Look, I didnt want to be a solider. None of us did. Nobody wanted this war. Well, somebody did. Someone high up mustve made a decision. But they werent the ones fighting this war. We were the soldiers. We were the ones on the front line. We were the ones who fought. We were the ones who died. Out there, on the battlefield, it didnt matter who you were fighting for, not really. It was the same on both sides. Different uniforms maybe, but we had the same fears, the same hopes, and the same dreams. The war split Equestria in two. Family members turned against each other. Brother fought sister. Father fought son. Total strangers killed each other over who they thought should lead the country. Being a solider is dangerous. Its scary. And most of the time, It gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. Sooner or later, you break physically, or you break mentally. You watch friends youve known for years die horrible deaths, and then youve got to leave them where they fell, because youve been ordered not to stop. You watch inexperienced new recruits trying to hold their guts in whilst they scream in agony. You see limbs go flying as someone takes a direct hit from a cannonball. You can usually tell when someones snapped. Something in their eyes, the way they see everything, but they dont seem to react. Its like they dont hear the screams anymore. They dont see the blood. And it only ends when they get killed, or they take their own lives. You watch entire villages burn, and you hear the screams and the cries for help, but you know theres nothing you can do, because you started those fires. You were ordered to, and you do as youre told. You kill the pony in front of you because hes your enemy. If you dont, then you die in their place. If you run, youre a coward. If you stay, youre a hero. They call me a hero. Im not a hero.

Once, my patrol captured this young filly. She was pretty, with a pink mane and yellow hair. But she was spying for the enemy. We found a map in her possession with the positions of baggage trains marked with crosses, defensive structures circled in pencil. This square of folded paper was her undoing, a seemingly unimportant piece of paper that ended up getting her killed. She begged us to let her go, but we knew if we released her, she would almost certainly report back to the enemy, although she promised otherwise, endangering hundreds of lives. We couldnt take that risk. Our lives were at stake, the lives of our friends, and the lives of total strangers wed never even met. We couldnt let her go, but we couldnt keep her prisoner either. The longer she was with us, the more she would learn about troop movements and other information wed prefer stayed secret. We didnt have the numbers to ensure that she was guarded day and night, as she would almost certainly have to be. So we did what we had to. The Captain made the final decision; as much as he hated it, he decided that she couldnt be allowed to live. The spysheshe started crying when she realised what was going to happen. It was one of the most heart-breaking things Ive ever seen. I guess she didnt think about what she was doing when she volunteered. She was so young. I cant even remember if she had her cutie mark. But we slit the poor fillys throat, because we had to, because we were ordered to. I saw the last, desperate, pleading look in her eyes as she was forced down onto her knees; saw the arterial spray of blood splatter on the ground in front of her as the knife did the job it was designed to do: to kill. I watched as the Sargent gently pushed her over with his hoof, watched as the body fell, face first, into the ground, the blood pooling in the dirt. And then we left her lying, dead, in a pool of her own blood. Shit, we didnt even have enough time to bury her. I remember looking back as we left the clearing, looking at the Sargent as he stood over the body, watching him shaking as he knelt to shut the eyes of the corpse for the last time. And I remember thinking, are these really the actions of heroes? Is this what a hero does? I dont know. I sure as hell dont think so.

Shit, I dont even remember what were fighting for.

-Private Star-Spike, Fighting 31st infantry division, Royal Equestrian Army

(Sorry for interrupting the flow of things, but for anyone whos curious, the spy, in my mind, is about 16-17 years old, assuming of course that equestrians age at the same rate as humans. I just wanted to get across how young she is. But I wont let on who she is yet, that comes later. However, I can tell you that shes going to be a key character in the upcoming chapters.)

Star-spike awoke with a start as the cart jerked to a stop. He had arrived at the camp. A sea of tents stretched off into the distance, and small columns of smoke rose up here and there, marking the position of the multitude of campfires. The air rang with a cacophony of shouts, clangs and various other noises. Hundreds of ponies sat around campfires, others standing in small groups or walking in and out of tents. Runners ran to and fro, carrying messages through the camp. It was certainly an imposing sight.
“Right! Get out of the carts and form up over there!” Cried a dark green pony, as he gestured towards a fairly large, square patch of ground that was free of tents. Star-spike hurried over with about 40 other new recruits. They quickly lined up in a neat square, facing the flagpole that stood at the front of the drill square. The dark green pony trotted up and stood in front of them, and began to speak. “Right! I understand that you lot are new here, so I’ll make this as simple as possible. Firstly, I’m Sergeant Twister, and you will refer to me as such. Secondly, I won’t take any shit from any of you. You step out of line and you will bloody well know about it. Any questions?” Somepony coughed, but no questions were asked. “Good.” Said the sergeant. “ Fall out.”

During his first few weeks in the camp, Star-spike began to piece together an explanation for the current situation. His home village had been fairly secluded, and so was somewhat cut off from current affairs. But that had all changed one afternoon with the arrival of an entire Royal Equestrian Army brigade that had marched into the village. Anypony old enough to fight had been recruited. Some had volunteered to fight, including Star-spike. Others hadn’t volunteered. It didn’t matter, as they had been forcibly conscripted anyway. From what he already knew, several years ago the Princesses had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. In the confusion that followed, multiple factions had formed, and had begun attempting to seize power. The Royal Equestrian Army had been involved in vicious fighting with the many factions. During the first year of fighting, the battles had been fairly small, as the emergency council that had been set up to fill the power gap left by the Princesses attempted to eradicate the multiple factions that were threatening to de-stabilise the nation. However, the council was weak, and had made several costly mistakes. The combination of the council’s poor management, a serious drought in the south of Equestria and a epidemic in the North had only heightened the feelings of disquiet and anger. The factions had begun to grow in power, as more and more ponies joined them. The conflict quickly escalated into a full-blown civil war. The capital had been reduced to ruins as the many factions attempted to seize control, only to be attacked by another faction. The battles grew larger in size as the factions grew more and powerful. Most of the battles had quickly degenerated into bloodbaths as the conflict evolved into a war of attrition. Casualties had mounted rapidly, as soldiers and civilians alike got tangled up in the fighting.

Slowly, but with ever-increasing speed, Equestria was tearing itself apart.