Clockwork knew that military life would be difficult, especially during basic training. Yet he had not expected it to start with the intercom blasting full volume almost directly into his ear, which sounded like a brass band’s attempt to mimic an avalanche. After the infernal speaker had finished its call, Clockwork fell out of bed and scrambled to the center of the large room, followed shortly thereafter by the other thirty nine recruits he had been assigned to share the room with. Lucky for him, Charger managed to stand at attention to his right, sparing him the trauma of being flanked by half-asleep jocks and jockettes; the latter of which he was sure was a word.

Clockwork would’ve turned and greeted her, asked her if she had slept well, if she was hungry, and all those other pleasantries. However, he was stopped as the harsh voice of the superior officer in charge of them filled his ears. The pegasus stood ramrod stiff, more than he had in a long time, and stared straight ahead at the wall across from him. No sooner had he done so before he heard the insults begin. It was almost comical to listen to, but he kept himself silent, somehow knowing the punishment that would have befallen him if he had let himself laugh.

The Sergeant was big, even for a workhorse. He seemed older than his voice let on, and his buzz cut grey mane did little to hide that fact. His most distinct wrinkles were at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and the collar he wore was decorated with more ribbons that Clockwork believed existed in the military. Perhaps the most unexpected thing about him was the massive bronze prosthetic that replaced his right foreleg. It moved as smoothly as any of his other limbs, and the great coppery plate that replaced his actual hoof turned and rolled in its socket flawlessly. The pegasus thought he saw the mark of his father’s company branded near the machine’s mechanical knee joint, and blinked when he saw what he could only assume to be a signature burnt under it.

“Eighteen years I’ve been a Drill Sergeant, eighteen Celestia-damned years! In all that time, I have trained with mules, goats, and even a deer but I have never seen a sorrier bunch of recruits! Tartarus, my bunkmates during my basic training days were better looking than you sons of broodmares! In fact, I have SEEN broodmares that look better than you sorry lot! I am Drill Sergeant Brass Hoof, and every single one of you will refer to me as Sir! That will be the first and last words out of your mouth when you address me or any other superior officer!”

A momentary silence followed before he shouted again, somehow harsher and louder than before. “DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF?!”

The halls were momentarily filled with a resounding “Sir no Sir!”

“Well alright then!”

Clockwork dared not move, but he could tell that his superior had cracked a small grin. “As your Sergeant from this day until you stupid foals get thrown out of my beloved Corps., I must learn each of your names! You first!”

The next twenty minutes or so were followed by questions, answers, and insults. Nearly all of which were shouted. At the end of each conversation, the recruit was assigned to some task that Clockwork cared not to remember. Most of them were sent to run some mountain, a full six miles. All of it was to be done after the morning “initiation.”

“And what about you? Private-”

“Sir Private Nursery Rhyme Sir!” The lithe mare shouted back, voice warbling slightly.

“WAS. I. FINISHED. SPEAKING?!” The workhorse screamed.

Clockwork found it a small miracle that the elderly stallion hadn't lost his voice after nearly two decades of doing this. He flicked his eyes to his right for only a second, but he was able to determine that Rhyme was on the verge of wetting herself. “Sir you were not! Sir!” she shouted back, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Well, Private Nursery Grime, you are hereby assigned to clean the sick bay’s grout with your toothbrush and yours only! I hear that there are already some recruits vomiting up a STORM WORTHY OF THE WONDERBOLTS THEMSELVES. Report back to me and only me when you’ve completed your assignment. Do you UNDER-FUCKIN’-STAND?!”

With a barely audible whimper, Rhyme weakly saluted. It was then that Brass Hoof turned on his hind hoof and seemed to stare directly into Charger’s soul. Much to Clockwork’s surprise, she did not flinch. The pegasus looked down for an instant and found the mare with her gloves on and wires braided into her tail. The silence in the room as Brass Hoof studied the electronics for any sign of their meaning was palpable.

“Private, would you kindly tell me why the fuck you’re wearing those gloves?" The workhorse asked in a shockingly calm tone. Yet, the supposed indifference did nothing to quell the confident answer that rang from Charger, something that made other ponies in the room look on in confusion.

“No Sir! While these gloves are capable of temporary paralysis and even death if enough voltage is applied, I do not intend to cause harm to any superior officers nor fellow recruits! I wear them solely for self-defense!”

The workhorse smirked. “Take 'em off. I will not have anypony under my authority to have an unfair advantage. If you feel a need to be protected from these sorry little shits, well, you don’t really belong here.”

