Adolf Hitler - The Great Equestrian War (unfinished)

>You are Anonymous
>And it is Thursday. Which meant a quiz in your History class.
>“Summarize in one paragraph how the treaty of Versailles may have indirectly led to the rise of Fascism in Germany.”
“Hey Teach, I don’t think I could summarize this in a paragraph. Mind if I make it longer?”
>He responds with a yell.
>Weird. He’s about 10 feet away, why would he ne-
>“GRENADE!”
>You look up to see that there is a grenade that has landed on your desk.
>You jump from your seat and dive away from your desk in time to see it blown to bits.
>You also realize that you’re not in your classroom.
>Rather, you are in a field. If it could be called that.
>It’s pocked with smoldering craters, flaming wreckage, a few scattered trees barren and burnt.
>Crawling to a crater near where your desk was, avoiding gunfire, and what appears to be bolts of lightning flying across the sky, you find you are not alone.
>There is a man, or what remains of him.
>He is wearing what looks like armour under a robe with a sun and moon on the chest.
>You take this opportunity of brief safety to assess your situation.
>You’ve been… teleported… from your classroom to a battlefield. You were nearly blown apart by a grenade, but other than some mud on your face, you remained unharmed.
>This guy was not so fortunate.
>There was blood coursing from his neck, and he was holding his hand to his gushing wound. But it didn’t look like he going to hold on much longer.
>During this time, his gaze had been to the sky, but he slowly turns to you, barely breathing.
>”Go… to the base. That way.”
>He gestures in a general direction with his free hand.
>He pulls a necklace from his neck and hands it to you.
>“Give ‘em this. You’re not a part of this. They’ll help.”
>He spasms a bit, coughs up some blood, and ceases stirring.

>You take a brief look at the necklace
>It’s a smooth stone, about the size of an egg. Green, like a piece of jade, and covered in mysterious carvings.
>And glowing.
>Why was it glowing?
>Given that there was gunfire and other such calamity around you, you figure it’s a good idea to find out later.
>You begin sprinting across this muddy mess of a field, dodging caltrops, mangled bodies, stray bullets and what you were guessing by now were magic spells.
>Eventually, through the surrounding miasma, you start to see other people coming your way.
>Dressed in similar garb to the man you met dying in the crater, they marched together, solemn looks on their faces, casting fireballs and bolts of lightning from their fingers.
>Even though you had the stone, you didn’t want to risk them taking you for an enemy.
>You collapse as soon as you think they can see you, pretending to be dead.
>Their footsteps come closer… closer…closer.
>They walk towards you…
>And then past you.
>As if you weren’t even there.
>You slowly rise up, looking back at their flowing blue robes.
>Bad idea.
>As you turn back facing forward, you see now a different group of soldiers. These are also robed, but in deep crimson, and with a tree upon the chest of their robes.
>They made a strange clanking sound, until you realized along their belt, they carried bottles of some concoctions.
>They, too, walk straight past you, stopping after a few feet.
> “EVERFREE FOG!”
>One of them yelled this, and the others pulled a bottle from their belt, almost robotically.
>“TAKE AIM!”
>“THROW!”
>They all throw the bottles, which upon breaking, release a thick fog.
>That explains where the fog was coming from.
>You see a trench several feet away.
>Sprinting as fast as you can, you forget to look for hazards.
>Your leg catches in a small hole, and you hear a sickening crunch, as pain shoots up your leg.
>Yelling out in pain, you muster all your strength to fall face first in the trench.

