Mustang naturally had to take further harassment when he returned to the barracks after seeing the guys watching him through the window. He would have to be careful about them being around when he saw Serene for bolts and the like. That wouldn’t work, though, since they went to her and her coworkers after every mission.

Eagle was relentless on Mustang, but the new stallion was able to shoot back at Eagle’s apparent lack of interest in mares as him being too scared. Eagle took it in stride, and conceded, since he couldn’t think of a good response fast enough. The other guys, though, couldn’t be beaten. Blazer was minimal in the whole thing, but when he jumped in, he made clever comments.

The team wasn’t called on for the rest of that day, so they relaxed in their rooms, checking things, reading things, and making things. Mustang went and got his new crossbow and new stuff form Serene at the armory, careful not to be followed by his teammates. Serene happily gave him his gear and wished him well, making Mustang nearly stutter out that he wished her well as well. He had trouble not looking like an idiot around her.

When he got back to the barracks with his gear, it was starting to get late, so he and the others decided to hit the sack. Before the other guys slept, Mustang told them to get their gear, leaving him alone in the barracks.

Mustang set his gear, other than the crossbow, back into its proper order on the walls and floor. He looked over at the experienced soldiers’ bunks. They had a ridiculous amount of gear. Nightvision, not an easy thing to get, magic range finders, and other things that were too complicated for Mustang to make himself. He might get issued this stuff later sometime, but he didn’t know if that was how it worked. These Special Ops guys were known to get their own gear if they didn’t like what they were given, since they also had better pay.

He knew better than to touch any of it, but he couldn’t help but go and look. He carefully selected Strat’s bunk, since he seemed the least likely to get mad. Eagle would be pissed off, Aardvark might have other secret things since he was the squad leader, and Falcon was a little intimidating. Behind those sunglasses, there could be bat eyes like Blazer’s for all Mustang knew.

Mustang looked at the gear hung up on the wall. Up top, Strat kept his large pair of NVG’s, custom tailored for his head. Just above them, he had his hat, which was on a shelf with nothing else. Just its own shelf. It must have meant something to Strat, seeing as he always wore it.

“Seeing the special stuff?”

Mustang felt his heart skip as he jumped a little into the air. Just behind him stood Falcon. He must have snuck in while Mustang was looking at Strat’s stuff. Mustang turned to see Falcon, taking in a deep breath to calm back down.

“Is it issued, or do you guys get it yourselves?” Mustang asked.

“Some of it is issued,” Falcon said, pointing at the stuff by the floor. “We like the armor we get, and the rangefinders are nice. They give us comms, too, but they’re lousy. We talked to Meteor, and he said we would get some new ones. Good for you, you don’t have to replace anything.”

“What kinds of missions do you use comms and rangefinders for?” Mustang asked.

“Those are for more extended missions, where we’re looking for something and trekking through landscapes,” Falcon said. “We also have high-powered binoculars. Too bad our crossbows aren’t good.” Falcon gave Mustang a knowing look.

“Uhh…” Mustang said.

Falcon chuckled. “Relax, I won’t say anything,” he said. “I know this is how you’re gonna get to talk to her more.”

“That really isn’t why I did this,” Mustang said honestly. “I shot a gryphon on the last mission, and he laughed. LAUGHED. I need a better crossbow.”

Falcon probably blinked. “Well, that is a good reason,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be seeing her a whole lot more.”

Mustang sighed. “I know she’s really pretty, but I don’t think I can pursue her. The job doesn’t give me easy times, I might be pulled to another base…”

“Silly Mustang!” Falcon said. “Aardvark made it work. Strat made it work. I’m making it work with my marefriend. And those armorers? They work with our unit. Where we go, they go. That isn’t an issue.”

Mustang shook his head slowly. “You guys aren’t letting this go, are you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Falcon said.

Mustang had to change the subject. “So what’s so special about that hat?” he asked.

Falcon looked at Strat’s hat. “That? That’s Strat’s most personal thing on base.”