Without a moment's hesitance, Charger removed her gloves, unbraided the wires from her tail, and placed them neatly on her bunk.

“So could you please tell us all why you joined the military?”

“I will be perfectly honest with you, Sir,” Charger answered. “While I believe it is my duty to protect my allies at the possible expense of my own life, I also joined to pay for college.”

The Sergeant did not shriek, yell, or hit Charger, to Clockwork’s surprise. Rather, He simply raised his brow, intrigued by the mare’s answer. “You joined the military to pay for school, maggot?”

“Partly so, Sir. While my father is a successful scientist, he has always been disconnected from his family. I could not guarantee my going to college as financially safe. After studying what options I had, I chose the military.”

A good ten seconds of silence followed, everypony hoping that Charger wouldn’t be killed right then and there for her seemingly unpatriotic answer. Finally, the Sergeant spoke.

“You, maggot, are the first honest recruit I’ve been impressed by in a very long time. Honesty, the GREATEST virtue in the world! You have won my mercy for this day, so I’m granting you a three minute rest. IS THAT CLEAR?!”

Charger saluted as though she had practiced for years. “Sir! Yes and thank you Sir!” The mare turned around and headed back to her bunk. Clockwork didn’t have the pleasure of watching Charger’s gentle stride, as he was too preoccupied with Brass Hoof.

The stallion circled him twice before stopping directly in front of him and looking about the room. “Well well well, look who we have here. I already know your name, but I think ‘cripple’ will be much easier to remember. Let's go with that. So why in the name of the Elements of Harmony and ALL THE OTHER DECENT BEINGS IN EXISTENCE did you think it was a good idea to join my military when you could’ve easily stayed at home and made Exo-Wings for lazy nobles just like your dad?" he asked, putting his weight on his real forehoof as he leaned forward. Clockwork was mortified at his almost calm tone.

"Sir! I believe that I can help my nation better this way Sir!”

Brass Hoof actually seemed shocked. “How the fuck did that ridiculous idea get wedged into your cranium, maggot?” Clockwork felt like he was staring into the depths of Tartarus when the workhorse locked eyes with him, but if he was going to get thrown out, he would do so while kicking and screaming.

“My grandfather was part of the Fifth Aircavalry, as was his father and his father before him. He was killed eight years ago in a border skirmish with the Empire. Old and unused military blood runs through my veins, and it would be a waste to not put it to use now. Furthermore-”

The workhorse cut him off with a thundering stomp of his metal hoof.

“I served with your grandfather, and it was thanks to him that I have a prosthetic leg! Don’t think for even a single second that you will receive special treatment because your granddaddy saved a couple of asses, mine included, and got a medal because of it!”

Clockwork took a single breath, then quoted his father’s father. Grandfather Clock had once been asked by the young pegasus on why he had to leave to put his life on the line when he didn’t need to anymore. His answer rang clear in his grandson’s ears as though the war hero was right alongside him. “I don’t want special treatment. The world stands on the edge of Armageddon, and I must keep it safe to the best of my ability.”

Again, there was a short bout of silence, but the outcome was very different. Instead, Brass Hoof began laughing, and a few of the recruits joined in. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, but of mockery. Clockwork felt stones drop in his stomach, and his muzzle lost its stoic expression for a good second or two. After the Sergeant wiped a tear from his eye, his look returned to that of before. “A shitty poet just like your granddad. Let’s hope you can be less of a JOKE. I’ll be impressed if you make it even halfway through your first run. I’ll be damned if you make it through the ten weeks.”

Brass Hoof turned and made his way towards the next recruit. The insults continued until the Sergeant suddenly yelled. "Alright, you pathetic excuses for ponies! Fall in line and follow me if you want to live. It's time to break a few necks, crack a few skulls, and get your first taste of Tartarus!"

All forty hopeful soldiers-to-be immediately slipped into a semi-jagged line. After the first recruit had been punched in the gut by Brass Hoof's brass hoof, the rest of the trainees got the message and formed up. After another bout of shouting, the equines marched out the door and into the grey, early morning light.

As the ponies followed their superior officer to Celestia-knows-where, Clockwork took a deep breath and spared a few glances around the premises. The first thing he noticed was how clean and warm the air was. With no major pollution to cloud the skies and summer near its peak, the area was bathed in a warm greyish aura.

The second thing Clockwork noticed was the sheer amount of activity already going on. An uneven mixture of what the pegasus assumed to be seasoned trainees and completely new recruits dotted the campsite, if it was could even be called a campsite. This place seemed big enough to hold a few hydras! Wait a second, was that a rhyming minotaur?

