Before I was born, a couple of ponies decided to start their own respective governments and have a war about it. This made a lot of ponies, myself included fifty years later, very unhappy.

What was previously one nation of Koltrea split into north and south halves before an uneasy truce was called. A lot of countries from around the world had backed either side.

Today, Equestria still has troops stationed in South Koltrea, just in case the North Koltreans try anything. They’ve been trying lots of little things for a while. They’re now into the third generation of leadership and current North Koltrean President, Butterball the Third, doesn't show any signs of either giving up or having the balls to declare full-scale war again

If President Butterball chokes on a cake or something and dies, I can go home. My luck isn’t good enough for that to happen anytime soon.

“Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?”

“Huh?” I blink and sit up in my chair, bringing my attention back to the in-progress teleconference.

“I’ll take that as a no,” says the meeting lead’s voice through the teleconference screen.

I feel like I should be embarrassed, but that feeling passed a long time ago. Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea does nothing and has nothing to say, and neither do I as EACK’s representative at this teleconference.. Nopony will remember my slip tomorrow, and they never even knew my name.

It’s Lightning Dust, by the way. Right now, I’m in hell. Not only did some idiot think it was a good idea to send pilots to desk jobs occasionally to expand their horizons, but I got stuck at a particularly pointless and boring duty.

There are no windows in the office. Everything is beige. Some of the computers actually work. Those that do are filled with slide shows. It’s a remarkably non-military, military job.

EACK is supposed to be a hub of paperwork processing and oversight serving Equestrian military forces stationed in Koltrea. Yeah, I can feel my eyes glazing over just thinking about it. Fortunately, at some point in the past everypony else decided it was easier to just bypass us. Unfortunately, until the trudge of bureaucracy catches up and closes the place down, I’m literally pushing paper when I could be flying a jet.

Worse, I’m in the Navy but stationed at an Army base. Due to security concerns, no pegasi are allowed to fly on base. That’s not to mention all the other rules, regulations, and strange company I have to deal with. This is a bigger deal than it sounds. For instance, if I were to turn and say, “Hey boss,” an Army Major would answer, and then berate me for not using proper titles.

My unit is a combined command, so while there are less than a dozen of us in the EACK office, we represent three countries and five branches of the military. Most of our conversations have to be translated, even if we’re speaking the same language.

But it doesn’t matter, because like I said, we don’t actually do anything here.

Well, maybe drink coffee. Since the teleconference is over now, I get up and head for the coffee pot.

Getting up from the chair, the security badge on a lanyard hanging from my neck swings around. It’s a piece of plastic with my picture on it that shows I belong in this building. Nopony outside the building cares. Everypony inside the building knows who I am. It’s just one of those rules.

The floor creaks as I walk. It’s a false subfloor made of tiles elevated above the real floor. Apparently network cables or whatever get routed underneath. Mostly, it’s just noisy to walk on.

I get over to the coffee pot. It’s empty. A Marine Private is walking away, holding the last cup.

Wretched Heart is camouflage-colored, just like his Marine uniform. He’s also impossibly dumb, just like a Marine.

“Hey!” I call. “You kill the joe, you make some mo’.”

“Oh, um,” he fumbles the cup in his hooves and shoots me with puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Thickheaded he might be, but he’s also incredibly cute. I’m not even into guys and I can see why he’s constantly screwing other ponies’ marefriends completely by accident, as if his special talent is unknowingly breaking up relationships, which it just might be.

I turn back to the pot. There is no good coffee to be found in Koltrea. But bad coffee is better than none at all. I reach for the bag of grounds, but the door suddenly slams open.

Colonel Tweak storms in and demands, “What happened to my reserved parking sign!?”

I’m closest and he glares at me. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I hear somepony’s hooves on the subfloor coming up behind me. Major Winchester appears at my shoulder. “Sir, the sappers are putting up new signs. You’ll have yours back by the end of the day.”

“Who authorized that?” Tweak demands.

“The base commander, sir,” says Winchester. “Is there a problem with the parking?”

“Nopony was parked in my space this morning, but the sign was gone. It had better be back this afternoon.” Tweak turns and leaves as dramatically as he had entered.

To me, Winchester quietly asks, “Lieutenant, did you see the all-staff emails about changing the signs?”

“All three of them, sir.”

Winchester nods. He doesn’t have to say anything else.

