Two Hooves is the result of much research and many interviews. None of my efforts in assembling the events of this story would have amounted to anything, had I not received the generosity of the Historical Studies Department of the Academy of Advanced Magic. I am deeply indebted to them and their support throughout the process of my dissertation.

The events of the Equestrian campaign into Mohs in the search for those culpable in the assassination of Princess Celestia extended over several months. Researching the particularities and minutia of this campaign proved exceedingly difficult. Though the story is nonfiction, fictional liberties assisted me in composing a work that is both accurate and fluid.

For those wishing to explore the details of my research, all of my materials are available in the library of the Department of Cultural Studies within the Academy of Advanced Magic.
My dissertation follows Red Field because when it came time to write Two Hooves, neither the narrative, nor my conscience let him take any role but that of the main character.

Red Field was a smart pony. For his whole life, the black and white unicorn had been told he was smart. He could decimate any test presented to him on any subject with only a few hours of prior research. His Cutie Mark, a chessboard, was just one of the many indications that Red Field was an intelligent pony. His parents, knowing he held great potential, enrolled him in the Rockvale Community High School. Rockvale, a dusty town of agriculture, offered a curriculum of dated workbooks taught by an aging faculty.

On a nondescript, arid day in Northern Equestria, he graduated.

Red Field walked home tired. The warm summer air mingling with the constant grey haze of rock dust hung around him and wrapped Rockvale in an ambient astigmatism. The after-ceremony social was still going on, but he went home anyway. Red Field knew he could have had friends, any number of ponies would have been willing to spend time with the quiet unicorn who buried his snout in books. Red Field knew he could have stayed; he was well liked and valedictorian, after all.
But Red Field didn’t want to stay. He didn’t want anypony to ask what his plans for the future were.
He was going nowhere. His parents, rock and cabbage farmers, could never afford the tuition and travel expenses needed to send him to the Academy of Advanced Magic for colligate study. He had thus spent the last six years of his life earning a worthless degree in high school-level general rock science that would be his only education.
He kicked a rock, bouncing it down the empty road; everypony was at the graduation. Rockvale didn’t have anything else to do.

He still could have stayed at the ceremony and just told ponies that he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do now that he was done with school. That was true enough. Yet Red Field didn’t want to stay and talk. Because no matter how many different ponies he met, no matter how many specific and even esoteric conversations he began, the same question always came up: Why was a black on white pony, devoid of any color, named Red Field?

Red Field never answered that question. He never told ponies that he was born in a field of rotted cabbage, followed by an unusually meaty placenta and gratuitous wash of blood, and thus named for his gory entrance into the world. Red Field never told anypony that he hated his parents for naming him so crudely or for being too poor to afford sending him where he would flourish. And Red Field never told anypony how much he hated Rockvale for being a rockfarming settlement with an average IQ of 83 (he alone brought the average up a couple points). Red Field rarely told anypony anything. The petite stallion studied, read books, and grew more and more dissatisfied with his life as the years rolled by.

He reached his house, a modest shack standing before a field of granite slabs and red cabbage. He opened the door and walked to his bed, which lay beside that of his parents. He dropped his certificate of magic education on the cot and sat down in the mushy bedspread. The sun was setting, and he could hear the sound of the chirping crickets in the fields. He listened for a moment to the miniscule insects. Eighty-one degrees, with a margin of ten degrees error. His parents were still at the graduation ceremony, talking about how he was planning on being an engineer for the rock plantations.
Red Field laid down on his bed. He felt the little scroll that informed the world of his moderate education squishing beneath him. A tiny black beetle climbed a book by his bed. He lashed out with his hoof and obliterated it. Red Field loathed bugs. The smashed carcass of the beetle adhered to his hoof, and he scraped at the splat furiously. He never told anypony how much he hated everything about Rockvale.

The next morning, Red Field’s father shook him as if he feared his son had suffered a stroke in the night. Red Field shoved him back to indicate his consciousness.

“Where’s your diploma?” The concrete grey pony asked. “Where did you put it?” Red Field rifled through his sheets for a second, then produced the creased scroll from under his body. His father sighed. “Red, you need to take care of this.” Red Field nodded but Cyrus still frowned, unconvinced by Red Field’s wordless reply. “Do you know how many ponies in Rockvale even go to your school?”

Red Field did.

“Forty-six.” The number was fifty-two. “And out of those forty-six, only twenty-two graduated.” His father was correct on that. “And out of those twenty two, you were valedictorian.” His father pointed to the wall. “And I happen to know Talie construction is looking to hire an engineer with a certification in general rock science.” His father gave him the scroll. “So treat this with respect, this represents all of that studying you’ve done for the past six years.” Red Field took the scroll and set it on his nightstand. His father sighed. “I’m sorry.” He gave Red Field a hug. “Happy graduation, I’m sorry you went home so early last night. You mother said you weren’t feeling well.” Red Field nodded and his father released him. “Well, nothing a little free time can’t cure.” He picked up his hardhat and pick and slung them over his shoulder. The wiry stallion stood for a second, looking at his son, as if he expected something. “Well, have a great day, I’ll be back at eight, your mother is with the cabbages.” As if she would be anywhere else. “So have fun. You’ve earned it.”

Fun.

Which of the six non-residential buildings in Rockvale could provide that? Red Field turned over in his bed and gathered his small bundle of books which sat under his nightstand. He could return his latest batch of reading to kill some time. Tossing the books into a saddlebag, he began to regret having selected so many thick reference volumes that week.

Struggling under the weight of the books, Red Field set out for the library.
Red Field might have been smart, but he was not strong. The little black and white pony had often been mistaken for a mare with his diminutive stature and blandly styled tail. His unstyled mane hung passably above his eyes and drifted down his back in an appropriately clean and unremarkable streak. This bland grooming hadn’t gotten him beaten up for “looking gay”, so he’d maintained the appearance throughout school. He had mostly escaped bullying through the small size of the school. The general assumption among Rockvale families was that the weakest and most sickly ponies from each generation were the only ones with hopes of acquiring an education. Thanks to this reasoning, Red Field was roughly on physical par with his classmates.

He had spent his days surrounded by Spook, a nervous black stallion; Elroy, a glasses wearing unicorn who personified weakness; and Marah, who seldom spoke much louder than a whisper. They weren’t really his friends, though they could have been. Red Field would have rounded out the hodgepodge of strange ponies as the emotionless intellect with no direction for his life. But he didn’t want to add himself to the menagerie of pathetic ponies. Red Field wanted nothing to do with Rockvale.

For the past six years he had spent seven hours at school, then finished his bookwork, then gone to the library and read books. Earlier in the summer he had begun a quest to read every book in the tiny building, and by the end he hoped to be able to proclaim to not have learned a thing of relevance outside of tractor repair and cabbage fertilization. With about a hundred books left, Red Field was closing in on his goal.

He stopped at the steps of the rust colored building. The shack had been a supply locker for one of the cabbage plantations prior to the royal edict. Queen Twilight herself had drafted the mandate for each Equestrian town with more than 1,000 inhabitants to construct a library with at least 2,000 books. Rockvale had only 988 ponies, but Red Field had added a few cousins from the Tartlet family to the census. The bizarre Apple clan rarely entered the little town, and nopony was really certain how many of them there were. No one questioned the numbers, and Rockvale got its library.
Red Field pushed the door of the library open and walked to the desk. Instead of musty and moldy pages and bindings, the Rockvale library still smelled of oil and kerosene. Gasoline stained the concrete floor, and a few bolts still lay strewn about. The young stallion dropped the bundle of books onto the desk, waking Mr. Whittaker. Mr. Whittaker, an old white pony slipping into senility, had been chosen to be the librarian, as any able-bodied stallions in the town spent their days flipping rocks. Mr. Whittaker yawned and pulled his spectacles to his eyes. He peered down at Red Field.

“Oh hello there, Red!” He said. Mr. Whittaker couldn’t see in the dim light, yet he was never wrong about the identity of his patron. Red Field was the only visitor to the library as reading was not a popular pastime in Rockvale. Mr. Whittaker opened each book and stamped the inside cover. “All set!” Red Field walked to the midpoint of the “F” section. Taking a seat, he counted off the next eight tomes in line. The section had no order since Mr. Whittaker had enough trouble keeping the alphabet straight.

The library of Rockvale amounted to some kind of miracle since Rockvale had no books. In lieu of this basic and nearly universal necessity, the citizens of the tiny town had substituted machine manuals, schematics and whatever else they could dig out of their homes. Red Field counted off a few titles.

Fire-retarding extinguishers, overhaul and troubleshooting, Vol.3.
Fire on Pages: What book censorship can offer

Rockvale also filled its library with texts following the general political leaning of its agrarian population. Red Field slid the next book from the shelf and squinted at the title. The only realistic part of the library was the dim light, which filtered through the few barred windows along the walls. Red Field blinked and reread the title.
Firearms

He had never heard the word before. He looked for a subtitle or illustration, but the black book was identified only by the baffling compound word. Sliding the other books into his bag, Red Field walked back to Mr. Whittaker. He laid the strange text down before the wizened stallion. Mr. Whittaker had settled back into his rest. Noticing Red Field, he coughed and raised his glasses.

“Firearms.” He said aloud. He rubbed his chin. “Oh yeah,” he said softly. Mr. Whittaker turned the book over. “Didn’t think you’d find this.” He flipped through the pages and a little smile came to his face. “I remember guns.” He said fondly. He tossed the book back at Red Field and gave him a wink. “Lucky you found this.” He said cryptically. “You’re gonna love it.”
Red Field looked down at the odd book, then slipped it into his backpack.

Red Field dumped his load of books of at his home and read for a little bit. He had just finished learning about C-class fire compressors and their relative inefficacy against type A fires if their mainstay valve was not properly lubricated when his mother entered the single room shack. She wore a faded and garish sunhat, which she hung immediately.

“Well hello there mister graduate!” She said. “How are you today?” He shrugged. She smiled and lifted a plate of cabbage and greens, which was mostly cabbage. “Forgot your breakfast this morning.” He stood and walked over and took the plate. She waited for him to finish, then washed his dish. “Mr. Nordstrom was telling me that we’re going to have a bumper crop this year, and I believe him. I came home a little late because there were so many rows to finish.” She dried the plate and faced her son. Red Field got to his hooves.

Around his mother, he wanted to be a good son.

Cyrus had swept Moonlit Night off her hooves ago, and she had promised to follow him wherever he went. Cyrus had ended up farming rocks in the little town of Rockvale, pursuing a dream of working his way up the ladder of success. Moonlit Night loved Cyrus, and he loved her; Red Field was proof of that. Yet as Red Field watched his mother work every day tearing cabbage from the ground, he wondered about her happiness. Cyrus had yet to get past the third rung of his ladder in the eighteen years Red Field had known his father. Making matters worse, Rockvale was a terrible and mundane place, even causing a pink mare to go insane and flee to the equally tiny town of Ponyville. Moonlit Night didn’t deserve to live in such a place, no matter how in love she was.

“I wanted to tell you, there’s an opening in the Marble Sector over in Boulder Dash with Sysco. I know you don’t really like rocks.” She sighed. “But it might be nice to be a little closer to civilization, don’t you think?” Her face lit up. “Oh! And there’s mares out there who aren’t bigger than you!” She added with a laugh. She looked at the plain boards beneath her hooves. “I’m sorry we can’t afford to send you anywhere, Red. But maybe things will work out. I ended up here, but I met your father, so there’s always a silver lining.” Red Field felt sorry for his mother, especially when she made backwards analogies to cheer him up. She gave him a hug. “Please, Red, don’t think you’re anything but extraordinary. That mind you have is going to change the face of the world someday. And when it does, I want the world to know that you’re my son.” Red Field held his mother; he didn’t mention that rock farming technically qualified as changing the face of the world.

Red Field didn’t often find the words to tell her much of anything.

That day was his first day in years with literally nothing to do. Red Field found himself listlessly drifting back into town. Central Rockvale wasn’t a town, just six buildings arranged in a square. Rockvale was a store that sold everything from thermometers to automatic circumcisers, a little doctor’s office that treated papercuts and referred more serious injuries to the clinic 108 miles away, a post office, the school, and a malt shop. The library didn’t really count as a building, but it was always added to the count whenever Rockvale wanted to impress tourists, who never visited the town. The rest of the settlement was a scattering of houses and farms, all of which formed a patchwork of fields. Red Field stood in the middle of “downtown” and looked about. He wanted nothing from the store. His eyes fell on the malt shop. He had never gone inside.

The little shop reminded him of an operating room, its slick tile walls and floors reflecting white fluorescent light. The air of the store was unnaturally cold. Red Field had only experienced air conditioning once in his life, when he’d gotten his tonsils out. His skin prickled with goose bumps as he took a seat on one of the red bar stools and picked up a menu.

“Well hello there sir!” He looked up. A brown stallion with a bushy mustache greeted him. “What can I get you?” Red Field pointed to a vanilla shake and clopped a pair of bits down on the counter. “Well, alrighty then!” Said the soda jerk. He went about preparing the malt.

Red Field looked around the shop; he was the only customer. A fly, beginning to succumb to a stupor brought on by the cold, struggled weakly against the glass window. Red Field saw a coin on the ground and used it to crush the little insect. The soda jerk was still scooping the ice cream at a leisurely pace. Red Field looked up; the menu board was a redundant restatement of the information on the menus atop the counter.
That was pointless- well, actually, supposing there were an influx of customers, it could be advantageous to have a readily-seen description of products once the menus were dispersed. But then, how often did that happen? It could theoretically be an attempt to avoid losing potential customers should such an influx occur. But then, temperament of these hypothetical customers would need approximation.

“There you go! Enjoy!” The attendant set a tall glass of foaming malt before Red Field. Red Field nodded his thanks. His first malt was a satisfying experience. The glass drained with a curious expediency, and Red Field felt a touch of unhappiness at the sight of the empty glass. He sat for a few minutes, trying to calculate the volume of the container. “Need something else?” Asked the attendant presently. Red Field hesitated; he had nothing better on which to spend his graduation money. He pointed to the same beverage on the menu. “Sure thing!”
Red Field returned to perusing the menu. The store advertised a “buy seven malts and receive one free" deal. He started to think on the relative profits garnered from such a deal. His gaze returned to the board: the I and E were in incorrect order in the word “receive”. He looked for something with which to distract the jerk. The attendant was just starting for the blender when the fly-encrusted coin whipped through the air and pinged into the kitchen. The stallion cocked his head in confusion and went to investigate. As he did, Red Field corrected the entropy on the board.

“Well shoot, did you see anything?” Asked the attendant as he returned from the kitchen.

Red Field shook his head.

He walked home after his aimless dessert. He might as well read tomorrow’s book that day, then have dinner. Red Fied was pondering the conclusion of an essay regarding deletion of the word rump from any literature that foals might reasonably gain access to when his father came through the door. Cyrus was sweaty and covered in granite dust.

“Red, need you.” He said. Red Field followed his father out the door. He never helped his father in the field, and he knew why. “Now Brute Force fell and pulled a rotator cup, and we need you for a team lift.” His father said as they ventured out into the field.

The field was in their backyard, actually, the field was their backyard. Rocks, all shapes and sizes stuck out of the dry ground like chunks of partially-digested food in a puddle of vomit. Cyrus led him over to a flat boulder surrounded by the other rock farmers. Red Field knew some of them, didn’t recognize most of them, and didn’t care about any of them. One, Mr. Pie, Red Field instantly identified and edged away from. Ever since his daughter had run away, Mr. Pie had become even more of a cold and ill-tempered stallion.

“Okay then, got my colt! Let’s get this show on the road!” Cyrus said. “Now Red, we’re gonna lift and you’ve gotta help us, we’re flipping this toward Mule Kick’s side.” Cyrus braced himself against the side of the boulder. Red Field emulated him along with the other stallions. “On three!” Cyrus shouted. “One, two.” Red Field took a deep breath. “Three!” For a second no noise came, save the grunts and snorts of the struggling ponies. Then came the ripping of grass as the massive boulder broke free of the ground. Red Field lifted with all of his might, which he knew amounted to next to nothing. “Start flipping!” Cyrus said between breaths. Red Field’s side began to raise their end, and Red Field attempted to aid them. As he raised his forelegs above his head, the Red Field saw the underside of the rock turn by his face. It was blackened by dirt and worms and maggots wriggled about in the caked dirt. He drew a sharp breath and kept lifting. “Nearly there.” His father said, his voice taut with exertion. Red Field felt dizzy from the strain, and a drop of sweat ran down his right foreleg. He looked up.

A thick centipede skittered down his white leg and toward his face. He recoiled and slapped at the Chilopod. He heard the angry shouts of the farmers as the rock toppled back into place. For a second the farmers panted and gasped as they recovered from the botched flip. Red Field feverishly scraped at the broken centipede that was smeared across his leg. He realized everypony was looking at him. He took a step away from the group, the fragments of the centipede still clinging to his leg.

“Is everypony okay?” His father asked. The stallions murmured yes. Red Field knew they were looking at him. The dust settled around them as the tired farmers looked down at the smallest male of the group.
“Is that it?” Asked Mr. Pie contemptuously. Red Field turned and started back toward his house.
“Haha, that’s why he’s going to be an engineer. He’ll have this done by magic in a year!” His father laughed nervously.

