Manehatten, Eastern Republic, SUE, May 18th, 1 A.U.
“Comrade Kaur, is that you?”
Aran Kaur turns over to find a familiar face, Major Hedge Climber, a tall red unicorn, with a distinctive pink scar under his right eye. Conspicuously, the Major is wearing civilian clothes, despite the occasion.
Aran smiles.
“It's good to see you, Major.”
“Heh, quite the event, isn’t it?”
The two find themselves at the front of a huge crowd. The crowd lines 6th street, one of the few in Manehatten that can accommodate the oncoming parade. The Big Apple’s great structures hem in the gathering, leaving little room to move; the buildings themselves are covered in freshly made banners, crimson red and always displaying some slogan: Victory, Progress, Liberation - things along those lines.
The ponies present dress well. Suits, ties, formal dresses, and uniforms if the pony has served.
Aran Kaur himself is finely dressed, a dark brown suit complimented with a simple black tie, recently bought. He packed lightly when coming to Equestria almost 5 years back. That life hadn’t been one of formal events and so the reporter’s wardrobe had been bare for the past few years - a fact that hadn’t changed even as he’d stayed put in Manehatten. Three days before had been the time Aran had realized he needed something decent. He’d rushed to the clothing store to find something within his price range - not an easy task. Equestria might be a socialist country, but before the war, it’d been the world’s richest, which reflects in store prices - a daunting prospect for a Hindian salary.
Ah, indeed, I’ll have to ration food for the next month.
Trying to keep that thought off his mind, Aran turns to his old friend.
“Major Climber, why not the usual uniform?”
Today, it’s expected that the military personnel wear their dress uniforms, but instead, the unicorn just wears black slacks and a white shirt with a red tie.
Climber shrugs.
“I didn’t have to, besides, I have to wear that old thing at work as well.”
Hedge Climber works at the Ministry of Defense building, where apparently the staff had to wear dress uniforms. It’s a strange rule, especially for Equestria. Aran had noticed many civil servants didn’t often dress formally, just simple work clothes - overalls, loose pants, and shirts without a suit coat. The military is just particularly stuffy like that.
“Well major, can we expect anything exciting this time around?” Asks Aran.
Climber grins.
“There sure will be something…” Climber says, looking quite excited for whatever is coming.
The major works in equipment procurement, a perfect job for a gearhead like him. He can talk at length about anything declassified, a useful resource for all things military.
“Since it’s about to start, can you at least tell me what kind of equipment will be revealed this time around?”
Climber seems to contemplate Aran’s question, fiddling with his own mane before answering.
“Ah… well… ok. It’s a tank.”
“... That’s all? Doesn’t seem out of the ordinary, is it another T-16 variant?.”
The Union’s now famous mainline tank, the T-16 had apparently caused a stir internationally when it debuted in 1017. Aran is hardly an expert, but he knows putting a 100mm gun on a medium tank is impressive and the tank is apparently well armored as well, more so than the T-10 or T-14. However, the vehicle, according to Climber, had faced issues in its early models and so had been constantly adjusted. Indeed, a few months ago, the Red Army had unveiled a T-16 with a new domed turret, which Aran had thought was a new tank. Another variant would be notable but not particularly so.
Climber shakes his head.
“Can’t say much about it, but it certainly isn’t a T-16.”
Before the implications of the statement can sink in for Aran, he can hear march music thunder through the city.
Ah, so it begins.
Everypony in attendance seems to straighten up, both in posture and expression. The previous, somewhat casual mood goes away completely. Ponies self-organize, arranging themselves in standing lines, standing upright with heads held high. It only makes sense for an event of this magnitude:
It’s the third anniversary of the end of the Great War. Three years after the last Changeling Heer units surrendered to the Red Army. This Victory Day parade will be one of many held in every Equestrian city and town. Across the continent, ponies in brown uniforms will march through the streets, in remembrance of their triumph. Flags will be held high, ponies will shout party slogans until their voices go out, and thousands will tune in to hear the Premier speak.
Aran knows this because it’d happened in 1018, 1019, and now it’ll happen again in 1020, or should he say year 1. He knows he shouldn’t have been shocked at the enthusiasm of the Equestrians, but he always is. Loyal Harmonists to devoutly saluting the red flag - what a series of events.
Talking to other foreigners in Petershoof, Aran had met the belief that Equestrians would revolt against the new government, restoring the Princessdom. That had been wishful thinking. Winning a war is a crowd pleaser. As long as the Union doesn’t greatly offend the average Equestrian, it isn’t going away anytime soon.
