"The cherry trees are lovely in Stalliongrad this time of year. Would you agree?"

"Yes, the blossoms are a bright red."

"Excellent. The wolf howled alone on the plains."

"I heard his cry."

With that, I hung up the phone.

Everything was ready to go. They had been waiting for years for somepony like me to come along. A war hero, ex-captain of the Wonderbolts. I couldn't blame them. The bottle of whiskey I bought was already halfway gone. Guess I was thirstier than I thought. I fumbled around on the nightstand for the dirty shot glass I'd been using all night, knocking some junk on the floor as I went. Not like it mattered, this apartment was a one room shit-hole. Some crummy building in Manehattan, run by the same dirty griffons as it probably had been for generations. The T.V. barely picked up cable, and the bathroom stank regardless of weather it had been used or not.

'How the mighty have fallen,' I lamented, throwing back another mouthful of fiery booze before putting my head back on the pillow. It was already midnight. The only reason I'm still awake is because I was waiting on that phone call. No reason to stay up any longer, except to stave off the dreams. I haven't gotten a solid night's sleep in ten years.

I was young, and dumb. I had no idea what I was signing up for. Neither did the rest of my buddies. We were just colts, wanting to see the world, maybe kill a few zebra out there in the jungles of southeast Shetland. Why? Couldn't tell ya. The same reason any young colt leaves his mother to serve his princess I suppose. A sense of duty maybe? Perhaps the age old invincible attitude of youth.

Our job was simple. Luna had the natives on her side, we had to take them out. The official story was she wanted nighttime, all the time. But anypony who believed that was either an idiot, or gullible. Or both.

The ceiling fan went around above my head as I felt a calm buzz finally overtake me. Half a bottle of high octane alcohol, and all I got was a buzz. No wonder I live here. Wasn't always like this though. I had money, fame, all the mares I could want, any time I wanted them. Even had a fling with Spitfire once or twice after a show. My work kept my mind off my service for the most part. The constant public appearances and just being around other ponies was enough to let me sweep a lot of the memories under the rug.

Once I retired, I couldn't keep them in check anymore. It used to just happen once a month, then twice, then three times. Each time I slept, the dreams felt more real, more vivid than the one before it. I started to drink again not long after. In about a year I was having nightmares every night.

You get used to them eventually, but even if it's the same one a few nights in a row, new details emerge you hadn't noticed before. Those were the most haunting. It may be just an expression on a squad member's face, or it could be the dying gasp of a colt no older than myself crying for his mother among the thick smoke of the burning villages before a zebra silenced him with a blade across the throat.

I never thought I would end up this way. Unable to feel even the slightest emotion unless I've been drinking. A lot of innocent young colts bones still rest out there, their memories, hopes, dreams and fears lost to the specter of death like so many tears in a rainstorm. The royals never set hoof in that part of the world. They never saw what they ordered us to do; they didn't see the stacks of dead zebra burning in the fields to send a clear message to those who dared support Luna's rebellion. They never had the acrid stench of burning flesh and hair fill their nostrils while they dragged more corpses away to be burned. I left a part of myself back there in that distant, lush hellhole. A part I know the jungle has claimed, and I know I'll never get back.

It's okay though. The day after tomorrow, all that won't matter. I've often thought of those I lost during the war with a tinge of jealousy. After all, the dead have their peace. They aren't tortured night after night by what they did, what they saw. 'Move on' Spitfire told me, as if seeing your friends die in front of you and taking your anger out on some unlucky zebras bleeding face as he prayed to whatever god his kind respected for me to just kill him was something you could just 'move on' from. This cart I pull has a broken wheel. It can't go forward, it can't go back, and I'm stuck right here with it.

Eyelids are getting heavier now, I know Shetland won't be too far off. At a certain point, even when you come to expect it, nothing really prepares you to see the faces of old friends long gone as you relive their final moments time and again. The booze helps take the edge off. When I was a foal, I dreamt of the sky, and the magic of flight, like most pegasi colts. Now all I see when I close my eyes is the hell that awaited me on the ground. The muddy, blood stained ground.

