Chapter NINE

The plan hadn’t changed all that much, though it had changed again and Cheerilee was growing tired of being forced to march greater distances at the ever shifting whims of her superiors. She stood before the major in what had once been Sparkle’s base of operations, doing her best to keep the sudden feeling of jealousy that had taken hold of her from showing in her face. It was no easy task. When she was general she would personally put a stop to Sparkle’s pampering. Of Course with her luck being what it was – bad – by then it was likely that the war would be over and Sparkle already crowned the new princess of Equestria.

Second and third hadn’t rendezvoused with first platoon as had been the original plan. Instead the lot of them had been ordered back to the outpost. The major had radioed the demands herself.

The disappointment in her voice now, as it had been crackling over the radio, had an almost motherly quality too it. Each of the five lieutenants under her command stood before her perfectly still, perfectly erect as they unflinchingly endured their tongue lashing.

“This is unacceptable,” began the major. Her face, already so profoundly wrinkled with age, found some way to reach even greater definition, and her glasses sat so low on her nose it seemed possible they could slip off at any moment. “Irreprehensible. Embarrassing.” She hit each syllable with the same degree of practiced expertise employed by concert pianists, striking them as if notes on a keyboard. “According to these reports this company has sustained fifty plus causalities. That’s little more than a fourth of my company. My company. My. Little. Ponies.”

Subjugated as she was to this verbal assault, Cheerilee couldn’t help but wonder if this is what her students had felt like while enduring one of her own lectures on the importance of punctuality, or classroom conduct, or any number of those things that teach even the youngest fillies and colts how to roll their eyes.

Lieutenant Spitfire did just that with her own sun colored eyes, and her jaw quivered slightly as she stifled a yawn.

The sight revolted the major. A quiet yet pronounced fury brewed behind the thick lenses of her spectacles. “Apologies lieutenant, am I boring you?” The major stood up from behind her desk, seething. The spontaneity of the movement caused the many medals adorning her uniform to jingle against each other, making a noise akin to the tiny metallic pinging of coins being poured out of pouch. “Well maybe you’ll find this more amusing.” She picked up a vanilla colored folder, flipped it open and began reading aloud.

“To whom this may concern.” Her tone was condescending.  She adjusted her glasses. “Company Everfree under the banner of the proud Militiamares, extend our deepest condolences to you over the loss of your loved one. Though she is no longer with us, know that she was our sister in arms and that she gave her life protecting her fellow soldiers as well as her beloved country.” She laid the folder down on her desk solemnly and peered at the lieutenants.

“Each of these letters must be signed by myself and the princess before they are delivered to the friends and the families of the deceased. It is my name they read at the bottom of this piece of paper. Not yours Lieutenant Spitfire. I take this deftly seriously and I’ll thank you to do the same.” She straightened the papers on her desk and returned to her seat. Her former seething cooled to a steady simmer.

“Permission to speak Major?” said Spitfire out of the corner of her mouth.

“Permission denied. Request it again and I’ll have you stripped of your rank and demoted to private, where, after evaluating your leadership skills, I’d say all of you belong.” She paused a moment to gather her thoughts. “Now,” she began again, slipping easily back into that pianist like rhythm, “can anypony among you care to explain why I, the real commanding officer of this outfit, am only learning about this suicide mission after the fact?”

It was an inevitable question, but still one that nopony in the room was really prepared to answer. Brave sideways glances passed between the lieutenants. A silent inconspicuous deliberation took place, and within the confined space of exactly one moment they reached a unanimous verdict. This was coming down on Sparkle’s head. But just as Equestria’s favorite daughter began her confession, Cheerilee interrupted. Here, she mused, was an opportunity to impress her superior with a little initiative, but more importantly here was a rare chance to upstage that damn Twilight Sparkle.

She took a small breath, her heart thumping in her throat. “It’s cumbersome to–”

“Did I grant you permission to speak.” the major interrupted, and immediately Cheerilee fell quiet, feeling foolish.

“To be fair major, you did ask a question,” said Octavia after a brief moment of silence.

The major sighed and leaned back into her seat. “As you were lieutenant.”