>"What's this one's story? He doesn't look like one of ours!"
>"We just found him lying in the trench. His leg is broken, and he was unconscious."
>"So we're to treat enemy soldiers now, huh? Is that what you're saying?"
>"Doctor, I don't think he's a soldier! He was unarmed! Except he was carrying this."
>You feel a cool, damp, washcloth being lightly dabbed on your forehead.
>And an agonizing pain in your right leg.
>You are Anonymous.
>And you have no idea what the fuck is going on.
>"Doctor, I think he's coming to!"
>You slowly open your eyes, and sit up just slightly.
>You are now in a small room, about the size of a large shed.
>It is dimly lit, and you can hear thunderclaps and explosions outside.
>You're lying in a cot. It's a bit stiff, but better than crawling through mud.
>"Good morning, young man."
>You turn to your left to see a nurse.
>Her pale pink hair in a bun, and with a youthful face, she couldn't be more than twenty.
>If you weren't in agonizing pain, you'd probably pop a boner.
"G...good morning," you manage to utter.
>"Doctor, come quick! Our mystery patient is awake."
> To your right, you notice an older man in a white trench coat, with a bit more blood and mud than on the nurse's.
>He's clean cut, with a freshly shaven face, trimmed hair with traces of grey, and a look of authority about him.
>"'Morning. I am Dr. Stable. This is Nurse Redheart. You were found lying in the trench with a broken leg, and clutching this."
>He holds aloft the same rune stone given to you by the robed man.
"Hey, give that back!"
>"Why do you have it? Are you a spy?"
>This guy was getting to be a real dick.
"No! One moment, I'm in my class, the next, I'm nearly blown apart by a grenade. There was a guy who gave that to me, and told me to show it to you people. He said you'd help. He's dead now, so don't bother asking him!"

>The look of contempt on his face turns to shock.
>The nurse has to hide her face to keep from crying.
>The doctor takes a look at you, then at the stone, then you again. He sighs.
>"Nurse Redheart, start making a cast for him. Young man, what is your name?"
"Anonymous."
>"Ok, Anonymous, do you have any known allergies, particularly to painkillers?"
“Nope.”
>"Perfect. Hold out your right arm, and clench your fist."
>He sticks a small needle into your arm, and from it, you feel… nothing.
>“‘Flower Power’. It's a painkiller derived from the poppy. In a bit, you shouldn't feel a thing.”
>“Redheart, is that cast ready?"
>“Not quite, Doctor.”
>His hands start glowing as his palms are filled with a strange aura. He moves them to your bad leg.
>You try to prop yourself up to see what he’s doing, but the drugs are already kicking in.
>You barely manage to curl enough to get a glance at him before he uses one of his hands to push you back down.
>“I need you to be still for this. Try to move as little as possible.”
>“‘Kay, Doc,” you manage to murmur.
>He sets back to whatever he’s doing, and you just stare straight ahead.
>You stare into the light hanging directly overhead, its sodium bulb slowly blinding you.
>“All right, Anonymous. I moved the pieces of your tibia and fibula back into position. The tissues will take a while to heal, though. With the cast that the good Nurse is making, we should have you at least slightly mobile. Speaking of which, how’s that cast coming?”
>“It’s ready, Doctor Stable.”
>You start to feel the nurse slowly wrap the plaster soaked cloth around your leg. It was snug, but comforting.
>“Doctor, the cast is do-”
>You hear a door slam.
>“Oh dear, that’s not good.”

>You don’t feel it, but you hear your stomach growl.
>“Oh, how rude of me! How long’s it been since you’ve eaten?”
“What time is it?”
>“About 5:30.”
>How long had you been out?
>History class was around 11, & you hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“Well, I am pretty hungry.”
>“Okay, let’s get you moved to somewhere a bit more comfortable & get you something to eat.”
>She slides her hand under your back & helps prop you up, eventually getting you upright.
>“We can’t put you in a wheelchair, but I’ll get you a crutch.”
>She runs over to them and grabs one, handing it to you.
>You grab it, shoving the padded end into your underarm.
“So, where are we going?”
>“Well Anonymous, this is the surgery room. Since we have to make room for the soldiers in need of immediate medical attention, I’m helping you get to the Recovery Center.”
>She reaches to put her arm across your back, but you brush her away.
“I’ll be able to get the-”
>You stumble a bit & fall.
>“Nonsense. You’re still under the effects of the medicine, you’re crippled, & you don’t know the way. I’ll help you.”
>You yield, & she positions her right arm around your back & her neck under your left arm, gripping your torso.
>She smelled… pleasant. A bit like hand sanitizer, but also like fresh linen & some kind of lotion.
>The two of you hobble out of the doctor’s makeshift office & back into the trenches.
>Once again, your ears are filled with the deafening booms of cannons, gunfire, spells flying across the sky & explosions.
>The mud & muck in the trench is ruining your new cast, but you don’t care.
>Leading you out of the trench, Nurse Redheart talks to soldiers limping their way to the doctor.
>“Just grazed? Take a piece of cloth from the medicine closet, tie it tight around your arm. Use antiseptic. Concussion? Go lie down & relax. Shrapnel? Hurry to the Doctor’s office, break down his door if you have to. He’ll take care of you.”