Expectantly, the march music grows louder as the procession comes closer. Aran readies his camera, hoping it’ll work this time around.
Sure enough, the first of the soldiers come into view. Like clockwork, columns upon columns of stern-faced ponies march in perfect unison, SVETA rifles at their side. Aran soon sees what exactly the first group is wearing: “New Browns”.
Generally, during the war, SRE infantry had worn two kinds of uniforms: the Severyanan Gymnastyorka, and the "New" Brown, which is Equestria’s pre-war “Service Dress” dyed in Severyanan Brown. Apparently, the new government had their hands on many Equestrian uniforms and clothing factories and had wanted as many uniforms as possible. So, gray changed to brown and that’s that. Even by the end of the war, much of the Red Army had still been wearing the compromised dress.
Now, with the war over, the army downsized, the fits are out of service. The Gymnastyorka seems to have completely subsumed it - though, according to Climber, those might be on the chopping block as well.
It makes sense though, that the army would dig a few New Browns out of storage. I imagine Equestrians identify with the outfit more than any Severyanan design.
Behind the first column of soldiers is the usual procession:
T-10 and T-14 tanks rumble across the city in neat rows, their commanders popping out the hatch to hold their heads high.
Trucks haul artillery of all types - howitzers, anti-tank guns, anti-air guns, and rocket pods. Most are Great War kits, though a lot of them are still in service.
The infantry come again- this time in Gymnastyrokas and carrying the new AK-17s, more typical of the contemporary Red Army.
Following close behind them are the Winged infantry, Pegasi and Thestrals. Their uniforms look little different from the rest of the army, only being differentiated by their wings.
The air force is not far behind, in multiple senses.
Just as ponies in blue air force attire come into Aran’s view, the screeching sound of jet engines rings out from a far. All creatures look up to find sixteen aircraft rapidly blitzing through the sky in Vic formation:
These planes didn’t fight in the Great War - they haven’t even entered service. They’re ProT-15s, the Union’s newest jet aircraft. Aran has seen them a month prior, but they’re flying much closer than before, the red stars painted on their white exteriors clearly visible.
Truly, they look more different from any fighter plane Aran has seen. Jet planes in general had always appeared strange to the deer, the lack of propeller and all, but the 15 has swept wings and stabilizers, giving it an odd silhouette. The plane didn’t even have a nose, just an air intake making it look as if its propeller got cut off.
The plane is big as well. It's hard to tell from a distance, but they're noticeably longer and wider than a "light" fighter should be. Doesn’'t that slow down the plane and make it more expensive?
In any case, the ProT-15s fly by too fast for a decent picture. Subsonic flight does that kind of thing.
Aran sighs. So far, the parade has been more of the same. That's still newsworthy, maintaining this level of enthusiasm is difficult. It shows that the Union hasn't waned in popularity, if anything, the streets seemed more crowded this year, though Aran doesn't know for sure.
Still, personally, he’d hoped for something more exciting: maybe new equipment, or even a significant change to anything.
It had not been like this during the war. There always had been something to report on: new tank, new plane, new offensive, or anything. Now, in peace and in Manehatten, things had taken a slower pace:
Debates in the Supreme Council are not open to the public, not even journalists.
Politicians in general seem wary of foreign journalists and are typically very busy - the few interviews Aran had gotten were short - around 10 minutes at the most. March had been somewhat noteworthy, with the constitution being ratified and plenty of new laws to be reported on, but nothing the average Hindian would find particularly exciting.
Aran thinks about the pictures he’s taken. They’re probably…okay, but nothing out of the ordinary for this parade.
Honestly, last year’s pictures might be enough.
“Disappointed, comrade?”
Major Climber seems to have noticed the expression on Aran’s face.
“Ah, did it show?”
“It was quite obvious.”
Aran pulls on his face, feeling embarrassed.
“Perhaps peace just isn’t for me.”
“Maybe you should sail south, I heard there’s something interesting going on in West Zebrica - Arabia and Mareypt are at each other's throats.”
“That does sound interesting… but who knows if I can get back into Equestria if I leave.”
For now, the Hindian Confederation still maintains relations with the Union. They don’t recognize the state, but maintain their consulate in Petershoof nonetheless.
Before the “Saltmane Incident,” as the foreign press likes to call it, many other coalition members had done the same, but now, Hindia and Zonica are the only member states with some presence in the Union.