WHAM!

Clockwork fell muzzle-first into the dirt as every atom of oxygen left his body in a less than a second. His vision went black around the edges, and when he turned over he found himself nose to nose with Brass Hoof.

"Cripple, why the fuck did you join my beloved Corps?" The sergeant asked, his voice lower than before.

"Sir. . . to defend those. . . who cannot. . .Sir!"

"Well then why in the name of Celestia’s royal plot do you think STARING AT THE FUCKING SCENERY HELPS?! GET UP, DIPSHIT!"

Clockwork stumbled to his hooves, even balancing on his real wing for a moment. His vision had returned, though he wished it hadn't. His other thirty-nine bunkmates were all staring at him with different expressions. Only one of which was comforting.

"You may have qualified for R&D, but that means jack shit in Basic. MARCH!"

Clockwork didn't object. He didn't try to defend himself or reason with the workhorse. The pegasus simply fell back in line. He couldn't see Charger. He was really scared now.

After what felt like hours, the forty arrived at a wide, off-white building similar to their own.

One stallion, near the front of the line, blurted out a question that almost cost him his life. "What is this place, sir?"

After Brass Hoof was finished kicking the recruit into next week, he turned to the rest of his subordinates and answered.

"Since you WORTHLESS STAINS don't know SHIT, I'll have to waste precious oxygen explaining your current situation! Inside!"

The line of ponies gradually slithered inside of the structure. Clockwork was confused to find a few barber chairs as well as several stacks of familiar looking duffel bags nearby.

"This structure is both a barber shop and personal effects storage facility," Brass Hoof explained as the first few ponies in line made their way to awaiting chairs. "A strange combination, but I've learned to appreciate it. In here, not only do we get to restyle your manes and tails for the military, but we also get to go through your stuff and determine if there's anything you brought that'll end up in the furnace!"

One by one, everypony had their manes and tails shaved to a little under an inch and their luggage searched. Various items, ranging from simple dolls to rather. . . questionable magazines were pulled and either burned or stored away on the answer of a single question.

"Assemble in the clearing directly outside of the exit immediately afterwards! Hope you maggots like crew cuts. You'll be keeping them for the next ten weeks!"

Eventually, it was Clockwork's turn. The pegasus sat down in the padded chair without a fuss; he was still trying to replenish the oxygen he had lost minutes before. Before he knew it, a small vibrating blade was running harshly across every inch of his mane. While he felt the blades work their way through his hair, his attention was called to the elderly mare behind a desk. A certain necklace hung from her left forehoof.

"Is this item irreplaceable?" She asked in monotone.

Clockwork glanced around and breathed a small sigh of relief when he realized Charger was out of earshot. He nodded. "It's a gift from the mare I love. It's priceless."

The wrinkly equine smiled before walking over and giving the jewelry back to its owner. "Then wear it underneath your uniform and you should be fine. Brassy won't kill ya over it."

Before the weary pegasus could respond, he was given the necklace and ordered to move along. After standing, he clipped the necklace on and ran a forehoof over his mane and tail. He was actually half surprised to find them cut short. He felt like he had just lost five pounds.

The stallion made his way out the exit and found himself part of a small crowd composed of his bunkmates. After some shoving, the pegasus found himself at the front of the crowd, right alongside Charger, who was even less amused with just how little of her formerly shoulder-length mane remained.

"Hey Charger."

"Good morning, Clockwork."

"You alright?"

"All things considered, yes. I have all four of my limbs, most of my tail, and they all function without error. What about yourself?"

"I'm glad my ribs aren't gravel. That artificial leg has to be loaded with high-strength springs or pistons or something. There’s no way the hoof is made solely of brass."

"Good to know. If you are distressed by your loss of hair, don't be. To be quite honest, you do not look quite as bad with a crew cut as some other stallions here do."

Clockwork's cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink at what passed as a complement from Charger. "Same goes for you."

Sniffing, Charger looked back at the middle of the line, near the building proper. "If I may inquire, what did you say to that mare the convinced her to give back your necklace?"

The pegasus felt the hair on his neck, or what was left of it, stand on edge. "I uhh. . . well, I told her that-"

"Welcome to Camp Currahoof, cadets! Ain't she a beauty?" Brass Hoof asked in an almost friendly manner. It scared Clockwork half to death.