I don’t know how Colonel Tweak got to his position. I’m guessing because nopony would dare put him in charge of anything important. What I can’t figure out is why he’s in charge of anything at all.

A good thing I didn’t say that out loud, too. Tweak storms back in and thrusts a piece of paper into Winchester’s hooves. “You’re going to Neighpon for a week.”

Winchester glances at the page. “A security conference, sir? It has your name on it.”

“You’re going,” Tweak repeats. He storms back out.

Winchester’s eyes go back to the page and pop wide open. “The plane leaves in four hours.”

“Oh,” I say, partly surprised, partly sympathetic. On a hunch, I ask, “When was the invitation sent to Colonel Tweak?”

“Last month.” Winchester grits his teeth. “Okay, I need to go back to my place, grab a suitcase, and get to the airport. I’ll email you once I get there, if I can get access to a computer.”

“Me, sir?”

Winchester pointedly looks around the office. “You’re next in line in seniority. You’re running the place while I’m gone.”

Buck me. I say, “Yes sir.”

He turns back to me. “Not that we do anything here that you can’t handle, but if the email works let me know if there’s some way I can help while I’m gone.”

“What if the email doesn’t work, sir?”

“I’ll try to call.” He shrugs. “It’s a security conference. Who knows what they’ll let us do. You might end up on your own.”

I think about being subjected directly to Colonel Tweak without Major Winchester running interference. I think about stepping into Winchester’s horseshoes and being the barrier for the rest of the office.

Winchester calls a meeting. It only takes a “Listen up!” announcement. It’s a small office.

“I’m going to Neighpon for a week. I’m leaving today,” said Winchester. “Lieutenant Dust is the officer in charge until I’m back.”

Everypony else accepts it without a word of protest. Oh buck, they actually think I’m qualified.

WInchester is gone without another word. Everypony looks at me.

Private Wretched Heart is the biggest. Ensign Rhyme of the Coast Guard looks like a filly next to him. Sergeant Drill Bit, Army, is at his desk with paperwork neatly stacked in front of him. Flight Lieutenant Skyray, Caneighdian Air Force, lounges at his own desk. Our secretary and interpreter, Line Scribe, is next to First Lieutenant Kimchi, of the South Koltrean Army, where the two of them had been practicing language. Air Force First Lieutenant Clear Code is looking impatient to return to her computer. The group is rounded out by my fellow sailor Chief Iceberg. He’s a SEAL, and also a seal.

For whatever reason, we have a lot more officers than enlisted ponies in the unit. Little wonder why we don’t get anything done around here.

“Well,” I say, “this was unexpected, but we’ll make the best of it.”

The door slams open again. Colonel Tweak seems like he’s about to say something, but looks around. “What are you all doing?”

A long moment passes. Oh, that’s my cue. “Sir, we were having a meeting regarding Major Winchester’s sudden departure.”

“Why aren’t you working?”

Because we’re having a meeting. Also, because we don’t have anything to work on. I open my mouth to report a version of that, but Tweak interrupts. “This is the kind of unprofessionalism I keep seeing. You all need to get back to proper military conduct. No more Casual Friday.”

Slam. He’s gone.

I’m not exactly the model of a professional military officer, but I’m honestly starting to wonder if Colonel Tweak isn’t actually incompetent and unpleasant but rather a massive troll.

I turn back to my audience.

“This sucks,” says Wretched Heart.

I see Sergeant Drill Bit shoot him a reproachful look for the comment, but I agree. It does suck. Casual Friday was perhaps the single shining light at the end of each dragging week.

I glance down at my pressed khaki uniform. It’s uncomfortable. I look forward to wearing my old flight suit once a week. Or I had.

I turn away. The meeting’s over. Chief waddles over to me. He’s the skinniest seal I’ve ever seen, which is probably why he can walk on land so well. With his qualifications, I don’t know why he’s not off shooting terrorists in the face right now, but maybe he got stuck here just like I did.

“Ma’am,” he says. “Did Major Winchester mention to you before he left about the vacation I applied for?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Well ma’am, standard timelines had me hoping to have the paperwork signed and returned to me last week. I hope it’s not stuck in the Colonel’s outbox.”

Chief doesn’t like talking to me this way. SEALs buck a lot of formality in the interest of getting the job done. I certainly don’t enjoy being in the position of a senior, either. The forced politeness annoys me, and I still feel a little, I don’t know, embarrassed maybe when somepony calls me ma’am. I just fly planes, I didn’t want this.