I was ready.

I found myself behind our medic Cotton. Walking in a silent line through the jungle, we made our way deep into the heart of Zebra territory. I was part of a special unit, the 'Silent Service' they called us. Our orders came straight from the top, Celestia herself, though none of us had ever met her. We were just grunts, not top brass. Our jackets camouflaged well with the foliage as did our face and body paint. All we had were blades on the ends of our legs, hence the 'silent' part of our nickname.

There was a tripwire two paces ahead. Step over it, just like always. I knew this dream well. Nopony I knew died in this one. When I first began having the dreams, and recognizing I was in them, I tried to change them, to do something different than I had done in actuality, but I couldn't. I was just along for the hellish ride. The Zebra may have been primitive to us, but they adapted quickly to our tactics. They learned our paths, set ambushes, and laid traps. They certainly weren't the savages we had been led to believe in basic.

The jungle thinned as we neared a village in the distance, about 700 feet from our position in the edge of the forest. High command suspected this village to be hiding weapons and guerrilla fighters in their homes. Were they really? Who knows? It wasn't our job to question orders, only to follow them. And follow them we did.

"Firebase alpha foxtrot, sierra sierra, target village coordinates are 30" 27' west and 24" 17' north. Ready the strike package on our mark," I said as our dragon squad mate Static quickly wrote my words onto a scroll and blew it toward it's distant recipient. Within seconds, Static coughed up our reply.

"Coordinates confirmed sierra sierra, firing for effect. Airstrike inbound in three-zero seconds."

The unicorn fire crews would soon start using their magic to lob shells at our coordinates, they distant whistle of the crude bombs grew in intensity as they sailed through the sky. Here it comes. The villagers had no idea what was coming.

They never did. The whistling of ordinance falling from the sky drifted towards our position.

The first shell landed right on top of a flimsy straw hut, a soft rumble shaking beneath our hooves with every impact. Needless to say, it shattered into a thousand pieces, a red mist intermingling with the flying straw. The screams began almost immediately as the villagers gathered their children, wives and other loved ones and retreated into their huts. It didn't matter though. Hut's weren't going to protect them from Celestia's fire. The Strategic Air Command pegasi were well on their way, and that shit would burn the entire village to the ground. A hellish mixture of water and fire, said to be synthesized by the princess herself. If any got on you, it would be a lot less painful to just amputate the limb than try to get it off. It burned right down to the bone, and out the other side.

I saw the smoke trail coming over the horizon as the bombardment relented.

"Here comes the fun part!" Static added. At the time, I couldn't deny I was curious to see the effects of Celestia's fire first hoof.

The smoke trails of the fighter pegasi grew over the horizon. A quick flight at treetop level over the village with perfect timing would release hell upon those suspected of supporting the opposition. The fire was like an ocean wave of death, its undulating crest setting ablaze anything or anypony unfortunate enough to be in it's path.

The noise was something unique; something I've never heard replicated anywhere else. A soft rush followed by screams creating an orchestra of hellish sounds conducted by Death himself. Within seconds, the entire village was burning. Thick black smoke rose high into the air as the second wave ripped through the sky and unloaded more death upon the simple villagers, whose biggest concern yesterday was how many fish they were going to catch, or how much game they would need to kill for dinner.

Here comes the worst part. I see her every time. No matter how hard I try, I can't look away. A zebra filly, no more than nine or ten, running towards our position screaming in fear. I can make out tears streaming down her face. I know she can't see us, but still, the terror in her eyes burns into my soul each and every time as the last Celestia's fire bomb drops, engulfing her in flames, silencing her screams for her mother and father forever.

There's a pounding at the door. My head is killing me, but what else is new?

'Who in the hell...' I thought dragging myself out of bed and glancing at the clock.

'10:35'

'Right...That Twilight filly was coming today.'