>The din fades as she leads you further away from the front lines.
>There’s a slight slope as you leave the trench maze and enter the ruins of a bombed out town.
>Whatever was happening here, it was terrible.
>She guides you towards an old schoolhouse.
>The belfry in it was partially collapsed. You couldn’t tell if the bell had been taken down or fallen in. What remained of the playground was some scorched earth, twisted pieces of metal, and lifeless trees.
>As the two of you walk in, you heard the groaning of wounded and dying soldiers. Some were missing eyes, arms, or legs.
>A few were sitting absent-mindedly in their makeshift cots, staring aimlessly into space.
>Shellshock.
>Redheart finds an empty cot, and helps you into it.
>She then goes over to another nurse, and starts talking to her.
>“Hi, Cheerilee. This is a bit of a strange one.”
>They talk for a bit, presumably about your situation. You tune them out.
>As you do, you take in the whole of this old classroom.
>Although you detect the faint smell of paper and chalkboard dust, it was being suffocated by the smell of blood pain, and death.
>A room once filled with the laughter of children now hosted the groaning of soldiers in agonizing pain.
>Looking around, you see the chalkboard. You can see old math problems and writing, faded but still not fully erased, now covered with names.
>Big Macintosh, Mustard Gas cough, sent on recovery leave.
>Derpy Hooves, Dysentery, blames food poisoning in her muffin, returned to position after treatment.
>Trixie, magic burns on hands, treated, discharged.
>Carrot Top, Shrapnel, Deceased.
>Too many to count.
>“I have to return to the trenches. Got to make sure the doctor isn’t too drunk to operate. Keep an eye on him will you?”
>Redheart runs out the door, back into the maze.
>The woman she was talking to, Cheerilee, sighs, and walks over to the chalkboard. She starts writing.
>You have to squint to see it.
>Anonymous, broken leg.

>She eventually walks over to you, bringing a small tray with some things on it.
>She sets it before you. Canned apples, a hunk of bread, and some water.
>Without hesitation, you start wolfing down the bread.
>It wasn’t that bad. A little stale, but you were too hungry to care.
> “I know it’s not much, but it’s hard to get decent food out here. I’m Cheerilee.”
“Anonymous. Just call me Anon.”
>Still chewing on your bread, you hold out your hand, and she shakes it, a bit nervously.
> She sits by your side, quietly, as you finish your bread & gulp down some of the water.
>Eventually, you decide to break the ice.
“So, how did such a pretty woman as yourself get embroiled in all this?”
>She blushed a bit, returning a bit of colour to her previously pallid face.
>“Oh, you’re just saying that. Nonetheless… Back before the war, when this was a school, I was its teacher. After the bombings, this place wasn’t safe anymore. Most of the people were evacuated to Canterlot or the mines under it. I refused to leave. Others stayed behind, saying they were inspired by my determination. We became a small circle of closely knit friends. Carrot Top would come by, bringing me food from her garden. Cranky Doodle Donkey came by once or twice to fix the holes in the roof, but I haven’t seen him since. Others came by for moral support. I heard even a few of my students tried to come visit, but were found before they made it. After a while, I saw the normal people less, & the soldiers more. Some were wounded, a few were even old flames wanting to see someone they cared about before they died. Either way, I appreciated the company.”