Nevertheless, the stallion had to admit the area was somewhat easy on the eyes. The rising sun cast the military installation in a soft orange light, turning the dozens of off-white structures a light cream. Soldiers were running laps, obstacle courses, training with their rifles, it was well-organized chaos. Unfortunately, Clockwork knew everypony was trained make it look less chaotic.

"Almost brings a tear to my eye. Almost." the workhorse turned back to his subordinates, the hostility in his eyes replaced by determination strong enough to crack boulders. "This will be your own little slice of frosted Hell for the next ten weeks! Get used to it. All of you that I've given chores, get to 'em! The rest of you, start jogging towards that beast!" He pointed in the direction of a mountain just outside the camp's barbed wire fence. "That there's Currahoof. Three miles up, three miles down. MOVE!"

Charger was right. The military wasn't nearly as lenient with resting as she was. Four ponies had been, quite literally, kicked out of the camp after they had refused to keep up with the rest of their bunkmates on the three mile run up the mountain. Clockwork believed them to be somewhat lucky in a morbid way, as they didn't have to endure the painful jog down.

The large dirt road through Mt. Currahoof was slanted just enough to be noticeable, and that was all it took. The only two ponies that didn't seem to be affected were a certain yellow mare and the workhorse barking insults near her.

As opposed to most of the other recruits. Clockwork's lungs were only slightly strained. His hooves were what really ached though. Everypony except Brass Hoof was running the trail half-asleep, semi-traumatized, and without any sort of hoof protection. The occasional piece of gravel did a number on a few of the trainees, but they pressed on.

Of course, all of it paled in comparison to the run down. Rather than using their legs to pull themselves up the mountain, the bunkmates were using them to constantly halt their descent. Clockwork was sure his legs weren’t designed to bend that way. They were beginning to cramp up, his ears rang, but he kept at it. He was going to prove everypony wrong; he wasn't going to be a one-day washout.

A certain chant began to ring out in the back of Clockwork's mind. It was an old song that Grandfather Clock occasionally sung to himself. Other times, he simply hummed one bar. This was different though. This time, the pegasus could hear half a hundred soldiers chanting in time. While the original language had been lost to the annals of history, the translation was still well known, even if it didn't sound right when sung the way it was intended.

Fear not for the golden banner that proudly ripples as glorious dawn, for it shall never fade,

Before the last fiery hearth that is ablaze within my homeland is extinguished!

For that is the star of ponykind, and it will forever shine;

It is ours; and solely belongs to our valiant nation!

Frown not, I beseech you, oh thou coy enemy,

Smile upon our heroic nation! Why the hatred, why the hostility?

Our tears which we shed might not be worthy otherwise;

For freedom is the absolute right of Equestria!

The chant continued, as did the group's progress down the mountain. Clockwork could barely hear anything over the din of the crowd. Before he knew it, the pegasus had come to a grinding halt at the entrance back into the military base. He was soon joined by the rest of the recruits, all of which looked at him with something between exasperation and admiration. He couldn’t tell whether he liked those looks or not.

Charger stopped next to Clockwork mere seconds later. She didn’t even seem to be sweating. “That was an impressive last mile.”

“It was?” Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck.

The yellow earth pony nodded. “You took off like Ibexian fireworks. Adrenaline?”

The pegasus shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well whatever it was, I-”

“You bastards done already? Tartarus, ya’ll barely broke a sweat! To the obstacle course! MARCH DAMMIT!”

Like a group of startled sheep, Clockwork, Charger, and the rest of their group formed up and began marching through the camp. Even as their superior screamed at the soldiers, telling them how to improve their march, Clockwork was able to keep up. Most of the time, anyway.

“INTO THE MUD!”

Clockwork’s head whipped towards the source of the shout. Instead of finding the sergeant screaming, he was busy throwing a cadet by the mane into a large pool of mud. A glittering wire net was laid tight over the mud what looked like a mere foot or two above it.

The sergeant threw another squirming cadet into the mud, and then another. “In the war that is undoubtedly soon to occur, you will encounter conditions you would rather leave to the worms! Well, you haybrains ARE worms! Today, tomorrow, and forever on until I say otherwise! You are to CRAWL through this mud and to the other side!”

“Sir! What is the purpose of this exercise sir?!” A brawny stallion asked.

After the sergeant had finished throwing the stallion into the mud, he answered. “Those wires are enchanted with a paralysis spell! Should you so much as brush past them, even for the slightest moment, you will be shocked before being rendered immobile as a DEAD BISON until the proper counterspell can be administered! Now, I know what you’re all asking in those pathetic excuses of minds of yours; ‘why would I try to stand up?’ Well this is why!” A bronze plated pistol extended from the Sergeant’s artificial leg and fired.

