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.)

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