Quickly, Cheerilee regained her composure, and also made a mental note to thank Octavia later for the save. It seemed the earth pony from Canterlot garnered the respect of all in her presence, a talent Cheerilee had always envied. She glanced at the unicorn standing at the edge of her periphery, and had to suppress a sudden urge to shoot her a mocking wink. With the exception of maybe Lieutenant Spitfire, who held no qualms with anypony, Twilight Sparkle didn’t have a single friend in this room.

“It’s cumbersome to inform our superiors in Canterlot and Central Equestria of actions taken here in the Everfree Forest. We have no baby dragons with which to deliver messages, given that this is an active war zone; nor do we have access to vehicles as they are difficult to maneuver through the dense woods – not that I need to inform you of all ponies, of these extenuating circumstances, sir.”

“I’m not in Canterlot or Central Equestria. I’m stationed in the MM’s Ponyville outpost. Why not send a flyer?”

“Um – oh I don’t know, because we’re out here in the fucking wilderness with all seven inches of Celestia’s horn shoved up are asses is all,” snapped Spitfire. Between the major’s tirade and Cheerilee’s shameless ass kissing, she was well on her way to being thoroughly pissed off. Her outburst earned her a stern look from the major but before the conflict could escalate, Cheerilee promptly interjected,

“W–What the lieutenant means to say is that Company Everfree is charged with the – uh – with the burden of fighting in the Everfree Forest, the most dangerous front of the entire war. We need every pair of hooves on duty at all the times. Even the loss of one messenger would be felt among our constantly dwindling ranks.” Phew, she thought to herself, a bit shaky but a nice save just the same. Sparkle may have had a greater talent for leading ponies into battle and Octavia for demanding the respect of those under her command, but Cheerilee was not without talents of her own. Where the others earned their station through favor or discipline, Cheerilee had discovered some time ago that she needed neither. All she needed was her silver tongue and a few minutes time to work her own special brand of magic.

“Of course, of course. And you thought too remedy this problem of dwindling numbers by sending more to be slaughtered?”

Cheerilee cleared her throat. “That fault is not entirely ours. Lieutenant Sparkle’s plan was flawless and would have succeeded, but we were ambushed by a rampaging Ursa Major. We did our best to adapt to the situation. Ponies died.”

The major sat forward in her chair, leaning her elbows on her desk and resting her chin on her hooves. The gesture was surprisingly informal, almost alarming coming from the usually stringent major. Somehow her causal ease seemed to heighten the mounting tension between herself and her subordinates, rather than diffuse it.

“Is that true Sparkle? Are you responsible for all this,” asked the major, to which Twilight responded with a meek,

“Yes sir.”

She turned her attention back to the purple earth pony. Throughout the duration of their conversation this one had done most of the talking. She was audacious in her approach to dealing with authority, a trait that the major loathed but respected in soldiers under her command. In any case she had handled herself better than the rest of them.

Of course the major knew to some degree that this entire meeting was little more than a formality, most military proceedings were. The purple earth pony had answered her questions well but she knew the truth. She had known that this whole fiasco had been Twilight’s doing from the very start, nopony else had the means or the stones to make something like it happen. She also knew why she had been kept in the dark about the mission: because Twilight hadn’t wanted her to know. She could take it up with her superiors; General Silver Star, Prince Blueblood, the Princess, but that was a battle she couldn’t win – no pony could. They would vindicate Sparkle. They always did. In the Princess’s eyes she could do no wrong, and that meant exactly that: she could do no wrong. In the end the major was too smart to ever really challenge Sparkle, but this one wasn’t. She was ambitions, and clearly held some degree of animosity for Equestria’s favorite daughter. A trouble maker if ever there was one. A regular disrupter of the status quo. It’s a dangerous thing to disrupt the status quo. Especially dangerous when your country is at war with ponies doing just that.

“What’s your name again lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant First Class Cheerilee, sir.” She gave a stalwart salute, beaming with gross self satisfaction. The gesture reminded the major of a time when she too was young, strong and stupid. Fortunately, she was none of those things now. She didn’t envy her subordinates’ youth. With the happenings of the world being what they were, now was no time to be a youth.