Dinner was quiet. Red Field dutifully ate his greens and cabbage.

“I was telling Red that it’s a bumper crop this year.” His mother said softly. “We need all of the mares in the west field, since that’s where it starting to spoil.”

“I was just telling the guys that Red is going to whip up some contraption for us to flip the rocks without breaking a hernia.” Cyrus replied.

Red Field took a bite of boiled cabbage and continued to stare at the white porcelain plate.

When dinner was over, his father went to the porch, which was more a stoop than anything else, to smoke his pipe. Red Field washed the dishes as his mother ladled the embryotic mixture of boiled cabbage into a jar.

“Please.” His mother’s voice was a strained sigh. “We get it. Your father and I know you don’t want to be a rock engineer. You show us that every day.” She put her hoof on his shoulder. “But you don’t need to always be so stormy and distant, why can’t you just-” Red Field threw the plate back into the soapy water. He threw it with more force than he had estimated and it shattered. His mother gasped and Cyrus reentered instantly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. Red Field pushed by him and walked out into the night. “Red, stop!” His father shouted. “You have no right to treat your mother that way.”

“Please, Cyrus.” His mother called from the door. “Red didn’t do anything.”

“What? I heard a crash! Moon, you can’t keep letting him do that!” They were going to argue for a while.
Red Field walked out into the fields of rocks behind the house. Dusk was falling, and the granite slabs somehow looked even greyer in the waning daylight. He looked in a southwestern direction, toward Cantorlot. He didn’t tell his parents he was planning on running away. He didn’t tell them he was going to journey to the great city and find a way to pay the tuition to enter the Academy of Advanced Magic. Red Field took a seat on one of the rocks. He wasn’t going to be an engineer; he was going to be an alchemist.

Night had fallen when he made his way back to the shack. He made certain his parents were asleep and carefully stepped around and over the few possessions scattered across the room. Taking his seat atop his little mattress, the black and white pony dug through his book bag until he found the black book with the odd title. By the dim glow of his horn, Red Field read the first line of the book.

“A six-millimeter round, at PONI load specification, generates between 1,500 and 2,000 Joules of muzzle energy. When the first equestrian firearms designer was asked why he’d made a weapon that could so effortlessly cause such grievous injuries, he replied “God made the pony with all of our fearful and wonderful differences. Firearms make ponies equal.” A smile crossed Red Field’s face.

“Interesting.”

The origin of Red Field’s name was a secret. Schoolteachers, his parents, and pretty much anypony who knew him simply called him Red. Yet some ponies, through some abuse of good-natured trust on the part of his parents, had discovered the mystery of his colorful name.
Red Field heard the hoofsteps of the Tartlet colts behind him. He continued down the road as if he didn’t know what came next.
Red Skin spoke first.

“Hey, blood bath, where ya’ll goin’?”

Red Field didn’t reply, but kept walking toward town.

“Ya’ll gonna answer?” Beet asked. Red Field shifted his saddlebag.

“I am going to the market,” he said. Both Tartlets snickered.

“Ah am goin’ t’the market!” Said Red Skin. “Y’gawt some buks in there?” Red Field knew what was going to happen but kept walking anyway. Beet stepped in front of him.

“Ah heard ya’ll gawt onea them di-pol-mas.” Red Field stopped, he knew he had to answer them.

“That is correct.” He replied. Beet leaned in, and their eyes met. Red Field hated Beet more than his older brother. The stocky, buzz-maned stallion was more willing than his older brother to cross boundaries.

“Ya’ll gonna go t’college blood bath?” Red Field didn’t answer and Beet shoved him back. “Ansir me!”

“I might.” Red Field answered.

“Ya’ll better, y‘can’t flip jack shit from whut ah hear.” Said Red Skin with a snort.

“Hehe, yeah.” Beet put his hoof on Red Field’s shoulder. “Leetle blood bath here got an asthma attack an’ had t’sit down. S’ok blood bath-”

“Gotten any letters from Appleseed?”

Red Field seldom fought back against the pair. But he had been frustrated with having to deliver the cabbage to the market and was in no mood to handle the Tartlets on top of that. His unspectacular graduation rounded out the pile of smoldering un-pleasantries of the past few days, and his temper broke.

“No.” Beet said quietly.

Appleseed was the youngest of the Tartlet colts. He had often joined his older brothers in harassing Red Field. Appleseed was the only pony who had ever managed to make Red Field severely angry. Something about being beaten up by a colt half his age made Red Field take matters into his own hooves.

The Tartlet colts routinely ran into minor scuffles with the law of the town, Deputy Podunk. Usually they were ineffectually reprimanded and released. Yet during once such instance, when Appleseed had been found lounging in the general store, surrounded by thirteen empty sarsaparilla bottles and the till’s contents in his possession, Podunk had chanced to take a look at the colt’s accumulated record. The bemused deputy even called the sheriff in nearby Tinsdale to confirm what he saw. Incredibly their records matched; Appleseed had apparently committed thirteen acts of violent sexual assault on a minor, all of which were unresolved.

What happened next varied from each Rockvale resident’s account. Some said Podunk covered up the unspeakable crimes and Appleseed was still hiding on Tartlet farms. Others claimed that Podunk turned a blind eye while the offending colt was taken to a distant relative. Yet Red Field and the other Tartlet colts knew the truth. They remembered Podunk and five other deputies from neighboring towns serving an arrest warrant on a clear Sunday morning at Tartlet farms. Red Field hadn’t studied any law at that point, so he hadn’t realized just what prison the colt might be sent to for his fictional crimes.

Red Field didn’t know where Appleseed had gone, nopony did. Six months passed before Red Field read about the severity of the possible punishment for a violent sexual assault on a minor from a copy of Equestrian law he had found in the library. Red Field burned the book and pushed back the horrible images that accompanied the knowledge of the possible fate of the Apple pony.

Nopony ever found out about Red Field’s forgery, and the Tartlet colts still believed Podunk to have fabricated the records himself. The mere mention of their incarcerated brother brought out the worst in the already obnoxious stallions.

“No we ain’t heard nuthin’ from him.” Beet muttered. “He stahped writin’ awahl back.” Red Field felt the regret coming back. Beet slapped him across the face.

In a moment they beat him. Red Field had been beaten by the Tartlets many times before. Their blows followed a strength reduction curve of exponential degree. They typically focused their attacks on his midsection, with kicks to his head interspersed. Most assaults lasted about five minutes or until somepony saw them. The worst beatings came from a reminder of their imprisoned brother and their lightest from “lookin’ at them funny.”

They left him in a bloody pile. His stomach churned from their steel horseshoes, and his gashed head spilled blood.

“Jus’ lahk the filly ya’ll were born as.” Red Skin spat on him before galloping away. Red Field lay for a time, waiting for the pain to subside. His head swam, and he stared up at the bright sun. Finally, he picked himself up. His stomach hurt, and he felt the blood run down his mane. He shakily picked up the bag that had been tossed to the side of the road. The cabbages had been crushed, and the wet pulp oozed out of the brown satchel.
Red Field threw the bag down and ground his teeth together at the thought of his parents’ reaction to losing two days’ worth of work. Blood flooded his ears and he retched into the grass beside the road. In a few seconds he collapsed into the dust. The world throbbed and faded around him. Red Field was not a strong pony.

After a quarter of an hour, he felt well enough to rise. The sun hung at its zenith and steam rose from the watery cabbage. He picked up the bag and walked toward the market; maybe he could find a way to make the lost money back.
The farmers’ market sat about two miles out of Rockvale. Red Field usually delivered the family cabbage to the market. An unspoken rule at Red Field’s home was to never mention that cabbage farming still made more than rock farming. Cyrus was not a proud pony, yet he did not want to acknowledge that his mare made more than he did.

Red Field reached the market, but the ten or so stands displaying various tubers and fruits were already packing up. He jogged over to Cargill, hoping to find some way to make the day’s money. Cargill was a burly white stallion with an abstract “C” as his Cutie Mark. He controlled all of the produce sales from Rockvale, and nopony thought to undercut him.

Cargill and Red Field were business associates and nothing else. But the two liked one another with a sort of mutual respect. After five years of cabbage delivery, the businesspony had noticed Red Field’s intellect and had occasionally brought him Sudoku puzzles from Cantorlot. Red Field admired the impersonal and formal manner that Cargill brought to Rockvale.

“Excuse me sir.” Cargill was rechecking his load as Red Field reached him. “I’m sorry I am late.” Cargill turned.

“Red Field, I was unsure of where you were.” Cargill didn’t even mention the blood or bruises; that was the kind of formality that Red Field loved. “You know there is a fifteen percent fee for late transactions.”

“I’m sorry, sir, my produce was destroyed in an unforeseen altercation.” Cargill shrugged and went back to checking his cart. Red Field swallowed some bloody mucus; he didn’t want to ruin the wonderfully perfect relationship by begging. “Is there something I can do for the payment?” He asked as formally as he could. Cargill shook his head as Red Field knew he would. Realizing he had no other options that wouldn't sour their relationship, Red Field turned for home.

“Red Field, did I hear that you graduated?” Cargill was hitching himself up to his cart.

“Uh, yes sir.” Said Red Field.

“What are your plans?” Cargill adjusted his halter.

“I don’t know sir. My parents think I can get an internship at Talie Mining, and maybe that will lead to a-”

“What do you think of business?” Red Field paused, wondering if Cargill was asking him a personal question.

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t mind mathematics.”

“What about algorithms, for investments?” Asked Cargill.

“I don’t know a lot about those.”

“I need a number cruncher for my operations in southeast Cantorlot.” Red Field’s heart jumped. “It pays forty bits a day. If all of those puzzles I brought you are done correctly, then I would imagine there’s room for advancement in my company for you.”

280 bits a week was more money than he would ever make engineering rock flippers, and if he were in Cantorlot, he could eventually save enough to go to the Academy of Advanced Magic.

“I’d love that. What should I do to apply?” Red Field asked.

“I’ll add your name to the list of applicants.” Red Field’s heart fell. “I will be in touch in a week or so to let you know what turns.”

Of course, he hadn’t realized that many other ponies would want to be an intern for Cargill. Red Field watched Cargill cantor back down the path. He would learn everything he could about algorithms.

Red Field returned home, cleaned himself up, and washed the cabbage puree out of the saddlebag. Packing up his latest collection of books, he headed for the library. Mr. Whittaker was dozing behind the desk when Red Field entered the dim library. He clopped the books down on the desk, waking the elderly librarian.

“Oh, hello Red! How did you like the book on guns?” Asked Mr. Whittaker with a yawn. Red Field was already on his way to the A section.

“What?” Asked Red Field and Mr. Whittaker chuckled.

“Guns! The great equalizers!”

Red Field hadn’t finished that book.

“They seem pretty interesting.” Red Field said.

“I know you’re a brainy pony, but I know you like guns; every stallion likes guns.” Said Mr. Whittaker.

“The mechanics are interesting.” Said Red Field. He started toward the A section. He scanned the randomized offerings. Cargill’s offer still lingered in his mind. Out of nowhere, he had the chance to escape his future.

In a few minutes he found a book on algorithms. Sitting against the cold metal shelf, Red Field read the first line of the text.
“Mathematical algorithms for estimating tractor wear.”
He flipped the book closed and sighed.

The library held four books that told him anything about algorithms; two of them were dictionaries. The other two were algorithmic estimations on when to replace farming equipment. Red Field trudged home, the book bag slung over his shoulder. An internship with Cargill would give him a future, would let him achieve. He would design the best algorithm known to investors. And he was going to go to the Academy of Advanced Magic.

His mother was inside stirring a pot of cabbage soup. She looked up when he entered.

“Oh God, Red!” She rushed over to him. “What happened?” He had forgotten about the Tartlets. Things in real life tended to fade into the background when he began to think about something.

“Nothing.” He mumbled. She took hold of him.

“Red, please, what happened?” She said. He looked over her and out of the window overlooking the rock field.

“Nothing, mom, tell dad nothing happened.” He said distantly. Moonlit Night started to speak, then nodded.

In Cyrus’ view, Red Field didn’t have bullies, he had “fellows bigger than him.” He got pushed around for being “a little smaller than those guys,” and of course he didn’t mind. His father had often offered to teach Red Field to fight another colt, but Red Field had always declined.
His father didn’t offer any courses on countering two or sometimes three burly Apple ponies that threatened broken bones if he resisted. Whenever he came home injured, he explained that he’d “just tripped”.

She put her hoof on his shoulder and gave him a hug.

“I’m sorry, did it happen after you sold the cabbage?”

He had forgotten about the cabbage.

"It was before.”

“Did you get to deliver it?” She asked.

“No, I didn’t.” He walked over to his bed.

“I got paid less because one of the cabbages had a bruise.” He pulled his graduation present from under his mattress. “You didn’t see the bruise.”

“Red, stop. You can just say that Cargill left early and you didn’t get a chance to sell them. Put your money away.”

“Do you think he might ask where the cabbages are?” Red Field knew that he had spoken too sarcastically.

“Red.” Her voice was quiet and injured now. “Please put your money away. Tell your father what happened, he’ll understand.”

“Neither of us believe that.” Red Field said.

“Please, that’s your money.”

He threw the bits across the room; the copper coins bounced and ricocheted off of the walls.

“I don’t care about it!” He shouted. “I just want my father to leave me alone, and I’ll pay any amount of money to get that!”

“Please, don’t be upset.” Moonlit Night sniffed. “Your father works very hard.”

“Harder than you? Hard enough to make more money than the mare he dragged out to Rockvale to pursue a dream of owning a rock farm?”

“He works harder than all of the other stallions. It isn’t his fault he-”

“What is his fault then? That I have to lie to him so he doesn’t get upset over not making money from his mare’s work?”

They heard hoofsteps coming down the road.

“Please, Red.” His mother whispered. Red Field said nothing, and in a few seconds, his father entered the little shack.

“Hey! What’s with all of the money laying around the room?” He asked with a laugh.

“Nothing.” Red Field said. “I just tripped.”

Dinner was quiet, Red Field ate his greens and thought about algorithms. His father brought up Talie mining again, to which Red Field did not reply. Finally, Cyrus counted out the twenty-three bits collected from across the room. Both Moonlit Night and Red Field waited as the grey stallion surveyed the little pile of change. He burped reflectively.

“Don’t we usually make more?” He asked. Moonlit Night nodded.

“Yes, it…” She looked at Red Field, who was studying his empty plate, “One of the cabbages had a bit of a bruise. Red said that Cargill paid him less for that.” She said slowly. His father looked over at his silent son.

“That true?” Red Field nodded, still watching his plate. His father frowned in thought. Three bits skidded over to Red Field’s plate. “There you go son. Consider that a down payment on all of the labor I’m going to owe you after you invent a better rock flipper.” Red Field stood up and cleared his plate. He tossed the bits onto his mattress. Red Field cleaned his plate off and set it back in the cupboard.

“Where are you going?” His mother asked as he departed from the tiny house.

“Walk.” He said. Beneath the subtle roar of the crickets, Red Field heard his father begin to complain about his ungrateful attitude.

He walked for some time, passing through the sparse town and reaching the cliff overlooking Talie mines. He climbed atop a boulder that sat just on the edge of the cliff. Far below him yawned the entrances of the quartz and salt mines. Based out of Yanhooyer, Talie Corp. soon owned all of the rock farms in Rockvale and the surrounding towns. For all of the residents in Rockvale, a job with Talie was synonymous with future success, provided they spent their lives working diligently and appearing neat to their supervisors.

But Red Field didn’t want to spend his life working from engineering intern to director of engineering oversight. He wanted to learn magic, real magic, the kind that could annihilate the town of Rockvale by undercutting its economy with cheaply produced rocks transformed from alchemy.

Alchemy was an archaic art; the only institution teaching it was the Academy of Advanced Magic. Because of its complicated processes, and mixed reliability, the magical art had been pushed to the back of Equestria’s list of educational priorities. But things were different now; the new queen valued magic. She was even a graduate of the Academy of Advanced Magic.

Red Field had often wanted to meet Twilight Sparkle. They probably would have been friends. He leaned back on the smooth rock. He would never meet her; instead, he would live in dusty Rockvale and churn out a living flipping rocks.
Cargill’s offer returned to him, and with it, the possibility of escape. He began to think on algorithms.

According to the dictionaries and farming books, algorithms seemed to be a complex equation of sorts, with multiple variable entries, through which a final answer could be ascertained from a certain given value. They could apparently be used to project the life of a tractor, but how did that pertain to investment? Red Field realized that all he knew was a definition, and he could not possibly know more without books which he did not have and could not acquire.
Again Rockvale won over him.
He struck the boulder with his hoof. The bruises from his beating pounded with blood, and he cursed.

“Hey!”

Red Field nearly bolted. Spook sat at the base of the boulder, apparently he had not been aware of another pony either.

Both stared at one another for a second.

“Sorry.” Red Field said as he recognized his classmate. “I thought I was alone.” Spook was much more shaken than Red Field. He nodded, but Red Field could see that he still trembled.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Spook said, clopping his hooves together anxiously.