>She talks at length a bit about how the town used to be before, while you eat the apples, and drink the juice in the can. During this time, you start to take in her appearance, focusing for the first time on the person next to you.
>She looked to be in her early…30’s. At least that was your guess. She had long hair, sort of a maroon colour. They were all difficult features to tell by candlelight. She wore a sweater vest over a wrinkled dress shirt, and a floral skirt. She wasn’t particularly busty, but the belt on her waist accentuated her hips.
>Guess that whole thing wasn’t just flat-
>“Anon? My face is up here.”
> “Hmm? Oh! Sorry…”
>She laughed a bit, and sat up, taking your tray.
>“I am flattered, but don’t think of trying any funny business. I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Oh? And who might that lucky man be?”
>“Big Macintosh.”
“Is he trying to compensate for something with that name?”
>“He’s six and a half feet tall, 260 pounds of raw muscle, and if he saw anyone try anything with me, he’d rip their arms off.”
>Well shit.
>You remind yourself never to get on Big Macintosh’s bad side.
>“Well, it’s getting late, and you must be exhausted. Do you want me to leave your candle going?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
>“Okay. Good night, Anon.”
>She grabs the candle, and starts slowly sauntering her way to her bed.
>You could swear as your lids grew heavy that she was swaying her hips ever so slightly.

>“Wake up.”
>“Anon, wake up.”
>You feel a hand cupped over your mouth.
>Your eyes open, & you panic, trying to breath.
>“Calm down, hotshot. It’s me.”
>You recognize Dr. Stable’s voice. You also smell alcohol on his breath.
>He lifts his other hand, & it glows with just enough light that you can see his face.
> “Promise to be quiet?”
>You nod.
> “Good. Follow me.”
>He starts walking towards the door. Not wanting to be left behind, you struggle to shuffle out of bed, & fall on the floor.
>You stifle a yelp as you land on your bad leg.
>“Shh… Don’t wake the others.”
>You limp towards the door, & follow him out.
>He starts to walk with a bit of a drunken swagger towards a large tree stump, & sits down.
>You notice that it is much quieter than before.
“The bombs? The spells? The guns? Why are-”
>“Even soldiers have to sleep, Anon. The night shifts are much quieter.”
>He pats his hand on the other side of the stump, beckoning you over.
>“C’mon, I won’t bite. I’d have to treat you if it got infected.”
>You hobble over to the stump & sit down, uncomfortably.
>Stable pulls something from the jacket of his coat.
>He offers a flask.
>“Thirsty?”
>You take it, & drink a quick draught.
>You cough it back out.
>It felt like there was a fire in your throat.
“What the fuck is that?”
>“Applejack. Not the soldier, though. She’s in the artillery division. It’s made from concentrating hard cider. Strengthens the drink, strengthens the drinker. You know, they used to use alcohol as a sort of anesthetic? Just get ‘em too wasted to care that their hand’s getting cut off!”
“Doc, I really hope you didn’t get me up in the middle of the night to idly discuss alcohol.”
>“I didn’t get you up in the middle of the night! I got you up at 4 in the morning." He said this as he dangled a pocket watch in your face.
>You look at him with an expression clearly stating that you were done with his shit.