However, that’s more than subject to change. Aran had picked up a Hindian newspaper the last time he’d visited Petershoof - an Ostranbi Times issue - it’d read: “REPUBLICAN PARTY FACES DISSOLUTION DUE TO FOREIGN POLICY DISAGREEMENTS.” The prose had been a little dramatic, but the Aran had believed the contents:
The Republican Party of Hindia is really an alliance of Harmonic Republicans under the Kansleri Ivar Hoeversholm and the Communists, united in their hatred of monarchists and traditionalists. Needless to say, this is a fragile framework, particularly over the issue of the Union.
Back in 1014, when the SUE had been the SRE and Aran had been recently demobilized, some rare real debate had raged in the Riksdag over whether or not to recognize Red Equestria. Hoeversholm had prevailed of course, but not without compromises, such as recognizing Socialist control over Severyana.
Now, with Coalition membership, it seems the issue has flared up again.
If the party really does split, it can’t go well for the Communists. Aran thinks. The Kansleri does have immense power - he can make their lives hell. Then, he’ll probably make things worse between Hindia and the Union. If I leave now, I might be able to get back in.
Just then, another screeching noise rings from above. Aran looks up to see a rather familiar sight:
Around 30 Nova-7 jet fighters fly up. Of course, this doesn’t drum the same kind of excitement in the crowd - more than half don’t even look up. The NoV-7 is an older design than the ProT-15, introduced just after the war as the NoV-5 before being upgraded. Unlike the 15, the Nov-7 looks more like a normal plane, with straight wings and stabilizers. It also has a nose, no propeller of course.
I’m never gonna get used to that. Never want to fly in one.
Without hangup, another huge formation of 7’s fly over, and then another, and then another.
More jets than last year, and more jets than what most countries have.
“Impressive isn’t it?”
Despite the noise, Major Climber seems entranced by the planes, like a foal looking at a shiny new toy.
“Looking quite bright eyed there Major, do you like them better than your tanks?”
Climber looks positively alarmed at Aran’s question.
“Don’t get me wrong, land vehicles are still the the best-”
That’s a former tanker for you.
“-but I’m starting to realize planes might be important as well.” Climber says almost begrudgingly.
“That’s progress.”
“Well, no matter how many jets we have, it still doesn’t compare to that over there.”
The Major points at procession, more specifically the part arising into view. He has a proud, knowing grin on face, so Aran hopes he isn’t disappointed:
The deer squints, trying to see the shapes now just coming into view. Just past the gray-clad Nova-Griffonian troops, are vehicles - tanks by their sound.
The newest land vehicles, coming just before the Premier himself.
Slowly, Aran begins to see the column of tanks coming into view:
They’re not T-16s.
The first thing that stands out is the turret. Compared to other Union tanks, the turrets on these vehicles are big, and almost boxy, being only curved at the front with more sharp angles on the turret’s various components. The turret makes the tanks taller than T-16s, maybe by half a meter.
The chassis looks similar to a slightly enlarged T-16’s, though the frontal armor is less curved, and its tracks are proportionally a little wider.
More than anything, it looks somewhat like the New Marelander Phoenix tank, built with Severyanan parts.
The most peculiar part is the gun. Instead of being cylindrical, the tank’s main gun is rectangular, with a square muzzle to boot. It’s also small, much thinner than the T-16’s main gun, closer to a 60mm’s diameter in width. The arrangement looks strange with such a thin gun for a large turret.
Before Aran notices the faint, purple glow radiating out from the tank gun’s muzzle, the tanks, in unison, aim their guns at a high angle and fire.
The sound is incomprehensible. It’s mixture of thunder, the cracking of fire, and a gunpowder explosion, distorting reality as a beam of concentrated bright purple energy bursts from the tanks’ barrels.
Aran turns to see where the shots ended up. The shot beams go straight into the air, seemingly curving before bursting into a massive multi-colored explosion.
Firework… spells. They’re firing spells, big ones too.
Magical weapons on vehicles aren’t a new concept per say, but they’re rare on anything not experimental. Magic weapons get more unstable the larger they’re scaled up, so magical weapons had largely been confined to specialized, heavy small arms.
There had always been rumors of a heavy, magical artillery - huge magical cannons rather than firing crystal infused shells.
Those rumors… now they’re reality.
There’s more than two dozen of these tanks and they’d all successfully fired their guns.