“It was me, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you down there.” Red Field sat down again on the rock. “I didn’t think anypony would come out here.”

“I do.” Spook swallowed, took a deep breath and sat down in the grass below Red Field. “I came here a lot during school, mostly to get away from the Tartlets whenever they were in town.” Red Field chuckled; he wasn’t the only pony receiving Tartlet aggression. Spook looked up at him. “How come you left so soon after graduation?”

“I didn’t feel like staying.” Red Field said.

“Your dad was telling everypony about how you’re going to be an intern at Talie, but you’ll be running the whole company by the time you’re married.” Red Field couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “Yeah, my dad’s the same way. According to him, I’m going to be a sports medicine doctor in Cloudsdale. But I hate blood.” Spook replied with a chuckle. “What’s your dad gonna say when he finds out you hate rocks?”

“Um.” Spook had never been this forward in school, and Red Field had trouble answering the dangerously personal question. “Probably nothing. I’m not planning on telling him.” Spook processed this for a bit. The bugs began to appear, and Red Field was about to leave when Spook spoke again.

“Why don’t you ever tell him anything?”

Red Field had slid off of the rock and was making his way down the path back toward “town” when he replied.

“Because I don’t care what he thinks.”

This story begins at the same time as Four Hooves. However, the majority of Two Hooves follows Red Field. Rarity and the other characters from Four Hooves are introduced when this story reaches where they were last seen in Four Hooves.
The underlined text is the canonical author's parenthetical remarks. Much of the formatting had to be redone because I couldn't get Word to transfer the document to this site very well.

Firearms were strangely fascinating; Red Field quickly finished the book on the contraband machines before dinner the next day. By method of expanding propellant gasses, firearms had the capacity to launch very light, spitzer projectiles at incredible speeds. He had of course realized why such inventions were banned. Nopony needed such a dangerous object laying around. Yet Red Field couldn’t help but grin a little as he read about the power of the .40 PAG round.

Mr. Whittaker was right, he did like guns.

Yet guns could not get him a job with Cargill, and more importantly, get him out of his terrible future.
After finishing all of the books regarding any sort of algorithm, Red Field had a fairly clear understanding of the general notion of an investment algorithm. Taking a sheet of paper, Red Field first wrote down all of the possible signs that a stock or investment might increase substantially in value. An education in rock identification did not prepare him for his task, and he spent the better part of the day staring at a piece of paper bearing the words “The price increases substantially”. What could indicate that an investment might increase in value?
Red Field didn’t know, and it killed him to know he didn’t know.

The sun was just setting as the family sat down to eat. Red Field was discouraged, not hungry, and ready to throw his plate across the room should his father even utter a word about rocks. Silently shoveling snap peas to his mouth, Red Field hunched over even more than usual. His mother politely cleared her throat and Red Field readied for the critique on his posture. He heard his parents whisper something and Red Field nearly sat upright in preemptive irritation.

“Red, your father has something for you.” His mother said. Slowly raising his line of vision to parallel that of his father’s, Red Field saw an envelope placed before his plate.

“What is this?” He asked.

“A letter, for you.” Said his father. Red Field’s father was no doubt full of himself for obtaining a form letter requesting his son’s presence at a job interview for Talie. But as Red Field opened the envelope, he realized this letter had not come from anypony from Talie.
Red Field tilted his head; this letter didn’t seem to have come from anypony at all.
The white sheet laid in his hooves. The letter was empty and the envelope not addressed or even sealed. His father seemed to grow more pleased with himself as Red Field stared at the blank document.

“So, what are you going to write?” Cyrus asked.

“To whom?!” Red Field’s confusion turned to exasperation. He heard his mother take a scared breath at his outburst.

Strangely, Cyrus didn’t seem to care.

“I was speaking with the Whitmans, they said their son had received a letter from Gale Force Academy a few months ago. But their colt, Chuck, he didn’t graduate valedictorian. Apparently being valedictorian is very important to Gale Force.” Said Cyrus. He nudged the paper toward Red Field. “You’re Rockvale’s valedictorian this year.” Red Field didn’t care about Gale Force. He didn’t know anything about the school, he didn’t need to. Any school besides the Academy of Advanced Magic wasn’t an option for him. “Gale Force Academy is a very selective school. They-”

“I see.”

Oftentimes, Red Field crossed lines. It usually happened with his father, when the two of them talked for too long. This time had been less than seventy words.
The room became deathly quiet. Rockvale generated no ambient background noise save for crickets. Cyrus looked at his son for a few, long seconds. Then the older pony retreated back to his usual self. Shoving his chair out from the table, he rose.

“Thanks for the meal Moon. I’m going out.” Red Field and his mother watched the concrete-colored stallion leave. The room felt like a broken glass, and Red Field knew that if he moved, it would break more. His mother sat for a second, then got up and mechanically started to clear the table. Red Field picked up his plate and set it in the sink. He heard a sob from his mother as she leaned over the worn metal sink.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly.

“Why Red? Why does everything have to be so hard with you?”

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I don’t know anything about that place and I don’t think it would fit me.”

“Why can’t you be happy that you got a letter to go to a somewhere that isn’t Talie? We thought that’s what you wanted.” She sniffed and pointed to the letter. “Mr. Whitman didn’t offer to give his son’s invitation to you, your father had to-”

“Fine!” Red Field shouted. Yanking a pen from near his bed, he took a seat at the table. “I’ll write to them! I’ll tell them every good deed I’ve done in my whole life!” His mother started to cry and Cyrus burst into the room.

“God dammit Red! You have no right to yell at your mother. Every time I leave you-” He saw his son with the letter. The grey stallion blinked, as if he wasn’t sure if his son was on the verge of destroying the paper. “What are you doing?”

Red Field uncapped the pen and set it on the page. His mother looked over her shoulder at him, her forelegs were still buried in the sudsy water of the sink. A tear ran down her cheek and fell into the filthy dishwater.

“I’m sending Gale Force Academy my transcript.” Said Red Field.

The letter took him fifteen minutes to compose. He wrote of his GPA, which had never fallen beneath 4.0, and of his extracurricular activities, which involved taking every possible course in the scant school. He composed a short essay regarding his demeanor and temperament, both “never causing an issue in group projects or with teacher interaction.”

At first, Cyrus studied him. Over the course of the next few minutes, Cyrus realized Red Field was writing in earnest. As Red Field wrote, his father began to speak of what he knew about Gale Force Academy.
Gale Force was a highly-selective boarding school, with opportunities in most promising fields. The Whitmans were apparently the only ponies in a hundred mile radius to receive a letter of acceptance. His father relayed how only class valedictorians were eligible for admittance, and the proctor of the school had mistakenly assumed that Chuck would be valedictorian, like his father had been.
Red Field asked if maybe not actually getting a letter of invitation would somehow disqualify him as an applicant. His father replied by saying that since only valedictorians could enter the school and since Red Field was a valedictorian in a town that had received a letter, he had a good shot.

Red Field did not want to go to Gale Force Academy. He did not want to send the letter. He did not want to write a message to a school, begging for entrance, when he would rather be learning about alchemy. He wanted nothing to do with a school that surely wanted nothing to do with him.

The family walked to the post office that night to mail the extrapolated attempt at admission. Dropping the little envelope into the mail chute, his father turned to the pair.

“Well there you are! One transcript mailed!” He gave Red Field a pat on the shoulder. “Looks like somepony might not be a Talie employee after all!”

“I’m sure you’re going to be head of the class at Gale Force.”Red Field’s mother gave him a kiss on his ear.
Red Field didn’t say anything. He didn’t say that he was never going to Gale Force Academy, even in the unlikely event he actually got accepted. He didn’t say how nothing in the world appealed to him but alchemy. They started for home, everypony but Red Field feeling refreshed and hopeful about the future of the intelligent stallion. As they all went to bed, his father gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“I hope this can be a compromise for us.” He said. “I’ll talk to the Whitmans and see if they can give me some more details. I know it’s a bit unexpected, but I think you’ll like Gale Force.” Red Field nodded and picked up his next book, which was about fertilizer dispersal patterns.

The story of Red Field’s Cutie Mark wasn’t particularly clear, even to him. No one knew exactly when the symbol appeared on his flank. When Red Field first began school, he had been introduced to the game of chess by his teacher, Miss Wormwood. The polka dotted mare had given the colt a used magnetic chess set as a sort of gift for braving the trek to the school. Chess had been the first indication that Red Field was a different pony. For three days he had studied the smudged vinyl checkerboard, shifting the pieces back in forth in their correct movements.

Then without warning, Red Field played chess.

Against Miss Wormwood, against his parents, against the town of Rockvale, Red Field played everypony. Blitz, rook down, queen down, blindfolded- he had played everypony in Rockvale in every way imaginable. And Red Field had never lost. The inhabitants of the little town jokingly maintained that the world was going to end when Red Field lost at chess. By the fourth straight day of victories against his family and schoolmates, he’d gone in search of somepony to beat him.
He’d found no one, although this had been in part due to the intellectual wasteland of Rockvale. He had gone from house to house looking for somepony to best, or even match him at the game. Sometime during his quest, somepony saw the mark on his flank. Red Field had been too focused on finding a suitable opponent to see or hear the appearance of his Cutie Mark.

Nopony was surprised that Red Field had a chessboard Cutie Mark. He had after all, an apparent talent for the strategic game that bore his body’s color scheme. Red Field had studied his mark many times. It was a partially foreshortened chess board that lacked pieces.

He knew that his special talent was not in chess. Rather, the board symbolized the way he saw everything. He functioned best when given facts and information and a distinct goal, along with proper time to formulate a strategy. Red Field was good at chess because it was how he wanted the world to be: something difficult, but understandable, and with the potential to be assimilated into clean categories for proper calculation.

The day after mailing the letter to Gale Force was predictably warm and Red Field was looking forward to spending some time in the cool and cave-like library. He had with him a notebook, pencils, and a calculator; he was going look for any more information on algorithms and then design one. He opened the door to the machine-shed-turned-reading center and walked to the desk.

Mr. Whittaker was not dozing lightly in his chair. He wasn’t even at the desk, and Red Field looked about for the elderly librarian. He set his books on the desk and walked to M section. Maybe a book on mathematical concepts including algorithms had mistakenly entered the town.
He began to scan for relevant books. He was just tugging one from its tight fit between two larger volumes regarding thresher maintenance when he heard a loud slam on the concrete floor.
Loud noises spooked Red Field, and a sort of rage overtook him whenever such a noise interrupted his thoughts. Jumping to his hooves, he peeked around the corner of the shelf. Mr. Whittaker muttered something as he bent to recover an atlas-sized book from where he had dropped it. Red Field took a deep breath to steady himself, then walked out to Mr. Whittaker.

“Excuse me.” The elder stallion jumped back, dropping the book again. He had apparently been unaware of Red Field’s presence.

“Oh! Red, you startled me!” Said Mr. Whittaker.

“Sorry about that.” Red Field said, the fright from the slam still humming in his mind. “Do you know where any books on algorithmic mathematics would be?”

“The what?” Asked the librarian.

“Algorithms.” Mr. Whittaker squinted at him and Red Field realized he had not encountered an issue of audibility. “Never mind.”

“Red, hang on.” Mr. Whittaker tapped his shoulder as Red Field turned to bookshelves. The librarian held a black book under his shoulder. “How did you like the book on guns?” He asked with a grin.

“Interesting.” Said Red Field. “But they seem a little too dangerous for any practical use.” Mr. Whittaker showed him the book.

“Most of these books are in collections ‘cause of their rarity. But I had a few stashed away somewhere.” Red Field read the cover. Equestrian Projectile Ballistics: An Evolutionary Perspective. “Guns used to be a big part of Equestria. Way back in the day there used to be tons of books like this.”

“I see.” Red Field said, slipping the book into his bag. He would read it later; he had an algorithm to design. “Thanks for the reading.” He said as he returned to the shelf.

“No problem.” Mr. Whittaker said, shuffling off to his desk for a nap. “A pony who reads as much as you do ought to know about firearms.”

Red Field began his algorithm. Designing an algorithm was no easy task, especially given that he knew next to nothing about them. Yet the pages of the notebook were soon filling with the notes and ideas. Nearly everything was lost to Red Field when he concentrated. Time became a foreign concept, hunger and thirst vaporized, and even breathing itself occasionally left him. Thinking was one of his greatest joys, because it was a time when things made sense, or at least, could be made to make sense.
Cargill invested in produce. Red Field would make an algorithm based on the seasonal cabbage varieties around Rockvale. He gradually compiled a list of questions.

Was the cabbage’s price more than four bits a load, if yes then proceed. Could the cabbage be had in at least two pecks a purchase, if yes than proceed. Did the agriculture suggest supporting this particular strain for at least four years (here he had written a separate algorithm for calculating the general projection of a plot of land), if yes than proceed. Was there sufficient growing safety, that is, security against droughts, blights, etc (another algorithm for this), if yes, or more than 85%, than proceed. Assuming the crop passed these tests, it would then move to relative profit analysis. Would this crop become inflated in less than four years, if no then proceed.

He was midway down his third page, engaged in another sub algorithm, when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. Red Field detested interruption, especially when his thoughts became loud.

“What?” He asked loudly. His mother took a step back from the table.

“I was coming to take you to the picnic.” She said. Red Field sighed. He had forgotten about the picnic.

“I’m sorry.” He flipped the notebook closed and blew the eraser sprinkles off of the table. “I forgot that was today.” Rising from the chair, Red Field slung his book bag over his shoulder and started for the door.

“It’s peaceful in here.” Said his mother. Red Field nodded.

“Yeah, I like it.”

“How is Mr. Whittaker? Is he a good librarian?” She asked. Not in a technical sense.

“Yeah, he’s great.” Red Field was still back in his work, trying to define crop consistency.

They stepped outside, and Red Field realized just how long he had been in the library. The sun was setting, and the muggy air began to take a cooler, mist-like feel.

“Your father is bragging about your letter, just let him.” His mother said as they walked to the church. Red Field didn’t care; he might have, had he not spent several hours on an algorithm that would nullify the purpose of said letter. “Oh, and Fannie Mae, you know her, she’s Freddie Mac’s mare, she said she wants a picture of you with her daughter.” Red Field realized he would have to be a presence at the picnic. The weight of Rockvale returned and the world of clean rules faded from his mind.

“How long do I have to be there?” He asked. His mother sighed.

“Red, this is the one time your class will all be together since you didn’t want to stay for your graduation.”

“Okay.” He said.

Rockvale had a church. The reason the seventh and arguably most important building in the town had not been not counted in the total was that the decently-sized church also doubled as the Mcholsteins’ house.
Red Field believed in God. Maybe not the spirit-slaying, miracle granting deity that Rockvale adhered to, but a God nonetheless. For Red Field, God was essentially unknowable. He could do everything, but didn’t have to anything. His motives and actions followed a shrouded and cosmic thread that was of course, impossible to ascertain. If anything was to be said about God, it was that He didn’t really care.
Red Field understood that God owed him nothing, and therefore the very gift of life was an unwarranted blessing. This logic allowed him to conscionably worship with his parents every Sunday at the crowded farmhouse. Unfortunately, this theology essentially clashed with the ideals of the rest of the churchgoers. For Rockvale, a lame leg or addiction to “self-abuse” required nothing less than a full assault from the Prayer Mares, a group of older mares with a strangely vast knowledge of the actions and mistakes of the congregation. Rockvale believed in God, and by the way they acted, God probably believed in them.

Red Field and his mother carried their tub of cabbage soup to the farmhouse. Red Field tried to think more on his algorithm, but his concentration had shattered and he gave up after a few minutes.
The picnic took place behind the Mcholsteins’ house. The tiny dirt yard had seen many funerals, revivals, and Easter egg hunts. They reached the picnic just as the group of church mares was setting out the various crockpot dishes and upside-down casseroles. Red Field set the tub of soup atop the checkered table and looked for a place to retreat.

“Ohhh Red Field!” Helping Hoof gripped him in a choking hug. She was the head of the Prayer Mares and an unfortunate friend of Red Field’s parents. Helping Hoof was a kind enough pony, but she asked too many questions. She was the epitome of the Free Church of Rockvale. Like everypony in Rockvale, she had “known him since he was a skinny little colt.”

“I heard you graduated!” The beefy mare said. He painted a smile and nodded.

“Yep!”

“So what are your plans now?”

“My father got a letter of acceptance, er, invitation from Gale Force Academy. I’m probably going there.”

Helping Hoof smacked her lips in approval.

“Well isn’t that just the most wonderful thing? You know, I had heard that one of those Pegasus ponies out in Gravel got a letter from them too!”

Red Field’s mother came to his rescue.

“Well you know, I had heard that they don’t send a lot of those letters.” She said. Helping Hoof nodded.

“Well I was just talking to Mrs. Freisen and she said-” Red Field had started to slip away from them but Helping Hoof caught his shoulder. “Hold on now! You still haven’t told me what your plans are!”

“Well I’m going to attend the Academy.” He said. She cackled and gave his shoulder a slap.

“That’s not a plan! Tell me what you want to study, what are you interested in?” Red Field hated discussing his fictional plans more than anything, because it forced him to come up with a lie that nopony had written for him.