>He sighs, & reaches into his coat again, pulling out something smaller this time.
>It was the rune stone given to you by the dead mage.
>“Do you know what this is?”
>Shrugging, you give it your best guess.
“Magical necklace?”
>“A summoning stone. Sleipnir, the mage who gave this to you, specialized in summoning, the art of pulling creatures or things from other places, worlds, planes of existence, & utilizing them. Most summoning mages were able to summon simple things, like hellhounds, undead, demons, & the like.”
>You notice that he pauses for a few moments between each sentence. Whether to retrieve old memories, to jog his mind through his inebriation, or both, you can't tell.
>“We don’t know why, but Sleipnir was different. He could summon things, living or dead, good or evil from anywhere, from any period of time. For that, he was made the leader of the Summoning Division in our Battlemage force. He was a good man, but he kept to himself. After I had pestered him about the necklace, he simply said ‘It’s been in my family for generations.’
>He turns to you.
>“He never parted with that amulet. When you were brought in clutching it, I knew something was wrong. I hope you can forgive my hostility.”
“Apology accepted.”
> “You see, he was one of the most powerful mages known of. His death isn’t just one among many, it’s a major blow to morale.”
“Like if we lost Patton in battle.”
>Stable gives you a puzzled look.
>“Who?”
“General George Patton? Leader of the Third Army in World War II?”
>The doctor cocks his head at you in further confusion.
>“I may be drunk, but even that doesn't make sense.”
“Are you crazy? That war involved almost all of human civilization! Where could you possibly be where that hasn't been heard of?”
>“You’re not from around here, are you?”

>Stable gives a light chuckle.
>“You can’t be serious, right? This is Equestria.”
>The realization of what has happened hits you like a ton of bricks.
>You had no idea where you were. You had been taken from your home, across an untold distance, to… Equestria?
>You try to remember traces of Latin you had read before.
“Equestria… a land of… Horses?”
>“He can be taught! Yes, named by our ancestors, who used to worship horses.”
>The doctor said so in a very matter-of-fact tone.
>Your mind is racing. You have countless questions coming to mind.
“Doctor Stable?”
>“Gregory. Or Greg.”
“Ok… Greg? How could I have possibly come here?”
>He grunts.
>“How should I know? I’m a doctor, not a conjurer.”
>He takes a moment to evaluate what he said.
>“I’m sorry, Anon. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. That’s just a question I cannot answer. The only person who could know for sure died out in that field yesterday.”
>Yesterday.
>Crap, was it that late already? Rather, that early?
>The moon was low in the sky, and you could see traces of colour in the east.
>“Well, I’d best head back to the trenches. If there are soldiers fighting, there are soldiers dying. Why don’t you go get some sleep while you can.”
>He stumbles back to the trench maze, and you stumble back to the old schoolhouse.
>As you lay in your cot as quietly as you can, you can see faint rays of sunlight coming through the gaps between the boards on the windows.
>Tomorrow… rather, today, you were getting answers.

>“Anon? Anon, are you all right?”
>You are Anonymous.
>You have found yourself brought from your home to the middle of a war.
>Evading death, you encountered a mage, who with the last of his strength, gives you a mysterious stone.
>You broke your leg attempting to reach safety, & come to in a makeshift doctor’s office.
>Somehow, the doctor is able to magically mend your leg, & his nurse escorts you to the ruins of an empty town, where you can recover.
>“Anonymous, it’s time to wake up! We’re having breakfast.”
>The teacher turned amateur nurse beckons you out of bed.
>As you get awkwardly out of your bed, you notice a few of the soldiers shuffling about.
>Some are eating from bowls of oatmeal with a listless look on their faces. Others are bringing breakfast around to the less capable soldiers.
>One of them notices you, and carrying a tray, hurries over with a spring in his step.
>“Hey there! You must be the new guy. Andy, right?”
“Anonymous. Or Anon. And you are?”
>“Braeburn. Reconnaissance. Well, I was, till I ended up here.”
>You hold out your hand to shake his.
“Well, it’s good to meet you, Braeburn.”
>The smile on his face fades.
>“Oh, I couldn’t do that. Miss Cheerilee says to help those who can't help themselves. Well, here’s your breakfast. Eat up!”
>He sets the tray on your lap, & you notice that where his right hand was supposed to be, only a wrapped stump could be found. He goes back to the small stove set up to help Cheerilee.
>You quietly eat your oatmeal, observing the other soldiers with more clarity than yesterday.
>There was a total of… twelve or so.
>One of them had bandages all over his face, & was being doted on by Cheerilee personally.
>A few were still sleeping.
>One or two were staring blankly out of a window, looking at the horizon.
>The rest seemed pretty capable. Missing fingers, or some bandages, but otherwise, they were okay.