I hold back a sigh at what I’m about to do. “I’ll go check Colonel Tweak’s office for your paperwork.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I bet he does. I steel myself to walk into Tweak’s office. I feel like it would go smoother if I have an excuse, though. I spot the papers on Sergeant Drill Bit’s desk and walk over. “Is the daily report ready?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says.

I don’t know if Sergeant Bit knows how ridiculous he looks. He’s vomit green and due to his previous assignment as a boot camp drill sergeant, his mane is shaved and only a tiny little poof of a tail is left.

“I was going to go to Colonel Tweak’s office. I can take the report,” I say.

Sergeant Bit is usually pretty stoic, more DS mentality, but an honest look of relief passes across his face. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Need help?” asks Skyray. He looks a lot like me, though he’s a shade darker in his blue coat and orange mane. He’s also technically equal rank, but as a Caneighdian, he’s only here on observer status.

“Thanks, but I’m hoping this will be just a quick in-and-out,” I say.

I take a deep breath and head for the door, carrying the paper. The daily report is another formality from a bygone era. It reports what we do each day. We don’t do anything.

Colonel Tweak’s office is directly next to our office. I pause, grit my teeth, and knock. Nothing happens. I count to ten and knock again. Again no response.

Is he gone? Is he sleeping? Is he trolling me? I cautiously open the door.

The lights are on, but nopony’s home. Fitting metaphor it might have been, but in this case it’s literal. I take advantage and scamper over to his in/out box. I slip the daily report in and dig through everything else. Sure enough, Chief’s paperwork is there. It’s not signed by Tweak.

I also discover an invitation to a conference up near the border. It’s taking place tomorrow. I hadn’t heard anything about this. Tweak’s calendar is on his desk, and it has things scribbled all over it, but tomorrow doesn’t seem to have anything about traveling.

I hear hooves approaching. Quick as my name, I back away from the desk and turn around. Tweak comes in, a sandwich in his mouth.

“Whaf ur oo oing ere?” he demands. Angry mixed with a full mouth comes out more hilarious than it should be.

I remember that he’s my boss and not in a joking mood and manage to keep my composure by looking at the floor. “Sir, I came to drop off the daily report.”

“En ged out.”

“One more thing, sir. I wanted to ask about Chief Iceberg’s vacation paperwork. I, uh, think it might be in your box there. All it would take is one signature from you.”

Tweak mumbles something I can’t interpret. My hoof is already in motion, pulling the page out of the box. There’s a pen on the desk and I grab that, too.

Tweak stares at me and then spits the sandwich out on the floor. “You’re really going to ruin my lunch, Captain? Really?”

“It’s Lieutenant, sir. I’m in the Navy. I know the rank insignia looks similar to Captain in the other services.” And he should know it, too. I’ve only told him this exact thing at least five times before.

Tweak grabs the pen in his mouth and scrawls what might be a signature across the paper.

“Thank you, sir.” I can’t wait to get out the door, but even I’m not fast enough. Tweak calls me back.

“Wait.”

I freeze and suppress a cringe. “Yes sir?”

Tweak pulls a piece of paper out of his box and practically throws it at me. “Deal with this.”

I glance at it. It’s the conference invitation. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

“You think you’re smart. Figure it out. Now get out of my office.”

I do. I glance back as I close the door, seeing him glowering at his sandwich on the floor. I mean, I understand the limitations of earth ponies, but he could have used a hoof to hold it, or spit it out on his desk or something.

But that’s no longer my problem, if it ever was. I have emerged from the lion’s den victorious. Okay, maybe not a lion. More like a senile timberwolf, but whatever.

Chief thanks me for the paperwork. I go back to my desk and take a look at the invitation. It’s called a bilateral conference of understanding. I think “bilateral” means it’s two countries - us and the South Koltreans? - having the conference.

It sounds boring. It sounds like they want important ponies to attend. It sounds like Tweak isn’t interested. It sounds like an opportunity to get out of the office.

I stand up and announce, “I’m going on a business trip tomorrow.” Gesturing to the mare beside me, I add, “First Lieutenant Clear Code will be in charge in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” Clear Code mutters. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the computer screen in front of her.

I sit back down and ask conversationally, “What are you working on?”

Her eyes behind her thick glasses still don’t look my way. If she wasn’t practically albino, I’d think her eyes were red from too much computer time. She also might be the blindest pegasus I’ve ever met. Yes, that counts Derpy Hooves.