Mustang cocked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“When he got married, his wife’s dad was a farmer,” Falcon explained. “One of those Apple family farmers, famous for their apples. Not the owner of Sweet Apple Acres, but still, a good farm. Shortly after that, he fell fatally ill. Strat happened to be home at the time with his wife. After the family was done seeing him, he called for Strat.”

“Sounds like he needed to tell Strat something,” Mustang said.

“Yep,” Falcon said. “He wanted to make sure Strat could take good care of her. By this time, he was a Nighthawk, so the dad didn’t know exactly what he did; only that he had a dangerous job in the guard. He told Strat something personal that Strat hasn’t even told us, and then gave him the hat.”

“Wow,” Mustang said. “So that hat is his wife’s father’s last memento to him.”

“That’s right,” Falcon said. “We all have some particularly important item from home or loved ones. You’ll have one eventually, and it’ll remind you of where you come from and where you’re always fighting to get back to and keep alive.”

Mustang nodded slowly. “I do have something,” Mustang said.

“Oh?” Falcon asked.

Mustang walked over to his bunk. “I haven’t shown it to anypony,” he said. He fished through one of his bags as Falcon walked over. “It’s this.”

Mustang held up an adjustable string, clearly meant to go around his neck. On the bottom, hanging, was a tooth, probably from a shark. It was a good size, around an inch and a half in length. It was razor sharp, too.

“Nice,” Falcon said, taking it in. “Where did you get it?”

“I found it along one of the shores off of Fillydelphia,” Mustang explained. “I brought it back, and my mother made it into a necklace for me. My dad drilled the hole, and she weaved the string.”

“Nice,” Falcon said.

Mustang put it back. “I come from there, and I’m damn proud of it,” he said. “Always gotta remember where you come from. It’s a part of you.”

“Amen to that,” Falcon said.

Soon, the other guys came back. No one else really felt like talking, so they all went to sleep, hoping not to be woken in the middle of the night.

The next morning, the team got breakfast and did its morning PT. It was way more intense than what Mustang and Blazer used to do, but they kept up nicely.

After they finished up, everyone sort of went their separate ways for the morning. Strat went to the weight area to get some serious working out done. The guy was a tank, so it was to be expected. Eagle went to the track to fly laps, and Falcon and Aardvark went to talk to the other squads on base.

When they were gone, Mustang grabbed his new crossbow and headed to the range to test it out. He was eager to see just how much more powerful, and hopefully stable, it had become after Serene’s tinkering. He put the heavy bolts in his case and slung the crossbow across his back and made his way out.

“Hey, wait up!” Blazer shouted as Mustang left.

Mustang walked out the door and waited for a minute while Blazer got whatever it was he was he needed. When he came out of the barracks, he had his own crossbow on his wrist and bolts across his back.

“Practicing with the ranged stuff today, eh?” Blazer asked. “I could use some practice myself, so let’s go together.”

Mustang had been hoping to go alone, but it didn’t matter too much. It would provide a good comparison, seeing a regular crossbow fire net to his.

“Sure, let’s go,” Mustang replied.

They walked to the firing range. From a distance, they could faintly here the signature twang of the crossbows releasing their locks and loosing their bolts downrange. Louder still were the unhappy groans and grunts over the ineffectiveness of the weapons. Mustang decided that he should go off to the end of the range, where no one liked to go because it was so far, so that he wouldn’t be seen with an altered weapon.

When the pair arrived at the range, a lot of stallions and mares were already leaving. Some of them looked indifferent, one or two were happy, but most were dissatisfied with their weapons’ performance. The officers usually would say that it just meant they weren’t good enough, but if the lack of holes in the wooden targets was any indication, skill was irrelevant to the current weapons. The Unicorps was lucky that they could use magic instead of crappy bolts.

Mustang and Blazer made their way quietly to the end of the range and set up their weapons and bolts. When they set them up on the table, Mustang’s crossbow only had marginal differences when compared to Blazer’s, but the differences were there. The materials looked darker in color, and the high-tension string was a little bit thicker on Mustang’s. Blazer didn’t say anything if he noticed, though.

“Let’s get shooting,” Blazer said.