“I would like to study,” he thought for a few seconds. He knew nothing he wanted to study besides alchemy, and he made no consideration for anything else. Yet he had to think of something that interested him. “Mechanics. Spring and aerodynamic based.” Firearms were interesting. He desperately hoped this would satisfy Helping Hoof. The grey mare’s eyes went wide with surprise.

“Mechanics! That’s a tough field!” She looked to Moonlit Night. “But I know he can handle it, back when we had him in the nursery he would always-” Red Field again began to slip away. A hoof again caught his shoulder. “Hang on!” Said Helping Hoof. “What is it about mechanics that interests you so much?”

Moonlit Night stepped in to rescue Red Field.

“So tell me, how has Iain’s leg been?” She asked. “I heard he was going to that foreign doctor.”

“Oh you haven’t heard?” Said Helping Hoof.

Red Field left the table as the clucking resumed.

He walked for the oak tree that sat on the edge of the property. Taking a seat against the thick tree, Red Field closed his eyes and tried to picture his algorithm, and more importantly, how he could make it better. He heard hoofsteps behind him and looked back. Elroy was approaching the tree, carrying a plate of pineapple-dandelion casserole. The milky white pony took a seat beside Red Field.

“Greetings.” Said Elroy.

“Hey, how are you?” Red Field asked.

Elroy most resembled Red Field in the town of Rockvale. Both were highly intelligent and had experienced the frustration of the limited resources of their tiny school. The only pony who inexplicably pissed off the Tartlets more than Red Field was Elroy. The glue-colored weakling had been the bearer of the nickname “Jizz pony” and had suffered many beatings at the hooves of the inbred brothers for the crimes of “readin’ too many books” and “thinkin’ he was above them.”

Yet unlike Red Field, Elroy was a cheerful pony. He had an active involvement with the church, even garnering a prophetic word regarding his future of “running a thriving ministry”. He actually liked the idea of Talie mining and was planning on accepting a job as a shaft inspector for the corporation. Elroy was weak and sickly, but well-liked amongst the school, which had voted him as “having the brightest future out of all of the graduates” (Red Field had not taken part in the yearbook and thus had not been eligible for the title.)

Unlike Red Field, Elroy was fine with Rockvale.

“I’m well. How are things at the library?” Asked Elroy.

“Unchanged. I left a list with Mr. Whittaker with all of the books you might like. There are a few old encyclopedias with some interesting perspectives. That’s about all that I can recommend.” Red Field said.

“I’ve been in there a few times." Said Elroy with a chuckle. "I’m impressed you can stand to read all of those old manuals.” He took a bite of casserole. “So, you missed the graduation party.”

“Yeah, I’m not really one for loud events.” Said Red Field. Elroy nodded.

“Understandable.” He set his plate in the dust. “What are you going to do now?”

“Gale Force Academy. If that doesn’t work out, then Talie.” Red Field answered quickly.

Instead of the usual resentment and fury the question elicited, Elroy’s inquiry stirred in Red Field an amount of insecurity.

Maybe he felt insecure because they were both smart and had relatively equal options before them. If Red Field had to guess why he cared what Elroy thought, Red Field would have supposed that it was because he didn’t want another smart pony to look down on him for not having a plan for his life.

“I spent a lot of time thinking and praying over which shaft to go to, but I think the first new on in town is definitely where I should go.” He stretched his back out. “So which department do you think you’ll head to if you end up at Talie?”

Red Field knew nothing about Talie.

“The research and development division.” His father had always said that he’d be an engineer. “Working on a new flipper I guess.” He shouldn’t have said “I guess”. Elroy would question him for the uncertainty.
Yet Elroy merely frowned thoughtfully and finished the last of his casserole. Red Field didn’t mind Elroy, he was a nice pony, and smart too. But deep down, Red Field wondered if he resented the milky colt for being another version of himself, only with a brighter future.

“Maybe we can work together.” Elroy said. “You and I always worked well on our group projects.” He smiled. “And I know there aren’t a lot of other ponies in this town who are, well, like us.”

“Yeah.” Red Field rose. “I’m going to get something to eat.” He used up his only excuse for the night in under five minutes. Elroy closed his eyes and reclined against the tree. Red Field heard him heave a contented sigh.

He was smarter.

When they’d both taken Equestria’s standardized tests at sixteen, Ms. Wormwood had remarked that she’d nearly gotten his and Elroy’s test scores mixed up. Red Field had broken into the school’s records cabinet a week later (the lock was a one tumbler design). Red Field had scored a perfect 30, Elroy had only gotten a 29.667. Yet both were above the school average of 16.25. They were both geniuses; but only one of them was going somewhere.

Red Field hated potluck food, it was cream based, fattening, and while easily ingested, poorly digested. He dropped some caramel hay onto his plate aside some dinner rolls that resembled pound cake. The picnic was in full swing, and ponies milled about in the yard, eating and chatting. He pushed his way through the crowd and looked for a place to sit. He took a position at the steps of the porch. The sun had become a semi-circle on the horizon, and the night sky was starting to turn reddish orange. He began to quietly eat his dinner when the screen door banged shut behind him.

“Hey Red!” Said Larson, one of the Mcholstein stallions. Larson and Red Field had only met once at a funeral and Red Field had promptly pushed the stocky stallion out of his mind after their introduction. Larson did not attend the school, worked with his father flipping rocks, and was about as relevant to Red Field as the Tartlets. The light green stallion sat down beside him. “Watcha eatin’?”

“Just some caramel hay.”

“Shoulda seen that.” Said Larson.
Red Field did not reply, and continued to down his meal. Larson sat beside him as Red Field ate. Red Field became uncomfortable. Why wasn’t Larson going out and socializing with the other ponies?
Red Field stood and walked toward the trash drum that was buzzing with bees, to deposit his paper plate. Larson followed him. Red Field nervously threw the plate into the trash and began to think of an excuse to distance himself from the green pony.

“You want to come running with me and some guys?” Larson asked.
He hadn’t asked about his graduation, or his plans; Larson gained a bit of respect from Red Field. Red Field was so impressed with the question that he didn’t think about how to reply.

“Red!” He looked back and his mother waved to him. She was standing beside Fannie Mae.

“Sorry! I’m going running!” Red Field called.

Running was something stallions liked to do. Red Field wasn’t certain why, he just figured that other males enjoyed exertion. He followed Larson through the crowd of ponies. The muscular green stallion gathered a few of his friends from the picnickers and they walked to the front of the house. As the other stallions laughed and chatted around Red Field, he became nervous about not knowing how to even participate in the simple activity. The group of four stallions stopped at the end of the dusty driveway.

“How far we goin’?’” Asked one.

“Not far, I got a bum hamstring.” Said another.

“Haha, yeah, that’s why.” Said Larson. The second stallion pretended to take offense to this and the two exchanged in a few good-natured recounts of prior runs. Red Field felt supremely out of place amidst them.

“Hey!” Larson said. “Let’s let the grad decide!” He turned to Red Field.

“Where do you want to go?”

Red Field swallowed, he had no time to think of a good answer.

“Uh, where is there?” He asked. Larson slapped him on the shoulder.

“Reverse extended goose, up and down, Floaty Bridge.” Red Field had no idea what he was saying. Larson saw this. “Four miles, two miles, eight miles.”

“Four miles.” Red Field answered quickly. He didn’t even consider how far he might actually be able to run; he just wanted to satiate them without appearing to be more of an idiot.

“Alright! Reverse goose it is!” Larson and his friends apparently had no more of an introduction than that, and they started to jog down the empty road.

Why Larson invited him along, Red Field still didn’t know. As they ran down the road, which was lined with poplar trees, Larson and his friends didn’t even seem to notice the tiny pony jogging behind them. They joked and recalled earlier runs, and Red Field focused on simply keeping pace. Thankfully they didn’t run particularly fast, and Red Field managed to enjoy the passing countryside.

Rockvale wasn’t a perfectly displeasing place. Beyond the dry dirt of the cabbage and rock fields, the little town had a few swatches of forest. Red Field loved the forest. Something about the calmness, or the relative silence, or the infinite areas of study drew the young pony back to the quiet trees many times during his education. The road was flanked by trees and eventually ran into a small forest that acted as the temporary reprieve from the flat, sleeping land. The trees around them cooled the air, and Red Field relished the dampness of the leaves beneath his hooves.

The other stallions gradually shifted the topic of conversation over to more personal matters and subjects as time went on. As they splashed across the one stream that ran through Rockvale, Larson looked back at Red Field.

“So Red, what’s your plan now that you’re done with school?” Red Field had been awaiting the stream for some time and was enjoying the cool water that had just splashed his legs. “Red?”

“What?” Red Field looked up. The other stallions were watching him; he had missed a question (Red Field hated missing questions almost as much as he hated Rockvale). Larson laughed.

“What are you going to be doing now that you’re done with school?”

“Talie, going to be a research and design engineer.” He was still fixated on the foliage around him and didn’t bother to update his lie to Gale Force Academy.

“Oh Talie, that’d be cool, I know some guys there.” Said one of the other stallions.

“Yeah, it’s a cool company. That’s cool bro.” Larson said.

They rounded a curve and Red Field guessed they were beginning to loop back. Where would the halfway point be?

“So what do you think about that?”

Larson had asked him another question. Red Field looked up from the passing ground.

“What?” He asked, preparing to be laughed at for his inattention.

“Queen Twilight Sparkle, what do you think of her?” Larson said without a hint of mockery.

“Yeah, she’s been queen for what, a couple months now?” Asked another stallion. Red Field hadn’t realized that other ponies were interested in the recent change of power in Equestria. He had more or less assumed that most of the famers, and certainly their colts, wouldn’t bother to read about the fantastic assassination of Princess Celestia. Red Field himself hadn’t actually thought much on what it would mean, as he had only pondered it for a few hours.

“Well, I’m not sure.” He said.

“They say she’s big into education.”

“Oh yeah, but she somehow forgot to do Rockvale?” Said Larson.

“She did do here!” Red Field said. “She mandated the library.”

The three looked at him.

“I didn’t know we had a library.” Larson said, his brow knitting with confusion. “Where’s that at?”

“It’s Rock Candy’s old shed.” Said one of his friends. Larson seemed to have trouble pinpointing the location. “Maybe if you came off the farm more you’d know!”

“Hey! I do come off the farm thank you!” Red Field assumed they were going to slip back into the conversation and he returned to surveying his surroundings. “So who do you think did it? I mean, who do you think planted the bomb?” Larson asked.

“Oh geez, here we go!” Said one stallion with a roll of his eyes.

“Hey, I’m asking Red since he’s the Brainiac. What do you think Red?” Red Field didn’t expect a question that appealed to his intellect. He struggled to produce his evaluation of the Blast.

“Uh, well, I would imagine-” Said Red Field.

“Her sister, that’s who.” Said the first stallion. “She disappeared the day after the explosion, no excuse, no alibi, just disappeared. You can’t tell me she wasn’t in on it.”

“Shut up, I’m asking Red.” Larson said. Red Field had trouble believing they were actually asking his opinion on something.

“Princess Luna was probably not the bomber, at least not the primary conspirator.” He thought aloud.

“What? You can’t possibly believe that.” Said one of Larson’s friends.

“She could have arranged for business to take her away at the time of the Blast. She was reported to have been last seen in the cafeteria the evening of the explosion. To assume she would plan an assassination on her sister and not even attempt to fabricate an alibi is idiotic.” Said Red Field.

"Ah, well, I never thought of it like that.” Said one of Larson’s friends. They reached a hill amidst the trees and began to climb the incline. Red Field felt his breath being pulled away, but he liked having ponies ask his opinion and continued to offer his thoughts.

“Assuming she was privy to at least part of the plan, she must have not known the time or much of the details. Her exit was unplanned and she knows she is suspect because of it.”

“Yeah, that’s true-”

Red Field cut Larson off.

“Unless she understands the thinking of the investigators, in which case she is attempting to throw them off by appearing too unskilled to be the main suspect. That’s assuming she knows their usual method of investigation.” He started to pant, as the hill was getting to him. “But then, she must still know that she has no explanation and must be a prime suspect regardless.” The other ponies were staring at him. “Game Theory. Preempting actions by means of-” He gasped for breath suddenly.

“Haha just take a deep breath.” Larson said as they drove up the hill. Red Field nodded and began to pant heavily. The hill grew exponentially more difficult to climb and the other stallions ceased speaking and focused on ascension. By the time they reached the summit, Red Field was gasping for breath and on the verge of collapsing. He had fallen behind the group and took a few seconds to reach the other ponies, who had halted at the top of the hill.

The hill overlooked The Flats. The Flats was the colloquial name given to the Neigharan Desert. The giant expanse of flat, almost tundra-like sand extended out for miles. The Flats were so large that Neighara Falls, which laid on the opposite end of the desert, was not visible. The Flats were uninhabited, resource devoid, lacked any sort of oases and somehow deader than Rockvale.

Red Field wished he could have at least seen Neighara Falls from the hill.

Night was falling and darkness shrouded the desolate land below them. Larson and the other stallions were staring intently off into the distance. Red Field had no idea if this were some sort of running ritual and waited for them to finish.

“Oh, there it is.” Larson said, pointing into the desert. The other runners crowded around him.

“Where is it?” Asked one.

“Right there!” Larson said with a laugh. He looked around and saw Red Field behind them. “Hey Red, take a look at this.” He motioned for Red Field to join them. “Look out there.” He said, pointing out to the horizon. Red Field saw nothing.

“Oh I see it now!” Said the other pony. “I’m pretty sure it’s moved.”

“No, that’s where it’s always at.” Said the other. Red Field squinted at the blank landscape. “We call it Dome, not moving Dome.”

“It’s right over your right shoulder.” Larson said, leaning over Red Field. Red Field did not like Larson hanging over his shoulder. He felt as if he were being treated like a mare.

“What is it?” He asked.

“A dome.” Said the first of Larson’s friends. “What do you think?” Red Field looked at the literally empty desert before them. He saw no dome. “Geez, it’s not that hard to see.” One by one the other runners spotted the apparent dome and began to turn away from the ledge.

“Oh yeah there it is, cool.” Red Field lied.

“It is pretty hard to see, I mean, it moves.” Larson said as they left the overlook.

“It doesn’t move though.” The one of his friends said. “It never moves.” They ran back down the hill. Red Field realized he was sweating, and his lungs held less air then they had on their approach. “You just think it moves cause of the mirage effect.” Red Field was going to clarify that that wasn’t how mirages worked, but soon the conversation shifted and Red Field stopped trying to get a word in.
He was too tired and too sick of running.

As they ran back through the forest, darkness starting to envelop them, Red Field began to fall behind the group. Though he urged his legs on, he was soon reduced to a trot. He watched as the runners began to pull away, yet he dared not call to them and appear weaker than he already was. Nevertheless, he felt a chill run down his spine as he made his way through the darkened forest. Rockvale had no truly dangerous animals, yet he could not stave off the irrational fear that crept over him. He watched as the group rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. He sighed and began to walk; he’d just have to find his way home now.
He hated running, he hated any activities that most stallions did. Stallion activities were always loud, painful, exhausting, pointless and of course, very bullish. He began to cantor and attempt to recoup his breath when he saw Larson jog back around the bend toward him. Instantly Red Field began to run again.

“Haha, getting’ tired? That’s cool.” Larson said as he fell in step with the unicorn. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“Thanks.” Red Field panted as they reaccelerated to the previously unbearable pace. The pair ran for some time before Larson spoke.

“Dude, I wish I could have met you sooner. You’re really smart.” He said as they breezed by the trees. Red Field looked up at him and Larson laughed. “Yeah, I’ve never heard anypony talk like you do, are you like going to a magic academy or something before you go to Talie?” Red Field took a few breaths that did not improve his winded condition.

“No, I’m not really sure where I’m going.” In his exhaustion he didn’t even realize that this was not the proper lie. Larson flicked his head.

“Yeah, it’s probably really hard to find a good school around here. Have your parents sent any letters to like colleges or something?”

“Gale Force Academy.” Red Field said between breaths.

“Never heard of it. What would you study?”

“I don’t know, something basic.”

“Seriously? With all your smartness?”

“I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with my life.” Red Field said.

“Yeah, me too.” Larson said with a nod. They reached the end of the forest and started along the dusty driveway. The darkness of night had fallen around them and the damp air had grown cool. Up ahead they saw the remainder of the runners, catching their breath. “Well hey, no matter where you’re going, I know God’s gonna do something great with you.” Larson said, giving Red Field a sweaty thump on the back.
The group saw the two belated stallions and called to them. Larson laughed and started to sprint toward the farmhouse.
Red Field picked his pace up and tried to match the galloping farm pony, but his legs suddenly deadened and he slowed to a walk. Larson didn’t notice and in a few moments had reached the farmhouse. He and the other ponies resumed their banter and Red Field slowly walked up the road toward them. In a minute he had rejoined the group, who were just starting to stretch.

“Hey Red, you want to stretch with us?” Larson asked. Red Field spotted his mother in the backyard. She was still talking to Helping Hoof, but she held the emptied tub of cabbage soup and looked like she was getting ready to leave.

“No, I’m good thanks.” He said and started around the house. “Thanks for the run!”

