Note:

Hey everyone, I know this chapter is much shorter, but I thought I'd do a little bit of an insight of how the allies are feeling about this. As this chapter is much shorter, I may upload the next chapter later on, once I've done checking it of course. As for the perspectives, I'm doing the major 3, being the UK, US and the USSR.

(British perspective)

- On the BBC

"Breaking news. At late afternoon, yesterday, the USSR had launched a major bombing campaign on major Equestrian provinces, the hardest hit being Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Baltimare, Ponyville and Canterlot- Don't get the first three confused with the American cities with similar names- Back on topic, sorry. By nightfall, it's claimed the Soviets have gained uncontested air supremacy against Equestria. All of their ships, sunk, most AA defences, destroyed, and thousands of pegasuses and other species have died, only to take out just two hundred Soviet aircraft in return, most loses being their formidable Yak-3 fighters. This has the first air campaign seen in Europe since Germany's unconditional surrender to the allied powers. We have yet to hear from Stalin for this sudden military action. We have also yet to hear from Equestria's diarchy, Celestia and Luna. We ask ourselv-"

"For god's sake, when will this bloody fighting ever stop?" Jack groaned as he turned off the radio.

Jack Rose, is a 31 year old white man, who has very dark brown hair and beard, and is 6 foot tall. He is wearing his uniform that's highly decorated with medals. He had served the RAF between 1942 to 1945. He is comfortably sat on a rough violet red sofa with big armrests on each side. Infront of the sofa is a rectangular sleek dark wooden table, with a circular glass ashtray, with some cigarette ash in it. On the table is a radio, with a massive antenna.

He was proud that he served his country, but also knew for every man he killed, he devastated whole families. But what he did in the war was now in the past, and in his view it's time to move on from the war. He just enjoyed being back home, and whenever any war-related stories were on, he switches the radio right off.

"Catherine, get me some tea will ya? And maybe a sandwich too while you're at it."

"Alright my darling, will be just a second."

Catherine Patel is 26, 5 years younger than Jack, and just like her husband, is white. She has very bright blond hair which looked like the mane of a lion, it was that gorgeous. She is wearing a pale blue jumper and a very dark grey skirt that went down to her knees.

Jack leans back on the sofa, embracing the luxury he had that he knew some others certainly don't have. The house didn't go undamaged during the war. There is large parts of the wall missing, which some of the patches are covered up with wooden boards. People are still relying on rations to getfood. He is grateful he has a nice sofa, a radio, a superb wife who makes good sandwiches and most importantly, makes fantastic tea. As long as he has those, nothing can go wrong in his eyes.

"What was on the radio? I didn't catch what it was saying," Catherine asked as she brought in Jack's teacup of tea and a sandwich on a white plate and places them on the table. Jack grabs the teacup handle with his right hand and gently sips, enjoying the marvelous piping hot tea.

"Something about the Russians bombing them alien equines, nothing much. Too far away from home to care about," Jack said as he puts his tea back on the table.

"Haven't had good tea in ages- God that was refreshing. Better than what ya got when serving, y'know. The people in charge sometimes made ya tea- I will tell ya, they were absolutely shit! Tea is tea, but my god they done it shit. They done it so bad you'd think they're a German spy, it was bad I tell ya," Jack warmly chuckles, grabbing his sandwich with both hands and taking a big massive bite out of it.

"Oh- Marmalade?"

Catherine nodded.

"Good choice." With a few more bites, Jack's sandwich is gone, now inside of his stomach.

"I chose the right woman, that's for sure," Jack said as he went to finish off his tea. Catherine giggled and smiled.

"Sandwich, tea, and a wife, can't go wrong can ya?" Jack is happy to be back full time with his wife. Catherine is happy Jack made it out of the war alive.

(American perspective)

Christopher Hamilton, is a 46 year old American man. He's shorter than most men, being only 5 foot 7. However, it made him a lethal combatant, especially in the Pacific theatre against the Japanese. A small profile means it's harder to be shot at. Christopher also lost all his hair after coming under attack from a Japanese flamethrower. He was very lucky to even of survived.

Before the war, he was on the streets. Like many Americans, he was affected by the Great Depression. He would steal any food he could, mainly from black people. This was because he'd least likely get punished and state they were defending 'their own food' from the black person. He manipulated the mass racism in America in this way.

When Roosevelt declared war on Japan after the attack on Pearl Harbour, Christopher volunteered before he got sucked in by conscription. He had nothing to lose, and a man is at their most dangerous when they have nothing to lose. His life improved drastically in the army and made many friends. He saw every single one of his comrades as a big family.

After the Japanese surrendered, he chose to stay in the US Army and be stationed in Japan. He had nothing to come back for in his homeland. His new home was in the army.