The major removed her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose, and seemed to age ten – no – fifteen years right before their eyes. The gesture held in it an overt air of fatigue. She took a deep breath, her shoulders heaved noticeably and when she exhaled another year escaped her, carried out on the breath as it passed between her lips.

“Cheerilee,” she said as if trying to commit it to memory. “Cheerilee…” She played with the name on her tongue, rolled it around in her mouth like a wad of chewing gum that was close to losing its flavor. “Cheerilee…”

Then she dismissed them.

Twilight shuffled out of her former base of operations, deflating a little with every step, her head hanging low, weighed down by the exhaustion that seemed to always accompany defeat. Cheerilee trotted by and shot Twilight a look that suggested she was perhaps considering literally kicking the unicorn while she was down. The ex-school teacher had to control a sudden and very strong urge to spit in Twilight's face, as that may have been a bit too forward, and instead settled for a mean spirited sneer. Then she pranced off beside Octavia with her head held high.

“Can you believe that?” said Spitfire, her sun colored eyes catching the daylight as she trotted up alongside Twilight. “The brass crawling up our asses, like we’re not the ones out hear picking bugs out of our manes, and dodging bullets. Meanwhile they’re holed up in Canterlot. Sleeping in beds every night, staring at big maps and sipping tea while they figure out a way to screw over the amputees and miserable sell shocked sons-of-mules turning up on street corners looking for their jobs back.”

“The major isn’t stationed in Canterlot,” replied Twilight dryly.

“You know what I mean.” answered Spitfire.

Spitfire liked the sound of her own voice. She had every right to, it was a good voice. The kind of voice that demanded the attention of others and endowed her words with a sort of intrinsic worth regardless of what was actually said.

“Geez, what’s eating you miss magic panties?” asked Spitfire. She knew the answer but wanted to hear it from Twilight’s mouth. The brash loudmouthed pegasus didn’t just like to hear herself talk for her own sake – well she did – but she also believed that words carried with them an inherent power. Declare a thing, she believed, and you could create that thing. Whatever it was you could own it, control it; if only you declared it.

“Come on Spitfire I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Nonsense! Sound is vibration and vibration is energy, sister.” Twilight looked up at Spitfire, who had taken to hovering a few feet above the ground rather than just walk. She always became a little annoyed when pegasi did that, and the expression on her face showed that she was in no mood for Spitfire’s particular brand of whimsical antics.

“Don’t give me that look. I thought an egghead, magic panties pony like you would subscribe to all that fancy mantra speak.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Spitfire landed in front of Twilight abruptly. “I’m talking about you. I’m talking about the mission you failed, and the ponies you got killed. I’m unfairly laying all the blame at your hooves and expecting you to deal with it all by yourself.”

Her initial, uncensored reaction was to get angry. Twilight was sick of everypony looking to her for all the answers, like she was the only one fighting the damn war, then immediately dismissing her efforts whenever she made a mistake. She was ready to cuss Spitfire out of her coveralls when suddenly the meaning of the pegasus pony’s words became clear to her. She sighed.

“Okay. I see your point.” She looked down and kicked at the dirt beneath her hooves. “I have maybe been a little hard on myself,” she admitted.

“Now was that so hard? The first step to overcoming your troubles is declaring them. You gotta speak up. You gotta own it. And when you get a chance, you gotta laugh at it. Laughter is the spit in worry’s eye,” she said with a knowing wink.

“Heh, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“I’m on my way to visit my favorite grounded rainbow maned menace. It’d be real classy of you to tag along. Say what’s up to your girlfriend.”

Twilight smiled. She shook her head and wondered how somepony with Spitfire's temperament managed to climb so high up the ranks. “My Celestia, can you even hear yourself talk?”

“Loud and clear miss magic panties.” She laughed to herself, her sun colored eyes glinting. “And was there ever a sweeter sound, sister?”

Spitfire laughed at her own quip. She liked the sound of her voice, and she especially liked the sound of that voice laughing. Before long, Twilight found herself laughing too, swept up in the music of Spitfire’s melodic voice. And If her voice was music then her laughter was a catchy song that everypony knew the words to, the type that when played one couldn't help but sing along.