“Thanks for coming Red, it was really great meeting you. Let me know when you solve Game Theory!” Larson called.

Red Field walked to his mother. She and Helping Hoof were discussing the rise in colic in the nursery, and the possible causes for the meaningless epidemic. The picnic was winding down and only a few bunches of ponies stood and conversed in the darkened yard. The traditional second course of “bars” and “goodies”, which represented dessert, had been almost completely depleted from the table. As exhausted as he was, Red Field was at least glad that the run had saved him from the gratuitous discussion of his future plans.

Still, his side ached and he wanted to get back to work on his algorithm. Red Field looked at the two mares, Moonlit Night was nodding a lot and not really saying much; she was ready to go.

“I’m ready to go.” Said Red Field. She nodded.

“Once you get a picture we can go.” She said, not looking back to him. Red Field sighed and looked around. He searched the few groups of chatting ponies for the overgrown mare and her daughter. He caught sight the grey pony with the carrot on a stick Cutie Mark cleaning off one of the picnic tables and shuffled over to her. Red Field didn’t have to say anything, he simply approached Fannie Mae and she noticed him immediately.

The Maes were rich. They were the only ponies in Rockvale with that quality. Having made a surprisingly large fortune out of the incentivizing of the sales of his stables, Freddie Mae had started his family in the miniscule mining town. Freddie was not a well-known pony, despite his overwhelming influence on the denizens of the small town. His mare, Fannie Mae, was more of the face to the family.

“Oh Red!” Fannie gave him a hug that smelled of powdered sugar. “We haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I heard you wanted to get a picture of me.” He said, attempting to keep her on track. She released him.

“Well of course we do!” She turned and scouted for her daughter. “She’s here somewhere, Action was worried she’d miss you.”

While possessing the talent to generate a tremendous amount of wealth in a short period of time, the Maes had trouble carrying on their legacy. Sickly sperm, the preponderance of airborne granite dust which caused genetic damage, or maybe just inborn flaws caused their only foal to mature into a pony even weaker than Red Field.
Affirmative Action, a richly multicolored mare with an acute triangle for a Cutie Mark, was destined to be the only indication of the existence of the Maes.

Affirmative Action was not smart, she was a shortsighted mare with thick glasses. And although her glasses gave her the appearance of intelligence, her academic success had been tied to the average amount of effort she had expended in her studies. She was not a burly mare that could tear cabbage from the earth, but simultaneously Affirmative Action had difficulty performing dainty tasks typically suited to affluent ponies. Nothing about her seemed to work very well. But a willingness on the part of her parents to expend any amount of money to solve her deficiencies meant she grew up with every advantage imaginable.

She skipped up to Red Field and gave him a choking hug.

“Red Field! I missed you! I didn’t see you with us at the graduation!”

“Yeah, I had a headache, sorry.” He said.

“Oh yeah, your headaches! Are they still coming on whenever you try to do stuff? You know, we have some pills we could get you.”

“Oh no, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “But I heard you wanted a picture of me!”

“Of course!” She said with a giggle.

Affirmative Action liked Red Field. Or rather, her parents liked Red Field. After watching his demonstration of stoichiometry in the third grade, and learning of his family’s yearly income, the Maes had invited Red Field to their modern stable on numerous occasions. The Maes had sent both Red Field and Affirmative Action on countless playdates, and Freddie had even arranged for Rockvale Community High to offer a class on basic magic ethics for Red Field. Fannie had purchased some scrolls of spells for Red Field and had offered him the chance to read them at their stable any time he wished.

The Maes had told him of the Academy of Advanced Magic in Cantorlot, how he would excel there, and how much tuition typically ran. They hinted a bit at how if Red Field ever got close with their daughter, they’d have to send him to school as a dowry.

But as the years had gone by, the Maes had realized that Red Field was not a normal stallion, and no compensation could evoke any feelings of attraction or even mindless lust for their daughter. However, Red Field was too shy to decline any invitation they extended, and no amount of disinterest would stop the Maes from attempting to showcase the many desirable qualities of Affirmative Action.

She and he stood beside one another. Behind them lay a backdrop of chunks of dirty granite and mud. Affirmative Action pulled close to Red Field. She smelled like lilacs and since no flowers grew in Rockvale, Red Field knew the Maes had spent quite a bit of money on the fleeting odor.

He felt sorry for her most of the time. Affirmative Action couldn’t carry on her parents’ legacy of wealth, no matter how much they propped her up. Red Field did not like her, and not even his obsession with the Academy would permit him to create any relationship with the gangly filly. But that didn’t stop the Maes from trying.

“So Red, what are you up these days?” Asked Freddie as he set up the tripod for the camera.

“Not much sir, I just read most days.”

“From the library?”

“Yes sir.”

“Farming manuals?” Freddie asked. The Maes owned countless books on a variety of esoteric and interesting subjects; one of which was probably algorithms. Red Field said nothing and stood frigidly beside Affirmative Action.

The flashbulb blinded him and it was over.

“So what are your plans now?” Affirmative Action asked. Desperate to escape the situation, Red Field glanced behind him and saw his mother starting toward the farmhouse with Helping Hoof; they were probably going to exchange recipes.

“Oh not much I-”

“You know the Academy of Advanced Magic cut back their class size by thirty-three percent.” Freddie said. Red Field looked back at him. Freddie was dismantling the tripod and packing it into a case. He looked up at Red Field. “Royal mandate, Queen Twilight Sparkle is trying to reduce government spending and since the Academy handles most of the magic research they got the cut.” Freddie set the camera into the case and snapped the clasp closed. “Action, could you please find your mother and tell her we are ready to go.” Red Field looked for his mother and saw her following Helping Hoof onto the porch.

Freddie was still watching him.

“Red Field, I happen to be on good terms with the president of-”

“No thank you sir, I appreciate your generosity however.” Red Field said, not looking back to the lineage-less stallion who offered him what he wanted more than anything.

“I’ll be sure and visit you at Talie.” Said Freddie.

Red Field didn’t say anything. Freddie put the camera case over his shoulder and walked in the opposite direction. When he was younger, Red Field had considered dating Affirmative Action. He had no other means of getting to the Academy, and Rockvale had already equipped him for dealing with disgust.
Freddie was why Red Field stayed away from Affirmative Action. Freddie had made Red Field realize that he was worth more as a virile stallion with a bit of intelligence, than a shy stallion with a lot of intelligence. Freddie put more value on Red Field’s testicles than his brain.

Moonlit Night was just opening the rusty screen door when Red Field caught her.

“I’m ready to go.” He said. She looked back at her son.

“Did you get the-”

“Yes.” He said.

“Okay well hold on just a minute, Helping Hoof was just going to get me her recipe for-”

“We’re leaving.” Red Field said, not releasing her. She stared at him for a moment, then poked her head into the house.

“Helping! I’m sorry, Red Field would like to get home now. Have it ready on Sunday, and we’ll swap after the service.” She turned back to him. “Okay, let’s go.” She said with a sigh.

Red Field’s legs ached from the short run and his stomach rolled from the rich potluck food. They walked home in silence.

They reached the little shack and his mother went immediately to her bed.

“Where’s dad?” Red Field asked as Moonlit Night pulled the blankets around herself.

“He’s out with Mr. Pie and some of the other stallions, there was an emergency boulder slide in Slate and he won’t be back until the morning.” Red Field shrugged and sat down atop his bed. He picked up the first book atop the stack of farm writing and opened it. Moonlit Night switched out the light and the room grew dark save for the glow of a tiny candle beside Red Field's bed.
He remembered his algorithm and opened his notebook to the lengthy grid. He scanned the parameters and tried to think of a way to refine them. However his head swam from the unpleasant evening and he discarded the notebook beside his bed. Picking up the topmost book from the pile, he prepared for a night of mindless reading.

“Early ponies were known to use rocks to dislodge honeycombs and fruits. Today, their descendants utilize gas impingement rifles to safely trigger avalanches and mine certain stones. This book chronicles the evolution of Equestrian ballistics, from the first chunks of thrown slate, to the .40 PAG, which throws a projectile at three times the speed of sound.”

Red Field smiled and felt a silent touch of gratitude for Mr. Whittaker. Guns were the most interesting subject he’d found at the library.

Red Field worked on his algorithm all of the next day. By the time his father and mother had set the dinner table, he had created seven sub-algorithms that calculated everything from crop consistency to the likelihood of thievery. He felt good, his work had gone well and tomorrow he delivered crops to the market and would show his work to Cargill. He sat down at the table and was even looking up from his plate as his parents served the boiled cabbage and greens. His father seemed to be in an equally good mood.

“Well we got the boulder moved.” He said to Moonlit Night. “Took us eight hours and probably about seventy guys, but we flipped her.” He turned to his son. “How are you Red? Read any good books?”

“Not really, most are just tractor pamphlets and crop catalogues.” Red Field said with a small smile. “Just because we have a library doesn’t mean we have literature.” He said jokingly. Cyrus seemed to enjoy his son’s distaste for once.

“Heh, well, I’m sure you’re going to be exposed to some great books at Gale Force.” Red Field didn’t even mind hearing this inaccurate assessment of his future and nodded in falsified agreement. Cyrus leaned back in his chair and thought aloud. “You know, I still think you’re going to have something to do with rockflipping, even if it’s not with Talie. Have you given any thought to what you might study while you’re there?”

Red Field thought of firearms.

“Mechanical engineering and maybe some ballistic physics.” Red Field said. His father grinned and looked to Moonlit Night.

“Well if that isn’t a preliminary for rockflipper designing than I don’t know what is.” He said. “Are you filling that with some designs?” He pointed to the notebook containing the algorithm.

“Yep.” Red Field said without breaking character. Cyrus became almost suspicious at the sudden enthusiasm from his son.

“Could your old pops take a look at your work?” He asked. Red Field thought for a sufficient lie to distance his father from the notebook.

“Nope, I have to finish it first.” He should have left it at that, but he continued to speak for some reason. “I don’t want my ideas getting stolen before I’m done.” The excuse was so strangely worded and disjointedly reasoned that Red Field wondered if he had even spoken it. The refusal sounded mistrustful and downright offensive and Red Field nervously gauged his father’s response. Cyrus looked at him in puzzlement for a few seconds, then a smile broke out across his face.

“Well then!” He said. “I’m glad to see that you’re already thinking like an engineer. And since you don’t even trust your own family I’d say that you’re already thinking like a successful engineer at that!”

Red Field hadn’t told his father that he wasn’t afraid of having his ideas stolen so much as he was afraid of having his future stolen. He hadn’t told him that his mistrust stemmed more from his venomous dislike for his town than a supposed business strategy. Red Field had never told his father that the reason he would never look inside of the notebook was that it contained the only replacement to the life his father was now celebrating. And as he watched the grey stallion that had raised him talk with his mother about how proud he was to have raised a shrewd son, Red Field came to the realization that he hadn’t told his father about much of anything.

They finished dinner and Red Field said he was going to take a walk. His mother began to ask that he help with the dishes, but Cyrus shrugged her off.

“He’s going to spend a lot of time at a drafting table, let’s let him take some time off before that.” He looked to Red Field and gave him an approving nod. “I’ll do the dishes tonight. You go have fun.”

Red Field walked into the humid night. The sun was nearing the horizon and the bugs swirled over the muddy field. He walked down the road and toward the six buildings that were Rockvale.

Everypony had a plan for him. His parents, his school, practically the entire town knew he would be the inventor of the perfect rockflipper. They had known it since his birth and they saw no other possibility for him. He had never told anypony of alchemy, or the Academy of Advanced Magic. The Maes were the only ones who knew of his desire to learn magic.

He walked aimlessly through the single intersection. The dust, continually churned and torn by carts and rocks, swirled about him as he strolled through the plus-shaped pathway. He heard the clatter of cans behind him and Red Field whirled around. Spook stood before the dumpster of the general store, he had dropped a bag of recycling. He looked as startled as Red Field.

“Sorry.” The black pony said. Red Field walked over to him. The cans had spilled out of the half-empty bag and rolled into the street. Red Field said nothing and began to assist Spook in recovering the fallen refuse.

Spook’s family ran the recycling service in Rockvale and Red Field had often seen Spook out collecting the minute amount of garbage Rockvale generated. Spook’s family was the second richest in Rockvale, though they made nowhere near the level of income as the Maes.

“Thanks.” Mumbled Spook as Red Field dumped the cans into the bag.

“No problem.” Red Field mumbled back. The two gathered the trash in a few moments and Spook retied the bag.

“I hate recycling. I’m gonna be glad when I leave this stupid town.” Spook said as he shouldered the bag and started toward the ice cream parlor.

“Where are you going?” Red Field asked. Spook shrugged.

“I talked with my dad, he said I could go to Cantorlot and study whatever I want.”

“Wish I could do that.” Said Red Field.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because I’ve got a great future in rockflipping. And I got this letter to some stupid college that my dad really wants me to go to.” Red Field laughed. “My dad loves me, but more importantly, he loves seeing me doing what he wants.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t listen?” Asked Spook. “My parents were pretty mad at first, but they came around to it.” He said. “You’re really smart, you could probably think of a good way to tell your dad you don’t want to do what he does.”

Red Field thought of the algorithm.

“I’ve got a better plan.” He said.

The next day, Red Field spent the four hours that he had before his mother returned with the cabbages to polish his work. He refined some variables, defined some ratios, and copied the entire work onto new paper. By the time Moonlit Night tugged the stained wicker basket of purple vegetables into the shack, Red Field had finished the algorithm.

“Here you go.” She said, catching her breath. “It’s a lot today, make sure you get full price.” She seated herself at the table and wiped some perspiration from her brow. Red Field descended on the cabbages and quickly transferred them to the satchel. His mother noticed his excitement. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked with an overheated smile.

“Oh nothing.” Red Field replied, zipping the bag closed. “Just glad to see Cargill.”

“Has he got some puzzles for you?” She asked. Red Field nodded without a thought and gave her a quick kiss.

“I’ll be back later today.” He was fairly certain that Cargill would at least give him a day or so to collect his belongings before taking him to Cantorlot. His mother held onto him for a second.

“It’s very hot out there, make sure you get something to drink.” She said as Red Field pulled away.

“I’ll get something at the market.” He took one of the bits his father had given him and dropped it into the bag on his way out. “See you later.”

Even in his eagerness, Red Field still felt the warm carpet of humidity around him. The golden sun was masked beneath the haze of the granite dust robing the town. The dusty road offered no shade and Red Field took the full force of the sweltering sun without respite. Sweat began to pop over his body before he made a quarter mile. He anxiously checked that the notebook was not absorbing any condensation from the worthless vegetables that surrounded it. He repeated this action every time he felt a drop of sweat roll down his body.

He was going to get the job, he knew that. He was a smart pony, and no amount of professionalism would mask Cargill’s imminent amazement at the well-crafted calculations. Red Field smiled, he was going to show just how smart he could be when he worked toward something he wanted. Of course, his parents would take the news of his departure hard. Should he even tell them?
As he rechecked the notebook, Red Field saw the dull shine of one of the bits his father had given him. He wasn’t going to tell them anything. Red Field thought of his mother. He would tell her. But then she would tell his father.

Red Field shook his head, he would figure out how to break the news when he needed to. He looked down the long stretch of road toward the market. Right now he would just relax in his future.

Red Field reached the gathering of tents and carts twenty minutes before Cargill’s scheduled arrival. He purchased a cup of lemonade and took a seat in the shade of a fruit tent as he waited. Somehow his heart was pounding and he was now fighting a persistent nausea. He wiped away some sweat and looked down the road.
Cargill was a formidable businesspony, and despite perfect preparation, Red Field was still intimidated by the prospect of proposing employment to him. He didn’t doubt the algorithm would wow Cargill.
Red Field tried to shrug off the anxiety as pre-interview jitters. In a few minutes, he saw the white stallion trotting down the road. Red Field stood, then sat down. He ought to wait until the other famers sold their produce and he had a chance to hold a proper conversation with Cargill.

Red Field waited as the other farmers exchanged their goods. Finally, Red Field saw nopony else and rose out of the shade. Cargill was checking his receipts and he looked up as Red Field approached him.

“Oh! Hello Red Field! I didn’t know if you would be here today.” He said. Red Field’s stomach knotted and he quickly produced the notebook.

“I have this sir.” He fumbled through pages for a moment before displaying the algorithm. “An algorithm, to calculate your decision to invest in any particular seasonal cabbage variety.”

He held out the notebook.

“Do you have anything to sell today?” Asked Cargill. Red Field hesitated, then gave him the bag containing the cabbages. Cargill inspected them, then gave a pre-measured pouch of bits to Red Field. “Now then.” Said Cargill as he began to hitch himself to his cart. “You made an algorithm did you?” Red Field nodded and again offered the gridded paper. Cargill adjusted the fit of the harness and then took the notebook. Red Field held his breath as Cargill scanned the paper.

“I assumed that since you are investing primarily in-” Red Field tentatively began. Cargill flipped the page over, saw the other side was blank and handed the notebook back to him.

“Impressive.” He said, starting to cantor down the road. “You clearly spent a lot of time working it out.”

Red Field followed him.