At the sound of the gunshot, everypony either jumped into the air or hugged the ground. The sergeant continued. “I will be firing my pistol the entire time you maggots are wiggling through the filth! Ponies, like GOATS, have a natural fear of sudden bursts of noises that measure above a certain decibel range! I will beat that fear out of you! I will not be training a bunch of goats, but I MIGHT AS WELL BE TRAINING A BARNYARD FULL OF SHEEP!”

Clockwork hesitated for a split second, shuddering at the thought of having to preen the mud out of his wing later. Once he saw Charger dive in though, he followed her without so much as a second thought.

It was cold, it was wet, it was clingy, and Clockwork could've sworn he felt warmer patches while crawling. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he continued on, determined to match his bunkmates as an equal. He pressed himself flat to the floor when he heard another gunshot ring out above him. Shortly after, he heard what sounded like Charger's gloves going off, followed immediately by a pale violet flash of light. Out of the corner of his eye, the pegasus saw a paralyzed earth pony not too far from him. Only the cadet's eyes could move, and they flicked about in terror.

Shaking his head, Clockwork rose an inch or two out of the mud and continued to crawl. The way his body was moving didn't feel. . . right. The mud had effectively coated his front half, and the pegasus' legs again felt bent in ways he believed they weren't meant to be. His one wing ached to be properly flexed, but the stallion resisted his bodily urges. Just when he thought it was never going to end, Clockwork found himself on dry ground, no wires over his head. The only thing he could hear was the sound of marching soldiers, still carrying the tune from the hills.

The lands around us are surrounded by darkness and armored with walls of steel,

But I have borders guarded by the mighty chests of ponies.

Let it howl, do not be afraid! And think: how can this fiery land ever be killed,

By that battered, single-fanged monster called chaos!

My friend! Leave not my homeland to the hooves of villainous beasts!

Render your chest as armor and your body as trench!

Stop this disgraceful rush of suffering!

For soon shall come the joyous days of peaceful times!

Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow? Perhaps even sooner!

Nevertheless, it shall come again!

Clockwork managed to find his friend nearby, just as slathered with mud as the rest of the group. The Sergeant gave the group one minute of rest before sending them to their next trial: a ring step course constructed of old, massive generator cogs. "Designed to test your eye-hoof coordination", was his explanation for it.

Other exercises followed, pushups, pushups with weights strapped to one's legs, and then another mile run with said weight. By the end of the run, Clockwork's lungs were working overtime and his legs felt like toothpicks. The mud had dried, and the stallion's coat felt like a dry, month-old cake. His wing felt stiff, and the very thought of getting the crusty earth out almost gave him a headache. Even after all that, the crew still had to race through two sets of rope bridges and jump a mesh barrier enchanted with the same paralysis spell as before.

The stallion had no idea when the first day’s physical torture would end, nor did he truly believe it would ever end. Much to his surprise, it did. At least, for today.

“That wasn’t nearly enough hell for one day, but you sorry pieces of shit look like you’re going to disintegrate if I put you through anything more today. You all look like the SORRIEST LITTLE GOATS I HAVE EVER SEEN. Back to your bunks. Wash up, then bed. YOU GOT THAT?!”

Next to everypony believed he was making a cruel joke. When Brass Hoof had made it quite clear that he was serious with a heavy wave of his real forehoof, the group exhaled a weary, unified “Yessir.”

It felt like a ten second march back to their bunker, but even after they arrived, almost everything felt like another test of strength. The shower knobs were difficult to turn one way or the other, and the water was lukewarm at best. There were no separate shower rooms for mares and stallions, but it wasn’t like anypony could gather the power to do anything about it. Clockwork, bleary-eyed and cloudy of mind, was barely aware of his surroundings as he scrubbed off the layer of mud he was caked with.

After drying off, Clockwork hurried over to his bed and struggled to climb to the top bunk. As he fell on the hard mattress, the pegasus realized that by now it felt more like a cloud. His legs and lungs ached, his hooves hurt thanks to bits of still stuck gravel, small clumps of mud still clung his wing, and his head, neck, and tail were all still itchy from the harsh haircut of that morning. The tired stallion couldn’t see Charger, which only furthered along his exhaustion. She would’ve been a welcome last sight for the day, or any day for that matter.

The stallion forgot that he hadn’t eaten that whole day, and he was out before his head hit the pillow.