The pair of them headed toward the infirmary, which was located all the way on the other end of the outpost, near the mess hall. Twilight had no desire to walk through the entire camp, dodging dirty sideways glances the whole way there. No, after what had happened on the failed mission she thought it best to keep contact with the other troops to a minimum.

“Mind if we take the scenic route? Swing a bit wide just outside of the camp’s perimeter. I have feeling there are plenty of ponies who’d jump at the chance to give me a hard time right about now,” said Twilight.

“You scared?” Spitfire mocked playfully.

“More than you know,” answered Twilight with an equally playful smile. But behind the light hearted expression Spitfire glimpsed a touch of genuine worry. Avoiding dirty looks wasn’t the only reason Twilight wanted to take a little jaunt through the woods, she was also in no hurry at all to get an update on Rainbow’s condition for fear that it had worsened. Just yesterday one of the more cable medics in the company had warned her that Rainbow may never fly again. Twilight wasn’t sure if she could face her friend if that were case.

“…More than you know” she repeated, this time sounding distant.

It wasn't true. Spitfire knew better than most how war took more than just lives. A lesson she’d learned back in Ponyville when she and her best friend Soarin’ were caught off guard by a well hidden rebel with a real talent for lobbing grenades. The blast had nearly blown her left wing clear of her back. It hung on but just barely, left to dangle by a bit of torn muscle that refused to give completely. When the smoke cleared she lay unconscious, her body practically in pieces; and beside her lay Soarin’ – at least – what little bit of him that was left. Most of him was sticking to Spitfire’s uniform in sticky lumps of charred flesh. The good doctors of the MM managed to patch her back together. She could still fly but not like she used to. Her days as a wonderbolt were past her, not but a distant memory of a better time now. It mattered little. Even if she did still have the wings for it, with Soarin’ gone she severely doubted she had the heart.

They went on in silence for awhile. Twilight walking. Spitfire hovering at her side. Not a long while either, but too long for the pegasus pony’s taste. She thought to say something to break the awkward silence: something clever and uplifting, but one sideways glance at the downtrodden unicorn at her side convinced her otherwise. Humor, she had come to learn, was a powerful weapon against the woes of the world. Powerful but not always appropriate. In the war against doubt one must chose their weapons carefully, for it is a war much more harrowing than that of the physical sort. It is a war of hearts and of minds, and after having lost her best friend it was one Spitfire had become all too familiar with. Laughs were not what Twilight needed now. She was alone with her pain and need to know that there were others willing to share in it. The situation, she gauged, called for a show of weakness.

“Have I ever told you about how Soarin’ died?” she asked. If her voice was music then her words now were a funeral dirge.

Twilight nodded. She hadn’t but she had no interest in hearing of how a sad soldier lost a close friend to an act of senseless violence. It was a story she'd heard a dozen times before, and it hit a little closer to home with each retelling.

Spitfire gave herself a mental bucking. Bonehead move. Brining up a dead friend at a time like this. As always sorrow proved a crafty foe. She adjusted her strategy and began again.

“Well did I ever tell you about my first kill?” Twilight regarded her with an interested countenance. Her eyes flickered with recollection as the memory of her own first kill involuntarily breached the surface of her thoughts. Spitfire could see the gears in the unicorns head starting to turn and smiled on the inside. She had her now. Few soldiers could resist talking of first kills. For most it is a sad memory. It signified the final loss of one’s innocence; the first real taste of war and often the most bitter. But inherent in the act of claiming a life there is triumph. It is a victory: one will imposing itself over another, and because it is the first kill, it is the first real victory a soldier feels. A cause for pride. A reason for shame. Such is the legacy of the warrior’s baptism.

“He was a stupid little excuse for a rebel,” said Spitfire. Her sun colored eyes drank in the daylight that snaked through the trees and glinted brilliantly as she spoke. “We were clearing residential – you know, arresting the innocent stallions and mares of Ponyville under suspicion of harboring enemies of the crown.” She spat the words from her mouth as if meaning to relieve herself of a foul taste. Twilight knew the feeling. Ponyville had left a bad taste in everyponies mouth. Most were still trying to wash it out.