“There are things afoot on the secret internet,” she says.

Ah yes, the secret internet, domain of intel nerds like Clear Code, with secret pictures of cats, and occasionally secret intel about things going on in the world.

“What kind of things?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you when I figure it out.” At no point did she even glance my way or call me ma’am. As an Air Force First Lieutenant, despite being similar to my title of Navy Lieutenant, she’s one equivalent paygrade below me. I decide it’s not worth arguing. I don’t mind anyway.

I get up and walk over to Line Scribe and Kimchi. Both of the unicorns are still speaking Koltrean to each other..

Line Scribe is a civilian that is technically employed by the State Department or something, but is assigned to hang out with us for reasons that are unclear. He’s fit for a civilian. His brown mane has frosted tips and along with his constant polo shirt makes him seem like a fratboy. But he’s good at language and smart enough to navigate bureaucracy.

Kimchi is pale purple with dark eyes and mane. She could be a model, and maybe she was before joining the South Koltrean Army for the mandatory service her country requires. Not gonna lie, I once had the hots for her, but she’s straight and I don’t like her cooking.

“I need one of you to go with me tomorrow to the bilateral meeting, in case of translating,” I say.

“My kid has a school play tomorrow,” says Line Scribe.

Kimchi nods. “I will go.”

Great. With that settled, I have nothing to do for the rest of the day. I go back to my desk.

Well, this is the most eventful week I can remember since being assigned to EACK. And it’s only Monday.

When I first moved to Koltrea, I was told to enjoy the sights that couldn’t be found in Equestria. Staring at a can of foreign beer in a foreign bar counts, right?

Skyray is next to me. We’re similarly colored, so it’s easier to claim we’re related. That’s our angle when out trolling for mares, that we’re brother and sister. The Koltreans don’t notice his Caneighdian accent.

“Nine o’clock,” Skyray says out of the corner of his mouth. “Blue.”

I turn my eyes in that direction, spotting the pony in question. “Looks more like cerulean to me.”

“It’s times like this that I wish you were actually less of a girl. Blue is blue. She’s hot either way.”

“I wouldn’t throw her off the fantail for being too salty.”

Skyray frowns at me. “You have to stop with the nautical slang. I’m pretty sure ladies don’t find that attractive.”

“If there are any ladies here.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

“Is it your turn or mine?”

“Mine,” he says. He takes another sip of his beer and goes to talk to her. She shoots him down almost immediately. To his credit, I do hear him say, “Well, my sister’s here if you’d rather.” The mare doesn’t go for that, either.

Skyray comes back and sits down. “Well, Monday night was never good for this kind of thing.”

He’s right. But being single in a foreign country is rough. I’m not above dating coworkers, but options at EACK are slim. I’d rather not chance my prospects on an Army base anyway.

We conclude the night without results. I go back to my apartment. It’s within a couple blocks of base. It’s small and simple. Have I mentioned I’m painfully single?

As I put the key in the lock, the next door neighbor opens their door. It’s Rhyme, Coast Guard sailor and fellow EACK member. I was really displeased when she moved in right next to me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s tidy and responsible, but so annoying.

“Hey!” she says, sing-song. Everything she says is sing-song.

“Hey,” I reply.

“So where are you going on this trip tomorrow?” She doesn’t call me ma’am. Coast Guard thing. Not that I mind

“It’s up near the border. Kimchi is going with me.”

“Sounds fun!”

“I sure hope so.”

I go into my apartment. I wonder if I can get away with a different uniform at the conference. I hate the idiot blue camouflage the Navy uses as a utility uniform, but it’s more comfortable than khakis. But no, I probably can’t wear that to an important meeting.

Is it an important meeting? I shake my head. I’m too young, irresponsible, and low-ranking to be thinking about conferences between countries. How did I get into this situation?

Well, at least I don’t think they want me to wear the white uniform. It’s not the right season for the dress blue uniform, which despite its name is actually black. Trust me, I know my colors.

I don’t know why the Navy has three “business” uniforms when no other service has more than one or two. At least I’m not a senior enough officer to be required to buy the dinner dress uniform that makes you look like a matador.

I could use a ceremonial sword, though. Wait, why don’t I have a sword?

Probably because the exchange store on an Army base doesn’t have anything for the Navy.

I collapse in my bed. I am so done with this job.