“Sir, if I may ask, is there anything else I can do to show you my ability?” He asked.

“I’ve already added your name to the list.”

“Have I demonstrated my capacity?”

“Absolutely, and should you land the job, I don’t doubt that you will begin to write more serious algorithms.”

“Was there something wrong with this one?”

“I typically use percentage-based algorithms in my investments. A list of yes/no questions with an all or nothing outcome isn’t very helpful.” Red Field’s mouth went dry. How had he not realized that? “Red Field, you’ve definitely got what I need for this position, and should it work out, I would like to see you use your skills in my business. I’ll let you know in a couple of days about the job.”

Red Field watched Cargill continue down the road.

It was a simple algorithm. Red Field looked into the notebook. It was just a list of yes/no questions that gave a yes/no answer. It was a worthless algorithm that a pony with a third of his intelligence could have devised. He tore the page from the notebook and crumpled it up. He hadn’t accomplished anything. Red Field turned and started back toward town. He was going to write another algorithm, one that wasn’t so pathetic.
The walk back from the little market only stirred Red Field’s anger more. The choking heat of summer and still grasses around him channeled his thoughts back into his failure. He was going to create a percentage-based algorithm that Cargill could use.

Even with his newfound goal, Red Field was still stinging with irritation as he opened the doors to the tomb-like library. He set his satchel by the door and walked directly to the small table in the center of the room. Dropping his notebook and pencil before him, Red Field started on a new algorithm.

For half an hour he started.

Not knowing something was unspeakably shameful to Red Field. As the minutes ticked by and he stared at the blank page that needed to bear his improved algorithm, Red Field began to fiercely resent his ignorance. How could he include percentages? Red Field realized that research, most likely many months’ worth, was needed to determine percentages. He had no solid numbers or odds collected on the growing patterns or price ranges of seasonal cabbage varieties. He looked back at his old algorithm; it wasn’t even related to seasonal cabbage varieties, it was just a lot of questions that could be applied to any investment.

He knew nothing about algorithms at all.

Red Field slammed his hoof into the table. The tears burned his tightly closed eyes and he wrestled back an outraged sob. He knew nothing about a field in which he was trying to gain employment. Worse yet, the field of competing applicants surely contained ponies that knew a great deal about algorithmic trading, even if they weren’t on his level of cognition. Red Field sniffed and felt a gentle hoof on his shoulder. Red Field held back his despair and turned to face Mr. Whittaker.

“Working on something?” He asked. Red Field swallowed some tears.

“No.” He muttered as he started toward the door. He scooped up the empty satchel as he made his way to the door. The burlap bag had been filled with several thick books and as Red Field yanked the bag up, they spilled out. One jumped into the air and caught him in the snout. Red Field recoiled and held his face

“I’m sorry, I should have told you. I slipped a few more books on firearms into your-” Mr. Whittaker began.

“I don’t care about firearms!” Red Field shouted as his rage broke free. He grabbed the offending book and hurled into the darkened fringes of the toolshed-turned-library. “I don’t care about anything in this Goddamn town! I only care about making my life into something I want and not what anypony else wants!” He took hold of his notebook and wrenched it apart. He flung the unbound notebook to the ground, scattering the loosened pages. Tears trickled down his face. “And I can’t even do that.” Red Field kicked the door open and walked into the sweaty night.

The rock dust mixed with his tears and soon his face his streaked with dark grey lines of grit. Red Field paused before the entrance to his home. He heard his parents talking. They were talking about him.
He miserably wiped his face and checked the pouch of bits. Assuring himself of a passable appearance, he strolled into the shack. Cyrus and Moonlit Night both stood as if they had been talking for a long time and they looked up upon his arrival.

“Red.” His mother said softly. He was late for dinner.

“I’m sorry, I went to the library.” He mumbled as he set the small bag of coins on the counter.

“Red Field, listen to me.” Cyrus acted like he’d committed some worse infraction.

“Yes sir?” Red Field asked cautiously.

“Son, have a seat.” Cyrus motioned to a chair. Red Field’s nervousness rose as his father waited for him to seat himself. His father was crestfallen, and the grey rock farmer took a seat across from him. “There isn’t a good way to lead into this.” His father said. “Red, I received a letter today.” Cyrus stopped. He gazed at the table before him as if he were trying to come to grips with a terrible tragedy. He looked up at his only son. Their eyes met and Red Field saw a defeat in his father’s face.
“Gale Force Academy declined your application.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Red Field crossed a line that night. The disappointment with Cargill, combined with his outrage at the absolute ignorance of his father as to what he wanted, caused Red Field to utter a single sardonic snort.

“Good.”

He got up from the table and walked to his bed. He was just picking up his next book on thresher lubrication when the shock from his response wore off and his father began to shout. Red Field hadn’t told his father how much he hated being shouted at, or how angry it made him. And as his father rose from the table and started toward him, Red Field slammed the book down on the flattened mattress and began to shout back.

The next morning was quiet. Red Field rolled off of his bed and stared at the ceiling. He carefully checked out of the side of his vision to see that his father was not still asleep. His parents’ bed was empty of both occupants and Red Field sat up. He groggily pulled some hay out of the pantry and set it atop the table. The humidity had permeated the stalks and ruined the taste.
He mindlessly grazed on his breakfast.

The sun was up and he watched the golden light extend into the doorway. He had nothing to do, and nothing he wanted to do. Red Field soon finished eating and walked back to his bed. He collapsed on the matted blankets and prepared to go back to sleep. As he landed, the thick edge of a book dug into his back. He yelped in pain and rolled off of the bed. Red Field furiously unearthed the book he had been reading from under the covers and threw it across the room. He resumed his supine position on the bed.
For a few minutes he tried to go back to sleep, then gave up and rolled over onto his side. His view settled on the upturned book on thresher maintenance that lay beneath the counter. He watched the motionless book for a time, then got up and recovered it. He glanced at a page.
The shaft must not extend so far as to directly contact the Grafenburg spot.
He slammed the book closed. Gathering the rest of the books and depositing them in his satchel, Red Field started once again for the library.

He pushed open the doors to the shed. Mr. Whittaker was seated behind his desk, like always. Red Field watched the napping stallion for a minute, then sighed and walked over to him. He quietly set the stack of farming literature onto the desk and the light thud awoke the elderly librarian. Mr. Whittaker grunted and adjusted his bifocals. Without a word he stamped each of the books and set them in the bin behind the desk. He said nothing to Red Field and resumed his sleepy slump. Red Field left the table and walked to the M section. He looked for books on mathematics for all of five minutes before he gave up.

His back pressed up against the metal shelf and he gazed at the long rows of irrelevant topics that started with M. He couldn’t make a passable algorithm, not before Cargill decided on his hire. Red Field closed his eyes; all he had to offer was a description of his intelligence and a certificate that said he had passed at least four courses at Rockvale Community High School.

A few minutes had passed and Red Field was absentmindedly calculating how many books the shed contained and how long it would take to burn them all when Mr. Whittaker tapped his shoulder.

“Am I interrupting anything?” He asked quietly. Red Field shook his head.

“No.” Mr. Whittaker grunted and sat down next to him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just,” he tried to think of an easily-assimilated explanation, “got stuck on a problem and I couldn’t figure it out.”

“Well I’m sorry too Red.” Mr. Whittaker looked around at the shed. “You’re the only pony that ever came in here. And I felt bad that I didn’t even have anything good for you to read.” He removed his bifocals and wiped the lenses. “But I should have told you before I put those books in your bag.”

Red Field shrugged.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have any good reading to offer you. Seems that’s what a library’s for.” Said Mr. Whittaker with a sad humor. Red Field smiled a little.

“Where’d you put those books?” He asked.

“I thought you said you didn’t like firearms.” Red Field smiled again. He looked at the shelf of farming literature before him and shook his head.

“I like them more than mechanical discrepancies of third generation tractor engines.”

Mr. Whittaker wasn’t somepony that Red Field cared about. His lackluster organization of the shelves, along with his almost narcoleptic napping made him an insufficient librarian. However, unlike virtually every other pony in Rockvale, Mr. Whittaker didn’t disgust Red Field. Red Field had next to no hope of a job with Cargill and resigned himself to that.
Mr. Whittaker offered him the chance to temporarily escape his sorrow through a few books on something at least somewhat interesting. Red Field had nothing to do and no hope of going anywhere; he might as well do some reading.

Mr. Whittaker deposited the books on the table. Red Field thanked him, then got to work on reading. The depressing reality faded away from him and Red Field again receded into the black and white world of books. He read of twist rates, muzzle velocity, powder loads, and headspace. The reading wasn’t much better than machinery manuals, but it was better. He spent the entire day inside the library, and forgetting all of his problems.

As he was leaving, Red Field stopped at Mr. Whittaker’s desk.

“What was the point?” Mr. Whittaker looked up. Red Field set the small stack of books atop the desk. “These were just used for triggering avalanches and therapy for excess testosterone. Why are there so many books on them?”

“Because they’re history.” Mr. Whittaker said, sliding the books across his desk. “Just ‘cause we got rid of them doesn’t mean we should forget them. You forget history and you’ll repeat it.”

Red Field hesitated.

“Celestia never sanctioned using them as weapons did she?” He asked. Mr. Whittaker laughed. His amusement bounced off the steel walls around them. Red Field felt a smile come to his face as he realized the absurdity of his inquiry.

“Of course she didn’t.”

Red Field left the library and started for home. Dark grey clouds had blanketed the sky and a stillness had come to the air as a storm approached. Red Field felt good, the crushing boredom was temporarily eased, and he thought on the moral nature of guns. They were surprisingly fascinating. Suppose two ponies were to fight using firearms? Who would be more likely to win? He was still thinking on the hypothetical duel when he heard the poorly concealed galloping of the Tartlets behind him. Red Field couldn’t think of any reason they might have to harass him and he assumed they were just going to spit on him and romp along.

“Wha’ hello miss Fieldy!” He stopped dead in his tracks. Appleseed stood directly beside him, and Red Field took a moment to process the presence of the colt. Appleseed noticed his surprise and began to chuckle. “Eyup, got out early. Good behavior an’ all that shit.” Appleseed had scars. His mane was nearly cut away entirely and his tail was tied up with a length of rope.

Beet and Red Skin flanked Red Field’s left side. Appleseed was chewing sunflower seeds and he spat a hull onto the dusty ground before Red Field’s hooves. “Y’look good Red.” He said. “Y’jus get outta the lahbary?” Red Field said nothing, and Red Skin jerked the satchel from him.

“Eyup, he got a whole mess a’ books in here.” Appleseed took the bag, looked inside, then threw the contents of the bag onto the ground. The colt grinned at Red Field. “Pick ‘em up.”
Red Field shook his head and started forward. Appleseed shoved him back.
“Ah said pick ‘em up.” Red Field didn’t care about the books and he waited for Appleseed to figure that out.
In a second, the colt struck him across the face. He had gained experience while in prison, as the blow tore a jagged gash into Red Field’s cheek and he stumbled back a few steps. Applecrisp grabbed him by the head and threw Red Field to the ground. Kicking his legs apart, Appleseed knelt over Red Field.
“Ah was gone eight months, an ah guess somewhere in there, leetle miss Red grew a pair a balls.” He glowered down at Red Field. “Ya’ll always this qwahit when mah brothers tell ya’ll t’do sumthin?” A bit of slate had slit his forehead and blood ran into his eye. Red Field’s vision blurred as he stared up at the ex-convict.
Red Field shook his head. Appleseed narrowed his eyes at Red Field.
“Ah hope nawt.” He flicked his head. “Nao, go pick ‘em up.” Releasing the trapped unicorn, Appleseed watched as Red Field walked over to the fallen books and began to return them to the bag. “Atta filly.”

Red Field only landed one punch. And in the same instant was thrown back into the dust by three pairs of thick hooves. Beet and Red Skin held him by his forelegs as Appleseed threw a barrage of punches into Red Field’s exposed belly. In just a few seconds, he coughed a sticky wash of blood and vomit.
“Hey hey hey!” Red Skin dropped Red Field and took hold of his younger brother. “Ya’ll can’t be gittin’ intuh trouble. Ya’ll’re a con nao.” Appleseed threw a fierce head-butt into his brother, who stumbled backward.

“Fuck ya’ll ya fuckin’ piece a pussy-assed shit.”

Beet took hold of him.

“He’s a pussy but ya’ll can’t wreck ‘em too bad, Podunk’ll have yer ass.” Appleseed started to shove off his other brother, an action that didn’t appear to slow him at all, then stopped.

“Eyeah.” He wiped away the small trickle of blood that Red Field’s blow had exacted on his lip. “Ah got plans.” He said with dark seriousness. Appleseed rose to his hooves and the three stood over the fallen unicorn. Red Field stared up at Appleseed, along with Red Skin and Beet. All three waited to see what the colt would do next.

A warm globe of saliva broke over Red Field’s bloodied snout and ran down his face. It was followed by two more, which splattered over the rest of his face. The Tartlets were about ten feet away when Appleseed turned and galloped back to Red Field. He threw a kick into Red Field’s testicles. Red Field cried out in pain and Appleseed knelt and gripped him by his black mane.

“Ya’ll cry like a filly.” He whispered, his hot breath drying the spit that ran down Red Field’s battered face. Appleseed threw him back to the dust and galloped back to his brothers.

Red Field lay in the street. Tears ran down his face. He already knew he was going to vomit again and he was soon laying in a sour pool of acid. His face was sticky and he could taste his digested lunch as it trickled from his mouth. He started to sob.

His mother got home just as he was cleaning the last of the blood off of his face. His stomach was pink and swelling from the flurry of punches and each movement pushed his lungs further up into his ribcage. Red Field set the vomit-stained rag in the sink and turned away from her. He started toward his bed.

“Red.”

“Nothing mom.” The tears were already trickling down his cheeks.

“Red.” She put her hoof on his shoulder. Red Field slapped it off in outrage. “Red!”

“Goddamn it mom!” He turned and she gasped. Tears fell from his cheeks and each sob sent shivers of pain up into his chest. “I don’t want this fucking town. Nothing changes, it’s just a goddamn shithole of dust and there’s nothing I can ever succeed at.”

“Red-” She held out her hoof and Red Field pushed it away.

“There’s nothing here!” He cried. “There is fucking nothing here.” His stomach turned violently and he crumpled over to the sink. He dry heaved and coughed a little spit into the sink. His mother placed her hoof on his back. She said nothing.
Red Field bent over the sink. He closed his eyes and his body shook with sobbing.
“There’s nothing for me.”

Cyrus was home early from work. He’d been let off early and was planning on taking his family to the ice cream shop as a means of smoothing over the tumultuous events of the prior night. He only made it to the steps of his tiny shack of a house before he was shouting.

He pushed aside his crying wife and took his son by the shoulders and jerked him away from the sink. He told Red Field he had no right abusing his mother this way. He told him of how selfish and spoiled he was acting.
Red Field punched his father. He struck Cyrus so hard that the grey stallion’s left hoof doubled over his right to keep himself from falling.
Cyrus looked up at Red Field.
The room went silent and Red Field felt his blood throb in his ears. His hoof tingled from the blow. He and his father matched eyes.

“Excuse me!” All three looked to the door. A muscled unicorn stood in the doorway. His eyes flitted from one pony to the next, anxiously trying to gauge whether he should have spoken or not. He was a rich green and his mane was trimmed to a short and professional buzz. The family stared back at him and the stallion grew uncomfortable. “Is this a bad time?”

Cyrus wiped his mouth.

Evidently the stallion hadn’t seen the punch.

“Excuse me but who are you?” Cyrus asked slowly. The stallion gave a little smile.

“My name is Lewerc, I represent Gale Force Academy. I understand there has been a mistake in our application process.”

“Red Field was never on your list of consideration, we are aware of that sir.” Cyrus took a seat at the table. “We’re sorry for wasting your postage money.” He said with a sigh. Lewerc gave a polite, though awkward, laugh.

“Sir, there was somewhat of a snafu in our admissions office.” He cleared his throat. “We would like to extend our acceptance to Red Field.” Cyrus looked up at the unicorn. A little blood had started to run from Cyrus’ left nostril and he wiped it away, leaving a stain.

“You, would.” He said, and Lewerc nodded.

“As I said sir, we are terribly sorry for our initial denial of your son’s application. We think he’d be an exemplary fit.” Cyrus’ mouth opened and he gave a low “uh”.

“Well sir.” Cyrus took a long breath. “I appreciate your offer and your generosity. But my son-”

“What should I pack?” Everypony in the room looked to Red Field. He stared ahead to Lewerc, but in the corners of his eyes he could see the dumbfounded expressions of his parents.

“Ah, you must be Red Field!” Lewerc reached out to shake his hoof. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too sir. I’ve been wanting to leave for Gale Force Academy for quite some time.”

The chariot rumbled and the seat dug into Red Field’s already bruised flank. He shifted his position to preempt another jarring poke. They had been flying for an hour and he had grown tired of watching the clouds drift by. The sides of the glossy black chariot were too tall to peer over and Red Field simply stared at his hooves.

Red Field had thrown a couple notebooks into a satchel, along with a few bits. Lewerc had told his parents that the initial introduction to Gale Force Academy took a few weeks, after which he’d be given a flight back home.