They set up their crossbows on their forelegs and took aim. Blazer started firing as fast as he could, getting as much firepower downrange as he could in a short time. He was fast with his reload, but given the single-shot nature of the weapon, it wasn’t fast compared to any other weapon. The bolts pierced the target downrange, but it took a large number to knock it down.

Mustang took his time aiming, as he didn’t want to waste his special bolts. His crossbow came with a new sighting system, much more efficient and better for acquiring targets at range. He took his time aiming, and when he thought he had the target, he fired.

The crossbow was much more powerful than he expected, and the recoil sent his foreleg back, almost causing him to stumble and fall over. The bolt shot forward, whistling through the air and slamming into its target with enough force to make a loud clang sound against the metal pole holding up the thin wooden target. The target fell backwards onto the ground with a loud thud.

Mustang blinked, and next to him, Blazer just stared. The target was definitely down, and if that were a gryphon, he wouldn’t be getting up. Mustang looked at the crossbow on his wrist and smiled a little bit, happy that it worked so well. He would have to thank Serene after killing the first gryphon with it.

“Whoa,” Blazer said.

Mustang turned to him. “Guess I got the good one, eh?” he lied.

“Like Hell,” Blazer said, not believing his friend. “You messed with it.”

“I didn’t,” Mustang said truthfully. Sort of.

“No duh, I know YOU aren’t smart enough for that,” Blazer said with a grin. Mustang gave him a deadpan look. “Whodunit?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mustang said.

“It was Serene, wasn’t it?” Blazer asked. When Mustang didn’t answer, he got a huge grin on his face and walked over to his buddy. “Oooh, somepony’s got a personal helper! And he’s got a crush on her!”

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Mustang said with a small blush.

“So she DID alter your weapon,” Blazer said victoriously. Mustang realized his mistake and groaned. “Relax, I won’t say a word.”

“Good,” Mustang said. “’Cuz this here crossbow has a lot more range than yours.”

Blazer laughed. “I saw!” He looked out at the target. “That thing is ridiculous. How far do you think you can shoot?”

“Not sure,” Mustang replied. “Let’s find out.”

Blazer stepped back as Mustang took aim for a second time. He had to adjust to aim at the farthest target, about a hundred-fifty yards out. Blazer was doubtful that Mustang could hit it, even if he had the range, but stayed quiet while he waited for the shot to fly. When Mustang loosed the shot, they watched it together as it soared toward its target.

Mustang didn’t quiet hit the target, landing the bolt about two and a half feet a way, but it easily made the distance. Mustang was aiming at a twenty-nine degree angle, far from the max range possible. When the bolt hit the dirt, it sent up a plume of dust and buried itself halfway in.

Blazer whistled. “If you can get better at shooting, you could do what the Unicorps does and be a ranged marksman,” he said.

“That would be pretty useful,” Mustang said. “But I don’t know that Aardvark would want to leave a pair of guys alone while the now two-thirds-sized team presses on. It creates too much vulnerability. It might work for a larger unit, but not a six stallion team.”

“Agh, you’re right,” Blazer conceded. “It’s a good idea, though.”

Mustang nodded. “Certainly,” he said. “I’m going back to the barracks. I accomplished what I wanted to today.”

“Alright,” Blazer said. “I still need practice. I’ll see you later.”

Mustang left Blazer at the range and made his way back to the barracks. He thought about how he would go about thanking Serene for the crossbow. There wasn’t really much on base that one could do or get. There were a few stores that were meant to remind the soldiers of home, but there were mostly restaurants. He could get her lunch or dinner, that would be nice. He would need to find out where she was from originally from.

“Lunch seems good,” he concluded.

He went back to the barracks and put his gear where he could quickly get it for later and started thinking about the lunch date he would try to set. He had some money, so he could go someplace decent on base. The only problem was his deployment schedule; it wasn’t going to be easy. And he should really wait until after he takes down a gryphon, so he can truthfully say that the weapon is really good.

That meant waiting until after the next mission, which was fine. He was coming up on the time of day where he would be going out. There was never an official guarantee, but given the nature of the team and the nature of this war, his team had a high chance of going out during their deployment hours. It was just a matter of time.

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