“Then all of a sudden we get ambushed. Oh you should’ve seen it Twilight, they were everywhere. Coming out of doors and windows, jumping down from rooftops – shit, you’d have pissed your little magic panties had you been there.” She stopped to laugh. If her voice was music then her words now were a beating war drum. A blast on the horn.

“So me and my squad are panicking right. Octavia’s shouting for us to keep our heads down. Bullets are flying everywhere. I’m shooting completely blind. Not really aiming for anything, just keeping them honest. So I get the bright idea to take cover behind a carriage that’s parked on the side of the road, and the rebels start blasting the damn thing full of holes. Wood and chunks of the sidewalk are shooting up every-which-way, and the whole time I’m thinking holy shit this is it.” Excited by her own story, the fiery tailed pegasus cartwheeled in the air. She aimed an imaginary shotgun at Twilight, who was currently standing in for the rebel hoard. Twilight giggled at the pantomime. The song that was Spitfire's voice climbed, nearing its crescendo.

“And in all that confusion this stupid little rebel comes at me from behind. He probably would've had me too if he hadn’t been screaming like he was. Idiot. So he’s coming at me and I can see that he’s got something in his hooves – the moron is running at me on two legs – and he’s got something in hooves, only I can’t tell what.” Spitfire smiled big for a moment, as if remembering the best part of the story. Her chest swelled with pride and she threw in another ecstatic cartwheel for good measure.

“Before I know it he’s right on top of me. So I wheel around and – Celestia damn it, I was fast then: I mean your friend RD is fast but even she’s no wonderbolt – so I wheel around and smash this idiot’s face with the butt of my shotgun. I must have knocked out every tooth in his head, the dumb son-of-an-inbred-mule…”

Then all at once Spitfire’s smile shrank, and shrank, and shrank, until it was nothing. Her whole face seemed smaller in its absence. She didn’t land but her acrobatic feats came to halt, and the music in her voice failed to reach crescendo. Instead it fizzled into a steady hollow hum.

“…I dropped him with one hit. When I looked down to finish the job I saw that he was just a colt, young too. He didn’t even have his cutie mark yet, and the thing in his hooves was just a rock. I didn’t know what else to do so I shot him dead right there where he laid on the sidewalk.” She paused for a moment. Stared off into the distance. Touched a hoof to her face. Took a deep breath and then exhaled with a long sigh.

“…And that was my first kill…a stupid little boy with a rock.” She looked down at Twilight, and Twilight up at her, and in those beautiful sun colored eyes the unicorn saw a familiar agony.

“That night me and my squad slept in an abandoned bakery. Sugarcube Corner, I think it was called. I cried myself to sleep in the bedroom upstairs. I didn’t cry again until the day Soarin’ died. I haven’t cried since.”

By the time Spitfire had concluded her story the two of them were outside of the infirmary. Twilight spotted Rarity and Pinkie Pie standing outside of the entrance. They looked like they were waiting for somepony.

“Well, looks like this thing is invitation only,” said Spitfire, a bit of the old music back in her voice. “It’s fine, I know when I’m not wanted,” she added with a light chuckle.

Again it took Twilight a moment to grasp the pegasus pony’s meaning.

“No, don’t go,” she pleaded. “You’re one of Rainbow’s friends too. Stay. You are more than welcome.”

Spitfire smiled. Sweet words. Twilight Sparkle had a lot of enemies in Company Everfree, though looking at her now it was hard for Spitfire to imagine why. There was nothing but love in this one. But then, maybe that right there was the reason. In times of war love could be just as dangerous as hate, and this one loved harder than most.

“Now now, we both know this is between you and them,” she said gesturing towards the ponies standing by the infirmary entrance. “Go on. It looks like there waiting for somepony. It could be you.”

Twilight nodded. “Thank you Spitfire…for sharing that with me. And I’m sorry about what happened to you back in Ponyville.”

“Come on miss magic panties. Let’s not start apologizing for things that happened in Ponyville, or we’ll be here till the end of the war.” They laughed together.

“I envy you, you know.”

“Oh I know. Good looks and wings? Some ponies just have it all.”