The chariot rumbled again and he heard a dull clunk.

“Ah, shit.” The other occupant near Red Field sucked in a deep breath and Red Field looked over at him. A white Pegasus with a vibrant purple and white mane was rubbing his shoulder. He looked over at Red Field. “Damn turbulence.” He said with a laugh. Red Field nodded and looked back to his hooves. “So why are you going to Gale Force?” Asked the Pegasus. Red Field looked up. He wasn’t sure of the Pegasus’ question.

“Uh, I got a letter of acceptance,” he said. The Pegasus nodded and adjusted his wings.

“I’m here ‘cause I wasted four years of my life as a fashion apprentice.” He cracked his neck and resettled himself on the seat. “I saw an ad for this place and I figured, why the hell not?” They passed through a cloud. “So what do you know about this place?”

“Uh, not a lot, just that it’s a four year college.” Said Red Field.

“Same. I just applied since they accept anypony.” Said the other pony. Red Field sighed inwardly. He had been afraid of that. Gale Force was no doubt a mediocre college that masqueraded as a select boarding school. “Eyup, I figured, if any pony in Equestria can make it here, I’m gonna do just fine.”

“You’ll still have to pass Beast.” Both ponies looked to Lewerc. The green stallion who piloted the chariot didn’t look back at them and said nothing more. The two looked at one another. Then the Pegasus cleared his throat.

“Beast?” He asked. “What’s that?” The driver turned the reins and the chariot tilted toward the ground.

“Multi-week evaluation of applicants.” He said as they descended. “Everypony who passes Beast gets accepted.”

“I thought the ad said anypony can get in.” Said the Pegasus.

“Anypony can apply, but only those who pass Beast get in.”

“Crap, I don’t know if I’m going to make it then.” The Pegasus said. Red Field’s spirits rose. Maybe Beast helped thin out the idiots.

In a few minutes they landed. Red Field and the Pegasus waited while the driver went to collect the next applicant. Red Field began to presume what “Beast” might entail. Probably trigonometry, grammar and syntax, and maybe a few essays. Red Field took a few moments to review these concepts and was already beginning to formulate a five paragraph response to the prompt of why he deserved to attend the school, when the driver returned.

Lewerc said nothing as he climbed aboard and resumed his position at the helm of the chariot. A blue Pegasus stumbled into the passengers’ area carrying an oversized suitcase. The new Pegasus was an athlete. His muscles bulged out on his body in such a manner that caused him to appear short and fat. Long and unkempt, his mane was predictably styled like a Wonderbolt wannabe; Red Field could already tell whom he would be avoiding.

“’Sup dudes!” Said the new Pegasus. He slapped his suitcase down and shoved it under the seat ahead of Red Field. Turning to the other Pegasus, he pointed to the seat beside him. “This taken?”

“Nope, it’s all you!” Said the first.

“Excellent! I’m Full Wing, fastest Pegasus out of Gravel.” Said the newcomer as he sat down.

“Damn, that’s not bad. I’m Sparx, I was in the fashion business for a while, till I figured out that my boss was the only pussy around, and he was a guy so you know.” Full Wing and he shared a crude laugh. “So anyway, I heard about this place and I was like, ‘beats delivering dresses and shit’.”

Full Wing laughed again.

“I was going to go try out for the Wonderbolts since they get all the tail they can handle. But then I heard that this place has a really good weight training program and I figured I’d go here, get cut, then try out for the Wonderbolts.” Red Field stopped listening and was working on his introductory paragraph when he heard a ‘dude’ uttered in his direction. He looked up, Full Wing was looking at him.

“Yes?” He asked.

“So what are you here for?” Red Field hadn’t realized that he still needed a plausible lie for his attendance to Gale Force.

“The, unicorn education.”

“Yeah, dude, cool. So like, what spells do you know?”

Red Field silently cursed his blunder.

“Uh, none.” He forced a chuckle. “That’s why I’m going here.”

“Hehe, well I hope you learn quick.” Full Wing said with a grin. He turned to back to the other Pegasus and Red Field returned to his preparations for Beast. He was midway through his second citation when he heard Full Wing again. The athlete was whispering and a gust of wind was whipping over the chariot, but Red Field heard him perfectly.

“Dude, that guy knows no spells and he’s trying to go to college.” Full Wing snickered. “How long do you think it’s going to be before they send him back to fifth grade?”

Red Field finished his citation and looked straight ahead.

“Probably after your stupid ass gets thrown out for using ‘was like’ instead of ‘said’.” Red Field said to himself.
The chariot tilted again and the Full Wing’s suitcase slid under the seats and struck Red Field’s legs. The blow infuriated Red Field further, and he gave the case a sharp kick. The cramped seating barely allowed him to move and his shin collided with the metal seat bottom. Some of the white skin was rubbed off of the bruise, and he felt the rush of pain surge over his leg instantly. Red Field had to keep himself from crying out. Hearing the thud, Full Wing looked over at him.

“Heh, you okay dude?” Asked Full Wing. Red Field bit his lip as the bruise pulsed over his leg.

“Fine.” He said. The pain subsided after a couple of seconds and Red Field rose from his seat. He walked to Lewerc. “How long before we get there?”

“Just a couple of minutes.” Dusk was falling and the summer sun was retreating toward the horizon. The warmth was draining from the clouds and each gust of wind was cooler than the previous.
They had been flying for hours; where was Gale Force Academy?
As if in response to his unspoken question, the pilot pointed over the front of the chariot.

“It’s right out there.” He said, squinting toward the horizon. Red Field once again despised his diminutive physique as he lifted his short body up to see the distant institution. His head popped over the side and he gasped.
He had assumed them to be traveling southward, or eastward, maybe even westward. Red Field expected Gale Force Academy to appear as a modern series of reddish brick buildings that housed fraternities and out-of-date text books. He expected Gale Force Academy to sit outside of Cantorlot, or maybe Cloudsdale. Red Field expected light to moderate urbanity and lots of fields that were characteristic of central Equestria. A thick canopy of forest and a gigantic river flowing through the trees laid out under them. Red FIeld craned his neck and saw that the forest ran for several miles, before dropping off into desert. He saw no towns anywhere, and he knew why. Red Field turned to the pilot, who was lowering the chariot toward a swatch of ground that had been cleared of brush.

“Surprised?” Asked the Pegasus. Red Field was dumbfounded and he continued to stare at the approaching woods; Neighara Falls was a national park, not a college.

What was Gale Force Academy?

The moon had not yet replaced the set sun and the forest path laid black as the sky. Lewerc led the way, and the three freshmen followed closely. The air around them was thick and warm, but not like Rockvale. Instead of decaying under choking dust and dry earth, the forest teemed with life. Frogs croaked from all directions and the rushing of the river thundered a few meters to their right. Red Field felt a puff of coolness waft over his face and he looked up. A waterfall emptied into the river ahead. The path underhoof was a strip of trampled-down brush and each step on the rooted and uneven ground caused Red Field to wobble.

Full Wing stumbled and his suitcase tumbled into the brush flanking the path.

“Ah shoot, hang on!” Said Full Wing. All three waited as Full Wing dug around in the undergrowth. After a few unsuccessful seconds of searching, Full Wing implored them to wait a little longer. Flame popped behind Red Field’s head and he swung around. A dull red glow hung over the party. Lewerc held a hissing torch aloft. Red Field squinted at the strange torch. It did not look like magic. The cylinder was made of molded plastic, rather than bronze.

“Got it!” Full Wing retrieved the case and tossed it over his back again.

They continued their journey, Lewerc still carrying the strange torch. The red glow lit his steps and Red Field began to survey the forest. He had assumed that all other forests were just an enlarged form of the kind he had seen in Rockvale. However, the trees around him were exponentially thicker and a sort of lowered forest of short plants and brush hung at his hooves. He had never been to Neighara Falls and was intensely curious as to why the academy had been built in the semi-wilderness. Sparx seemed to share in this thought and nudged the pilot, who was just ahead of him.

“Hey.” He asked, pointing to the trees. “What’s up with this?”

“They grow out of the ground, don’t worry, they’re not dangerous.” The Pegasus spoke with such an apathetic and dry air the three freshmen took a few moments to realize his joke. Both Full Wing and Sparx laughed.

“No, like, what’s up with all of this forest? Like, why is the academy all the way out here?” Asked Full Wing.

“We have a strong fitness initiative.” Said Lewerc. “Cross country running is one of the best exercises in cardio.”

“Hehe right on!” Full Wing said. Red Field’s heart sank. Gale Force was going to be filled with other stallions like Full Wing. Red Field looked around at the sleeping forest, his misery already rising.

“So like, are there trails around here-” Full Wing began.

“Hold on.” The procession came to halt behind Lewerc and Red Field watched as Lewerc reached down and picked up a thin root that lay across the path. He lifted the root and tossed it to the side of the path. “Okay, let’s go.”

Red Field touched the root and the horned edge of barbed wire bit into his hoof. A chill went through him.
In just a few moments they crested a hill. A massive clearing lit by intensely bright ground lights lay about forty meters below them. Red Field stared at the clearing.

He had never seen a college before, but he was completely certain that Gale Force was not an exemplar.
The clearing was about eight hundred meters long and four hundred meters wide. Uniform rows of single story dormitories that looked more like barracks ran up and down the compound. After that stood about ten or so miscellaneous classrooms made from corrugated metal. A warehouse that Red Field presumed to be the gym sat at the rear of the clearing and a running track ringed the buildings of the Academy. Thirty or so chariots were parked in a neat pattern along the right side of the clearing. And while the Gale Force Academy’s color scheme had a bizarre overuse of the color olive drab, and none of the buildings were made of brick, Red Field was not off put by the aesthetics of the academy. The oddities of the construction of the campus were lost on him.
Red Field stared at the fifteen meter high fence that surrounded the clearing, and the twisted razor wire that topped the fence.

“Down here.” Lewerc said, starting toward the gate. All three freshmen looked at one another in terror.

“Dude, what is this place?” Asked Full Wing.

“I’ve got no idea.” Sparx said. The pilot looked back at the spooked ponies.

“Coming?” He sounded annoyed and all three quickly returned to his side.

The chainlink fence looked even more terrifying up close, and Red Field felt his heart begin to pound as they stepped under the linked gate. The lights in the compound were bright enough to sting Red Field’s eyes. As they made their way into Gale Force Academy, several groups of students approached them.

All of the students wore the same speckled outfits and all were tall, muscled stallions. In a second, the freshmen were surrounded. They were bombarded with questions as Lewerc led them toward the gym. The upperclassmen noticed Sparx and Full Wing first and began to ask them about their plans for the academy. The nervous Pegasi replied with uncertainty. Somepony hit Red Field’s shoulder and he tensed.

“Hey, what are you here for?” Asked a Pegasus. Red Field had no answer.

“What the hell are you all doing loitering around?” Lewerc asked the upperclassmen.

“Just got back from the MG course. Site needed to clean out some old belts.” Said the Pegasus. He squared his stance when Lewerc did not answer. “Apologies sir.”

“Get outta here and go give Blitz some trouble.” Said Lewerc. The group dispersed around the freshmen. Red Field was thankful that he didn’t have to answer anything. His heart jumped again as somepony thwacked his shoulder.

“Team Two, remember bro.” Said the same Pegasus with a flick of his head. Red Field stared at him, trying to comprehend his meaning.

Red Field was utterly confused, thoroughly scared, and afraid of whatever surprise was undoubtedly waiting in the gymnasium. Sparx and Full Wing had been conversely excited by the upperclassmen and were guessing the meaning of all of the questions.

“You think that was their flight team?” Full Wing asked. “Like, I kinda thought this place was far out, but those guys were-”

“Okay!” Lewerc stopped them at the door of the gym. “Tonight’s just a rundown of what to expect over the next couple days. You guys will sit on your left, just find a seat anywhere, doesn’t really matter.” He looked at his watch. “Should just be a couple of minutes before the Commander gets in.” He opened the door for them.

It was hot inside the gym. The floor was covered in blue wrestling mats and bleachers sat on the right side of the room. More upperclassmen sat on the bleachers. The stallions were chatting and laughing. They all wore the same speckled outfits and nearly every one of them was a burly stallion with no vocal inclination toward indoor speech. The left side of the room was bare, and about twenty or so nervous and less muscular ponies sat against the wall. The three walked to the rest of the freshmen and took positions against the ribbed metal wall.

Red Field’s heart was pounding, Gale Force Academy seemed less like a mismatch for him and more like an antithesis to him. The students across from the shouted questions ranging from study plans to sexual preference and predictably Full Wing and Sparx shouted back answers. Red Field pretended not to hear and slunk down further on the wall. The noise hurt his ears and he was sorely uncomfortable.

He looked up sharply. The noise had stopped. The stallions across from him stood stock still and stared forward with a corpse-like solemnity. Sparx and Full Wing were silent. Red Field swallowed. He didn’t know how much further he could go without information.

“Welcome to Gale Force Academy.” He looked to his left. A green earth pony dressed in the odd speckled uniform strolled inside from a door behind the bleachers full of upperclassmen. “I am Commander Bombs Away.” The pony paused his speech until he reached the center of the room. He faced the freshmen.

Bombs Away was authority. Red Field had only seen the principle of Rockvale Community High School a few times and Mr. Flaccid had not instilled a remarkable schema of authority in the young unicorn. Red Field knew no truly authoritative ponies in Rockvale and had never met anypony with the title of “Commander”.
But within a few moments of beholding the stony stallion, Red Field knew to fear Bombs Away.

Bombs Away looked expectant as he studied the group of freshmen. The now silent group of stallions standing behind him gave credence to the reality that Bombs Away’s expectations were always met.
Bombs Away’s view dwelt on each pony for an instant and nothing caught his eye. Bombs Away’s blue eyes ran across the twenty or so ponies lined before him and Red Field flinched inwardly from the wordless evaluation. Bombs Away said nothing and Red Field couldn’t make out emotion on the commander’s face. The pause, which rested the room in perfect silence, felt almost aimed at the freshmen. Bombs Away seemed to both inspect, and test the new ponies.

“You are the five hundredth and fifty sixth class to attend this institution.” Said Bombs Away. “You have been offered the chance to attend Gale Force Academy, which is an invitation that less than a quarter of a percent of all the stallions in this nation will receive. However, contrary to what you may have been informed, Gale Force Academy is not an academic institution.” A murmur ran through the group and Red Field swallowed. “However, you have been promised an exemplary education, and I do not intend to break that promise. After spending four years here, you will be offered the opportunity to attend any school in Equestria of your choosing on a full scholarship.” Another murmur rippled through the freshmen, but Bombs Away continued to speak. “Gale Force demands nothing short of full commitment of every aspect of your life for every day you spend in this institution. There is no tolerance for any lack in capability or commitment. To receive a scholarship you must uphold the standards met by the previous five hundred and fifty five classes. If at any point you cannot uphold this level of excellence you will be dismissed from the program immediately.”

Time slowed to a crawl as Red Field beheld the nightmare. He was surrounded by aggressive stallions in a bizarre and austere academy which apparently didn’t even educate. The stuffy air of the gym felt cold and clammy and a sweat broke out over him.

“If you do not wish to enter this program, then you may collect your belongings and exit through the doors from which you entered. You will be returned home within the night.” Bombs Away said.

None of the freshmen so much as twitched. The entire building seemed to wait for one of the twenty to cave in and the pressure in the gym became volcanic. The sickening fear washed over Red Field, yet nothing would force him to budge from his position. He stood as still as he could as the intimidation of the group overcame the terror of being trapped with them.

“In approximately four hours you will cease to exist as citizens of Equestria and will assume roles as cadets in Gale Force Academy. You will remain this way for the next four years, or until you fail to discharge your duties.” Bombs Away nodded to the ponies. “Welcome to Gale Force Academy.”

Bombs Away started back in the direction he had come. Red Field watched him walk toward the door. The sheer fear of what was happening froze Red Field’s thoughts and he could not comprehend his countless questions. His heart fluttered in his chest, and the little pony felt his stomach turning. Just a few hours ago he had been arguing with his parents back in Rockvale, and now he was trapped in a hellish and prisonlike “program” that he knew nothing about. Bombs Away rounded the corner of bleachers, and in a moment, the door clicked closed.

The upperclassmen, or whoever they were, shifted their view down to the petrified ponies beneath them. The two groups watched one another.

“Get ‘em!” Somepony shouted.
The swarm of stallions stormed toward the cadets. The uniformed ponies descended out of the bleachers and onto the spooked group, which pressed themselves against the metal wall. Red Field shrank back and whimpered in fear as the hulking mass tore toward him. He closed his eyes and felt their heavy hoofbeats thump toward him. Blood throbbed in his ears and a warm trickle of urine ran down his legs.

Something slammed into him and knocked him against the cold metal wall. Red Field felt himself being hoisted up and dropped onto the back of one of the upperclassmen. The rest of the cadets were being similarly assimilated. The pony who held him, a red unicorn, was accosted by another pony who tried to peel Red Field from his back.