Right now, Christopher is on the outskirts of a destroyed Tokyo, where some other US soldiers are positioned.

"Hey Chris my man, heard what's happening back in Europe?" He sees a white hand on his left shoulder. He turns around and sees another American in the same green uniform. Christopher was reflecting back on his life, from being at his lowest during in the Great Depression to having a great life in the US Army.

"Oh, hey there Daniel."

Daniel Wayne, is around the same age as Christopher. Daniel is a few inches taller, and has brown blond hair.

"You heard what's goin' on in Europe?" Daniel asked again.

"Yeah man. Them Russians never forget, do they?" Christopher chuckled.

"Yeah. What do you think about it?"

"Honestly, I don't care about the Equestrians. The reason we got involved was because of these slopes. But thank the lord above they did," Christopher replied, getting out a pack of cigarettes, lightning a fag and procceds to smoke.

"I have a life because of that war. Now it's over, I don't know what to do. But one thing is for sure, I don't want to go back home."

"I get where you're coming from. I had the same story as you. But the economy is running again back home," Daniel sympathized with Christopher.

"Well, I still got no life to go back to. I have no family back home, so what's the point? You do what you gotta do, I'm staying in the army."

"Well alright, I understand, because I am staying too," Daniel smiled, which Christopher smiled back.

"Good."

"I have a feeling we'll be sent into Europe soon, because of the Soviet air raid on Equestria," Daniel stated.

"Oh they won't take any forces out of here in Japan to Europe, certainly not," Christopher replied back.

"Even if we do get into a war with the Russians, why send us to Europe when we could start a seaborne invasion on the largely undefended east from Japan?"

"Not... sure if you know, but there's a million and a half in Manchuria at the moment... yeah- We'd most likely be sent to Europe if anything," Danielreplied.

(Soviet perspective)

Georgy Zhukov, is 49 years old. He is the best and most experienced Soviet marshal of the Red Army. A lot of the defensive Soviet victories was because of Zhukov. This made him very popular amongst the people, and he became fairly close with Stalin himself. After the war, Stalin was about to strip him from having any power, but he still needed Zhukov.

The military general knocks on the wooden doors. Through them leads into an office.

"Заходи."

Zhukov gulps. The voice didn't sound happy. He didn't time this well, but he had to go in now. He opens the doors ahead of him, walking in, then heads to the left. To the left is a massive dark oak desk with some paper, an ink pot, a pen and some papers, forms. There is a big leather seat there as well, and sat there is a person in grey clothing with several medals decorating it. He has short grey hair and a massive grey mustache. He is smoking with a smoking pipe, quickly, the tip of it in his mouth. Zhukov knew when this person in particular is smoking with his smoking pipe quickly, it usually means they aren't in a good mood.

"В чем дело товарищ Сталин?" The person Zhukov is talking to is the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, Joseph Stalin.

"Потеряно двести самолетов по сравнению с несколькими тысячами крылатых существ и простых деревянных кораблей. Какая польза от нашей авиации против Запада?" Stalin really isn't in a good mood.

"Наша армия готова отправиться в наступление. Лошадей встретит наш благородный гнев. Эквестрии будет оказана та же милость, что и немцам," Zhukov reassured. He then notices Stalin smoking out of his pipe at an increasingly slower pace. He looks up at his ruthlessly efficient military marshal.

"Хорошо, товарищ Жуков," Stalin smiled.

"Это также будет хорошей возможностью протестировать наши прототипы танков, используя их против неопасного врага, чтобы увидеть их слабые места," Zhukov added, which Stalin furiously nods in support.

"Ты знаешь свою главную цель, Кантерлот должен быть взят самое позднее в течение месяца. Никто из Эквестрийцев или тех, кто стоит с ними, не должны быть пощажены. Но не убивайте их, мы можем использовать их как рабочую силу," Stalin reminded Zhukov.

"Да, товарищ Сталин," Zhukov nodded.

"Если это все, уходи и готовься. Вы главный генерал, отвечающий за это наступление," Said Stalin. With that, Zhukov leaves the office room. Stalin, now having been quickly briefed by Zhukov, relaxes. Stalin with the tip of his smoking pipe in his mouth, he went on to finishing writing down his demands on for what he wants done next.

"Мой список заказов для следующей задачи НКВД скоро будет в движении..."

"Высокопоставленные лошади должны быть либо убиты, либо преданы советскому суду, желательно правосудию. После привлечения к ответственности их либо расстреляют, либо отправят на Колыму за совершенные преступления..." With that, Stalin writing down his signature at the bottom, confirming the orders are from him directly.

"Иосиф Сталин."