“Seriously. You’ve lost so much and yet you can still smile so big. Another year of this and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to smile again.”

“Don’t be so sure miss magic panties. How do you know this grin isn't just an act?”

Twilight grinned herself. “Well if it’s an act, it’s a pretty good one. I think Soarin’ would be proud of you. You still being happy, I think it’s what he would’ve wanted.”

“Frankly my dear, I couldn’t give a flying fuck what Soarin’ would’ve wanted.” Twilight’s grin morphed into a quizzical look. If this was another of Spitfire’s jokes it seemed a bit cruel.

“And why’s that,” asked the unicorn.

“...Cause he’s dead,” she said plainly, and with that she bid her fellow lieutenant a pleasant farewell and flew off in the way they’d come.

Well Spitfire old girl, you done a good thing, she thought as her wings caught the winter breeze. She found it harder to ride the cold air these days. It had been so easy back then – everything had been. She thought about Soarin’ and the rest of the wonderbolts. She had no idea what had become of the others. For all she knew they were dead too. Dead or crippled. She looked up toward Celestia’s sun high above the treetops and pictured the old gang streaking across the blue sky, their trademark billowing thunderheads trailing behind them, disrupting the motif of an otherwise cloudless afternoon sky.

Spitfire’s sun colored eyes narrowed. Her brow furrowed with focus and determination.

Without warning she shot up past the tree tops, high up into the sky as if meaning reach out and touch the sun. The cold winter air made her wings ache, the left one especially. She beat them hard, fighting against the limitations of her damaged body. The climb exhausted her. At the top of her arch she looked down at the world that was once upon a time hers, and remembered the days when she had it all. Friends. Fame. Talent. Her life had been the stuff fiction – too perfect. Entirely too perfect for entirely too long.

Then she let herself fall. All good flyers know how to fall. Wings tucked. Shoulders square. Nose down. Hind legs parallel to fore. She squinted at the treetops as they rushed toward her. The world spun. Her body screamed at her. Too hard, it shouted. Too fast. Pull up before you hurt yourself.

Maybe she had a death wish. Maybe she had something prove. Whatever it was Spitfire kept her nose down and kept right on falling. A little more, she told herself. The speed wasn’t right yet.

Spitfire was seconds away from the treetops when she finally spread her wings. Using the momentum from the fall, she pulled into a speedy horizontal dash – a sky sprint, they called it back in the day. At her back she heard the crack of a small thundercloud, and her hind-hooves tingled from the sudden spark of electricity.

For the faintest moment the world was hers again. She shot through the sky like a bullet loosed from its casing. The metaphor, this author admits, was perhaps not the best, but for that one fleeting moment she was a wonderbolt again.

Then her body quit on her entirely. She fell into the treetops, ruffling leaves and splintering branches during her graceless return to earth. She bounced between trunks. Splinters of wood scratched her face and neck and exposed forelegs. Lieutenant First Class Spitfire of the proud Millitiamares may very well have died right there and then – felled not by an enemy bullet but by a simple brazen lapse of judgment – had it not been for a her uniform snagging on a particularly sturdy tree branch that was literally only a few feet from the ground. She had her eyes closed the whole way down, and when she opened them it took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t falling anymore. Her body was sore all over. She looked down at the ground like a pony who just found a long lost friend. Never before in all her days had she been so happy to see it.

Then she laughed out loud.

“Did you see me up there Soarin’!” she shouted to the heavens. “I still got it!”

She let herself hang there for a pretty good while, too tired to make any effort to get down. It was going to be a long walk back to the outpost, and a longer explanation to the major as to why she had decided to go gallivanting about the Everfree Forest by herself.

None of that mattered though. At least it didn’t matter yet. All that mattered to her right now were the tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing silently on the forest floor. When Soarin’ died she had promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore. But in spite of herself she did anyway. It started with a few tears before swelling into a loud wail of sobs and choked breaths.

Spitfire liked the sound of her own voice, but she didn’t especially care for the sound of that voice crying. And if it was true, if her voice really was music, then her sobs were a sad ballad about a young pegasus who had lost her wings. The type of song no one ever bothered learning all the words to. Only the melody. Only the refrain.

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