Aran makes sure to take as many pictures as he can. He almost trips into the road trying to get a better angle on one of them.
The vehicles roll on too quickly, replaced by a stream of T-16’s. Aran considers running after them, but he wouldn’t get anywhere with the crowd.
Quickly, he turns to Climber:
“What can y-”
The major holds up his hoof to stop the overzealous deer.
“Not much. Not much at all.”
“What’s not much?!”
Climber sighs.
“Calm down… well, I can tell you the name; it’s the T-50. The T-50 Veronika.”
“Named?”
“Yeah, they’ve decided to start doing that... I can also tell you they’re going into service soon.”
“...So soon after the T-16? That tank is still getting new variants.”
Climber’s face becomes more guarded.
“It's not my place to speculate on the why of that. This is all I can tell you.”
A wave of disappointment washes over Aran.
“... I understand, Major, thank you for the information.”
“Hey, why the long face, this is pretty newsworthy eh?”
“I suppose...”
“More info will be released later on; you just have to wait. Ohh! Here comes the Premier now!”
“I can’t even take pictures anymore… I’m out of…”
“He’s so close now!”
Somewhat reluctantly, Aran raises his head.
Premier Sinister Serov of the Socialist Union of Equestria looks as magnanimous as ever. He rides atop a black open top, Model 1008, Mustang car. The black-furred pony is donned in a simple black suit and tie, his blue eyes providing a sharp contrast to the rest of appearance.
As always, he smiles pleasantly and waves at the crowd, a completely different person than in his speeches.
Aran looks at the Premier, a stallion who has conquered more territory than any other pony, possibly more than any other creature, in history. Now, he just looks like a regular politician, the shift almost makes Aran laugh.
Suddenly, Sinister’s eyes make contact with Aran’s. There’s a shift in the Premier’s expression, a small one.
However, no matter how subtle, Sinister’s now ominous smile sends a shiver down Aran’s spine.
“You know, my sister’s starting a winery down near New Horseleans!”
Aran finds himself in a bar, an old decently sized one, privately owned as well. The well-lit room is packed full of ponies, not surprising in the aftermath of Victory Day. In fact, there’s more ponies here than ever.
When Aran first found the bar 3 years ago, it had never been this busy, even after victory parades.
The beer has gotten cheaper. Aran thinks wistfully as he takes another gulp.
Major Climber, sitting beside Aran, has had more than enough to drink. The Major usually rambles on about his family when he’s drunk and today’s no exception.
“...Yeah, well, uh - it’s like a “cooperative” I think? Like, the people… the people working own the company? I think she said something about tax benefits that the South-east or Tina- uh- Tizina-cata, republic hass…”
Climber slumps further into the table.
“Anyways… I’m uh, really, real-ly happy for her… Besides, no-no wine’s coming in anymore…”
Climber slumps even further, barely conscious.
The gray-feathered griffon bartender looks at Aran.
“I’m going to have cut your friend off, Aran.” He states bluntly.
“...Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Aran replies.
Aran takes his time to finish his beer, he doesn’t look forward to making his way to his small apartment - especially considering he lives in West Bronclyn, a ways from central Manehatten.
Climber seems happy in a way only a drunk pony can be. He’s blissfully mumbling some nonsense about his parents, two old mages who live in Filydephia.
“Looking forward to the future Major?” Aran asks, feeling quite tipsy himself.
Surprisingly, Climber responds:
“YEP! Nothing but smooth sailing from here!”
“...Oh…I see…”
“That… that reminds me though. There’s something interesting go-going on a-a ways into the jungle…”
“...Ok…” Aran replies haphazardly.
“Y-yeah, I have a fr-friend… he lives in one of those-uh new little settlements in the jungle. He came up last week and told me the weirdest things…”
“Wha-w…hat was it?”
“A lot of tribals? Or was it Neighua…yeah, I think -think that’s their name… Anyways they were protesting in that city of theirs.”
“...That, that does sound interesting Major, do you know the reason.”
“Something about a building…Or was it about the railroad? Anyways… I do…don’t know what they’re so angry about… THERE’S PEACE! Pe-PEACE I tell you! What do you have to be angry about?”
The Major calms down from his outburst, it’s hardly noticed in the liveness of the bar.
“Anyways… you sho-should go down there if Manehatten keep, keeps being boring…”
Climber completely collapses into the table, fast asleep.
What he told me does sound interesting… I’ll consider it when I get back home…