressed my body against the wall. I closed my eyes as it hit a tree near us, sending splinters over us.

So we lay there, for a good 10 minutes, hugging the sides of the trench for dear life, as artillery shells exploded all around us. 

I suppose that the pony spotters had seen that we hadn't taken any losses, so the artillery subsided until it eventually stopped. 

"Alright, everyone off the walls." I called out, and the soldiers began looking around, wiping dirt off themselves as Tom took a head count. 

I looked over at the Lieutenant, and asked him if I should send a team out to figure out where the artillery was coming from.

"Welcome to the salient, Sergeant. Here, we take what they give us, because we know that to try and stop them will lead to our deaths."


> Act II, Chapter V
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trenches inside Everfree forest
September 11th, 1851
Day 31 of the Invasion of Equestria

Tom and I were called to a briefing the next day. The rest of the regiment had arrived, taking positions about fifty or so feet to our flanks. We had heard the pony artillery too, and I had braced the men against the sides again. After another bombardment, I was told to report to the Lieutenant's office.

I stepped past the blue-coated soldiers on my way down the line, their heads turning to face me. They were bored, obviously, and seeing their Sergeant gave them the anticipation of orders.

I met with Tom outside the briefing room, which wasn't really a room, but a large pit dug into the side of the trench. It was damp, and very dark, so the Lieutenant had a couple of candles set up.

"Detail of Sergeants Carter and Wright requesting permission to enter."

"Permission granted."

We stepped inside, and we saw that there were easily as many maps as there were soldiers. Maps were strewn everywhere on the multiple tables that had been set up, and I truly got a sense of how large this war was.

"Please, be seated." The Lieutenant pointed to a pair of chairs, and we sat in them. I noticed Tom wiping dirt off of his, and then sitting down.

"Firstly, my name is Lieutenant Wilson. I know that I didn't give you, or the men, my name. Why? Because by the time we're relieved, you're going to wish that you hadn't given them yours. Don't think about that now, instead, focus on this." He pointed to a large map of Equestria, that had been stolen from some messenger, it seemed. If I squinted, I could've sworn there was blood...

"This, gentlemen, is Equestria. This is Canterlot, and this is where we are now." I noticed that Canterlot was in the middle of the map, and that all the railroads led to it. Our position was about 10 miles due east of it, or so, I couldn't really tell with the amount of light.

"Now, I trust that both of you remember the Battle of Canterlot?" I nodded, and Tom said, "We were there, sir."

Lieutenant Wilson nodded, and looked to the map again. "Well, that saves me some time. In the aftermath of the battle, Army Group B was nearly completely destroyed. The beauty of the Trident Plan was that we only risked about a third of our army. Army Group A is currently east of us, engaging a pony army near a city called Fillydelphia. Army Group C, west of us, is engaging a force of Pegasi-"

"Pardon me, sir, but what are Pegasi?"

Lieutenant Wilson looked over at Tom, and produced a picture of three different types of ponies. One had a horn, another had wings, and the last was just a normal one.

"I'm assuming you don't know what we call any of these, correct?"

"That's...right, sir."

"Ok then, the one with the horn, we call them Unicorns. They can fire beams of fire from their horns, which makes them their first choice for ranged combat. Watch out for them, they can decimate a unit quickly if left unchecked. These ponies with wings, though you may call them Banshees, are Pegasi, or Pegasus, singular. They are their scouts, messengers, and general quick strike force, so they are a rather dangerous foe. Lastly, we get to these Earth ponies, as they're called. They are the most deadly in melee combat, so fighting them requires a numerical advantage. Keep that in mind before you decide to fight them directly."

I nodded slowly, trying to process this information. Lieutenant Wilson then went back to the map. "So, as I was saying, Army Group C has been engaging a rather large force of Pegasi near a collection of stationary clouds, where the Pegasi can stand. Which leads us to Army Group B. Army Group B is but a fraction of what it was before, and in the event of a major offensive, we are well and truly screwed. Which is why there is so much emphasis on groups A and C moving, so that we don't get attacked. Every pony fighting them is one less over here."

At this point, Lieutenant Wilson switched maps, producing one of the local area, about 5 miles in every direction. "Now, as for the local force, we have ourselves of course, along with an artillery detachment from the 6th Artillery. They are about 1000 feet behind us, and they operate 24-pounder howitzers. Then, further back, is a force of cavalry. However, since they are cavalry, they will only engage the ponies in clear ground. This means that we must either withdraw towards a field, or draw the enemy into one." 

I noticed the sound of our guns going off in the distance, and nearly jumped.

"Easy, Sergeant. In the coming days, we are expecting the ponies to mount an attack on our positions. This means that we hold this line, even if the ponies manage to cut us off. The artillery regiments also have orders to fire special-issue quicklime shells at captured areas. Before you ask, quicklime is a type of ordinance that burns the flesh, and eyes. It will blind an enemy after a few seconds, and burn their flesh after a minute. I don't need to tell you that this is a great weapon, but sadly the high command has decided to only use it in case of a breakthrough."

After a couple more briefings on various battlefield tactics, we were given permission to leave. I traveled back to my post, and since the sun was setting, went to sleep, lying back against the dirt wall. That night, I didn't dream, so I slept for a good 6 hours.