“Fuck off!” His captor laughed from beneath him as he shoved away the assailant.
Somepony took hold of his hind leg and Red Field was nearly dragged from the unicorn’s back as another upperclassman sought to commandeer him. The red unicorn, apparently experienced at retaining cadets, ducked and twisted Red Field’s leg out of the pirate’s grip. Red Field gripped his owner in blind terror and shut his eyes tightly. For the next ten seconds or so, the game continued as the upperclassmen took hold of the cadets and fought one another. The upperclassmen laughed as they sparred for one another control of the ponies.

“Okay!” Shouted somepony. The group stopped. Red Field heard the chuckles and panting of the upperclassmen. He hesitantly opened his eyes. Lewerc watched from the side door. “That’s enough.” Said the pilot. “You guys all know when you have to get them to formal.” The upperclassmen nodded. “And don’t forget, they need to have IDs. If any of them shows up without an ID it’s not their balls going to get busted.”

The unicorn beneath Red Field flicked his head, striking Red Field’s snout. Pain was gone to Red Field and he was nearing a catatonic state of fear. He felt nothing save for a dull nausea in the pit of his stomach.

“Bren!” Called his owner. “Bren!” The Pegasus who Red Field had first met emerged from the crowd and walked over to them. “Got one, where’s everybody else?” The Pegasus motioned over his shoulder.

“Black Rain’s arguing with Leupold, they both got dibs on a Pegasus. Take ‘em back to the barracks, I’ll get the other guys.” Said the Pegasus.

“Roger that.” The unicorn started away from the group. From beneath the haze of muffling terror, Red Field felt the unicorn laughing. “I saw you freaking out. I was going for that grey Pegasus beside you but somebody got there first.” The unicorn shrugged and Red Field felt the unicorn’s bony shoulder blades dig into his chest. “Well anyway, I’m still glad I got somepony.”

They exited the gym and walked toward one of the barracks. The bright lights scorched his eyes and Red Field squinted. The night air was cool and moist and the pleasant breeze awakened him. Craning his neck, he looked back toward the gym. Upperclassmen were exiting the building, a few carrying the other cadets.
A dull light hummed above the doorway to their barracks and a few gnats flew into Red Field’s mane as the unicorn carried him inside.
The barracks smelled of thick, musky sweat and the rich stain of old wood. The building held rows of rusted metal bunk beds whose grey paint had since defected to rust. The floor was a slick concrete slab pockmarked with divots and scratches. The unicorn walked to the third bunk on the left and stopped. Plucking Red Field from his shoulders, he set his pony down before him. The unicorn had green eyes and a proud smile.

“You’re the first one I’ve gotten.” He said. “I’m always keeping off the other teams, but nopony was going for you so I took you.” Red Field swallowed and bowed his head to the apparently victorious unicorn. “Hey.” The pony gave his shoulder a playful tap with underestimated force. “What’s your name?”

“Red Field.”

The unicorn laughed. Not a polite, well-intonated laugh, but a snorting and frank laugh.

“Why’s that?” He asked in . “You’re black and white.” The door banged open, startling Red Field. A pitch black unicorn strode into the room.

“Fucking Leupold grabs this Pegasus from me three seconds after the cease fire. Everypony says it was before, but all the guys that saw were 1’s.” He pulled a black case from the drawer along with two white cardboard boxes about the size of his hoof. “So I’m running the kill house with him. Winner gets the Pegasus” He stormed back toward the door. The red pony followed him.

“You got ‘em Rain.” Said the first unicorn. The black stallion nodded.

“Fucking ridiculous is what it is.” The black pony said.

The blue Pegasus that Red Field had spoken with earlier appeared in the doorway and pushed past the exiting stallion. Looking first to the exiting pony, he glanced at the unicorn who'd seized Red Field, then to Red Field.

“Well we got one!” He said with a conceding laugh. The red unicorn nodded vigorously and thumped Red Field’s shoulder.

“Nobody wanted him.” He said proudly. “So I went for him.” He pointed to the door. “Rain’s gonna get killed, you know that.”
The blue Pegasus nodded.

“Yeah.” He spoke as if the notion of the unicorn’s impending demise were common knowledge. He looked over at the red unicorn and pointed to Red Field. “So, what’s his deal?”

“I was asking his name.” Said the red unicorn. Both turned to the petrified pony. “Said it was Red Field.”

“Cool.” The blue Pegasus nudged his companion. “You want me to clue him in?”

The unicorn shook his head.

“I got this.” The red unicorn took a seat on the bed before Red Field. “So, this is Gale Force Academy, you’re going be training for a while, but don’t worry, you just have to keep your head and do what the instructors say. You’ll have to pick a Team, and choose Team Two. Then you’ll be on our team for the wargames.” The red unicorn spoke with such a rapid and disjointed cadence that Red Field scarcely understood a single word. He stared at the other unicorn for a moment, utterly confounded by the “explanation.”

“Here, I can explain better.” Said the blue Pegasus, thumping the red pony on the shoulder. He took a seat on the bed across from Red Field. “So this place is called Gale Force Academy and tonight was Dispersion. Basically both teams try to get as many cadets as possible so they can get new members for the wargames. Every barracks is part of either team one or two- we’re part of Team Two.” He pointed to the red unicorn. “Him and me and that pissed off black pony are all part of Team Two.”

Red Field gazed unblinking at them.

Was this an academy? A sports team? A concentration camp?

“Don’t worry, it’s supposed to be confusing. It’ll make sense in a couple of days.” Said the blue Pegasus. Red Field nodded stiffly. The blue Pegasus pointed to himself. “I’m Bren.” He shook the red unicorn by the shoulders. “This is Siplinski. You kinda met Black Rain.”

“So what’s your Cutie Mark?” Siplinski asked, pointing to Red Field’s flank. Red Field took a few moments to comprehend the question.

“Chessboard.” He replied. Siplinski nodded.

“So you like, play chess really well?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field nodded.

“Yeah, tell us about yourself.” Bren said in a slightly more encouraging tone. “Just the basic stuff.”

Red Field took about thirty seconds to compose a description. The evening was so surreal that his mind seemed to have relegated itself into a state of perpetual audience and refused to initiate cognition. Red Field wasn’t even sure what kind of description they wanted.

“Well, I’m from Rockvale. I read a lot, I am a unicorn.” Siplinski laughed. “I play chess well and I like to think.”

“Cool.” Said Bren.

“So what’s your 2K time?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field had never run a 2k in his life. He was thinking of an answer when the barracks’ door banged open again.

“God damn it.” Said the unicorn presumably named Black Rain. He walked past the three and tossed the black case, along with the white boxes, onto his bed.

“What happened?” Asked Bren.

“MPs said kill house was closed and told me to get back to barracks.” He shook his head and gave the bed another outraged kick. “So Leupold just walked off with my little pony.” He shook his head. “Total bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.”

“There’s still negotiation.” Bren said. “You can probably get him to join us with some bribery.”

“Fuck you.” Said Black Rain. He pointed to Red Field. “So that’s all we got?”

“We were just giving him a sitrep.” Said Bren. Black Rain took one look at the scrawny unicorn and shook his head.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed.” He tossed the boxes and case onto the floor and lay down on the bottom bunk. The conversation paused as he distributed the covers around himself and rolled over. Bren turned back to Red Field.

“So yeah, tomorrow you’re going to starting Beast. You’ll sleep with us here, and we’ll take you to where you need to go. That’s all I can think of right now. Any questions?”

The sheer number of questions flooding his mind did not deter Red Field from asking what he had been trying to learn from the start of the night.

“What is this place?”

Siplinski tossed back his head an uttered a histrionic and condescending snort, Black Rain groaned in disappointment and Bren chuckled.

“Gale Force Academy, this is a military academy. All of the upperclassmen are members of Gale Force Company. You’re going to be a soldier.”
Red Field had reached his antithesis.

The next morning came sooner than it did in Rockvale. Red Field had spent the few sleepless hours before revelry trying to both calm his nausea, and devise an escape. Gale Force Academy could easily kill him. Red Field knew little about Equestria’s army, but he was certain that he would never be a soldier. The sheer that his skills and mental prowess had with the business of soldiering was nothing less than dichotomous.

The three ponies who had abducted him also solidified the incongruity of his pairing with the military. They were all muscular and confident and enjoyed the highly competitive game of snatching cadets in the hopes of molding their allegiance. Red Field hated competition and loathed “team loyalty”.
He was not a soldier and he would not attend Gale Force Academy.

Nevertheless, he made certain to keep pace with Bren, who walked briskly toward the long, log shaped cafeteria. The sun was barely peeking through the trees and the air was still cool from the night. Red Field felt sick and exhausted from the single sleep cycle he had gained in the uncomfortable bunk. He would finish breakfast, perform the campus orientation and whatever else was planned for the day, then find the registrar’s office and inform them that he sought to quit.

“We need to get you ID’d then get to Beast.” Bren said. “First day isn’t bad, mostly exams and stuff.” Red Field nodded. He would just breeze through the tests, disregarding his grade, and head straight for the registrar’s office.
They approached the doors of the cafeteria and Bren halted him. He turned and faced the temporary soldier.
“Just sit with the other cadets. Don’t listen to anything the older guys say, and for God’s sake don’t make any promises.” Red Field nodded. He had no idea what Bren meant and didn’t care; Gale Force seemed like one great idiosyncrasy and he wasn’t going to stay long enough to find out its nuances.

The fatty, unnatural smell of artificial maple syrup drifted out of the cafeteria. The odors of denatured butter and preservative-laden pancakes permeated the air along with the metallic twang of powdered orange juice to create the impression that somewhere, at some point, what was being served had existed in edible form.

Next, Red Field noticed the noise. A hundred different mouths emitted a hundred different conversations along with varying degrees of food mist. Though the seating was organized into cramped tables and benches that sat just a few metes apart, the seated stallions spoke as if in a hurricane. The sheer volume of the building caused Red Field to consider skipping breakfast. Yet Bren ushered him toward the line of upperclassmen and cadets that shuffled along the counter.
Red Field wasn’t staying at Gale Force for four years, he probably wasn’t even spending the night.
The boisterous conversation hurt his ears and silently frustrated him. And as he carried his tray toward the row of tables that seated the other initiates, he almost expected an upperclassmen to slap the tray from him in yet another strange and humiliating ritual. Upon reaching an open seat, he quietly began to graze on his meal, not caring that it had the texture of sponge.

“Heyhey Red!” Full Wing’s feathers were mussed up and he looked equally tired. “’Sup Red?” The Pegasus had heaped an extra blanket of pancakes onto his plate and didn’t appear to notice their disgusting composition. “Crazy place huh?” He said. “Badass though.” He took a bite of pancake. “I was like freaking out when they said this place wasn’t a college. But it’s way cooler than that!” He had already finished his first pancake by the time Red Field offered a careless nod. “My cabin was up late playing poker, those guys are total bosses. A bunch of them said they’d hook me up with some protein powder if I joined their frat.” He laughed. “They call it number 1, and I was like, ‘that’s the one for me’!” Red Field nodded and stabbed at his pancake. Full Wing continued to ramble about his already awesome experience until a pair of upperclassmen sidled up behind them. Red Field anxiously slunk down in his seat as the first of the pair approached them.

“So.” Said the first. “Team One or Team Two?”

“Team One baby!” Replied Full Wing.

“Right on, what barracks?” Asked the second. Full Wing thought for a second.

“Uh, Seven I think.” The snorts of the stallions behind him shook Red Field and he prepared to leave.

“So buddy.” Red Field had only risen a millimeter from his seat, and the heavy hoof of one of the ponies behind him dropped him back to his seat. “What’s your Team?”

“I don’t know.” He attempted to avoid the problem by appearing ignorant. This had the opposite effect and both flanked him.

“Well hey, you should join Team One.”

“I can get you a chess set.”

“I’ll think about it.” Red Field said.

“What team are you?” Red Field’s unfortunate answer was conveyed through the sudden appearance of Bren. The Pegasus shoved the pair of negotiators away from Red Field.

“Not interested.” He said decidedly. “Already Team Two.” Both stallions laughed.

“Two, six.” Said one. He reached out and thumped Red Field’s shoulder. Red Field wondered what it was with stallions and striking shoulders. “Shit you really stepped in it didn’t you? Force Multiplier is getting out of sick leave in three weeks, plenty of time to get ready to win.” He again thumped Red Field’s shoulder. “Remember that chess set kid, and if you ever need a winning barracks, just drop by Thirteen.” Red Field was so tired of the inside jokes and communication that he just nodded.

Bren turned to Red Field.

“You about ready?” He asked. Red Field had been ready for some time and he rose immediately. Bren led him back toward the doors of the cafeteria.

“See you at Beast bro!” Called Full Wing.

Bren led him out of the cafeteria and into the warm morning. Though only a quarter of an hour had passed, the early morning coolness was already starting to evaporate, and the humidity was rolling in from the forest. Red Field got his first look at Gale Force Academy in the daylight, and was unsurprised to find that it was just as unattractive under the sun. The buildings were scattered haphazardly and the ground itself was a coarse gravel; he wondered how on earth the academy could afford to send each graduate to any college of their choosing if they were unable to afford asphalt.

“So today’s orientation and eval.” Bren said. “It’s not that bad. We just need to get you an ID.” Red Field realized that they were probably going to the registrar’s office. This slightly bolstered his mood; he wouldn’t have to take any tests, just drop out first thing. “You didn’t make any promises or agreements in there did you?” Asked Bren. Red Field shook his head. “Okay that’s good. That guy beside you was, and I was afraid you two were friends or something.”

“Not at all.”

Smaller and theoretically more ordered, the registrar’s office was more chaotic than the cafeteria. Red Field’s ears were greeted by the sustained rap of typewriters and the suppressed voices of ponies relating medical conditions and religious affiliations. The building’s small interior was lined with desks, behind which sat more uniformed ponies. All around him, Red Field saw other cadets attempting to recall information about themselves to the seated soldiers.
As Red Field and Bren entered the cramped office, a soldier pushed past Red Field, followed closely by two cadets clutching laminated ID cards. Red Field’s temporary elation at escape receded as he saw that the “registrars” did not appear to take questions.

“Open over here!” Said one of the seated ponies. Striding past the other upperclassmen, Bren pulled the open seat toward Red Field. He motioned to Red Field. Reluctantly, Red Field trotted over and seated himself.

“Name. Age. Weight.” Said the yellow unicorn behind the desk.

“Um, Red Field, eighteen.” He hesitated and the soldier looked up. “I don’t know my weight.” The registrar pointed to a scale beside the door and handed Bren a card and pencil.

“Make sure it’s not set to pounds.” Said the pony at the desk.

The pair returned in a few seconds.

“One twenty two.” Bren said. The soldier typed this. He wore no visible expression, but Red Field saw the twitch of an amused chuckle run through him.

“Any medical conditions?” He asked.

“Um, none.” Said Red Field.

“Religious nature?”

“Uh, none.” The desk warrior entered the information, then moved the typewriter aside and stared directly at Red Field.

“During your time here you may be required to run up to twenty kilometers at a time, tread water for forty five minutes, and climb rock formations, among other potentially life-threatening activities. Do you have any pre-existing medical conditions that you wish to make known?” Red Field swallowed from the fear of having to actually complete any of the excruciating tasks.

“No but-”

“Here’s your ID.” The pony shoved a laminated card across the desk. “Open over here!” Bren tapped his shoulder and started for the door. A horrified Red Field tried desperately to speak.

“Excuse me sir.” He said meekly. The pony looked up.

“You’re all set cadet.”

“N-no, it’s that I wanted-”

“Cadet, you have twenty minutes to report to Beast, I would start hauling ass if I were you.”

“No, I was going to ask-”

“Yes cadet?” The pony was now irritated, and Red Field’s nerve collapsed. Without another word he rose and retreated from the stallion. His heart pounded through his chest and the room tilted beneath his hooves.

The walk to Beast took them to the edge of the compound. Red Field again felt sick with fear as he saw the other cadets emerging from their barracks and starting for the first day of training. He wasn’t even going to stay at the academy, and he didn’t want to have to do several hundred pushups or whatever it was that soldiers did in training. He turned to Bren.

“Is there anyone I can talk to about maybe going home?” He asked quietly. Bren shook his head.

“Not till you’re done with Beast, don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of time off.” Red Field’s breathing became audible and Bren looked down at him. “Hey don’t worry, you won’t be in training forever, just focus on finishing Beast first.” Red Field realized that Gale Force had a very stunted notion of quitting.
He tightened his resolve to escape. Someone had to accept resignations.

“Okay, good luck, just follow the sergeants and don’t get first or last.” Said Bren.
They were still a hundred meters from the milling group of cadets, and Bren had already turned back for his barracks. Red Field instinctively followed him.

“Cadet! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He looked back. An orange stallion with a buzz cut mane beckoned him toward the group. Red Field grew lightheaded. He watched as the distance between he and Bren grew. “Cadet! Get your ass over here!” Shouted the sergeant. Red Field looked back at the instructor.

He was going to have to spend one day at Gale Force.
 

The gravel crunched beneath his hooves. Red Field sat near the rear of the pack. His breath came in short gasps. Despite the pained panting of the cadets around him and the blood howling through his ears, he could still make out the barking voice of the instructor.

“Today is yesterday; the only easy day!” The instructor shouted. “None of you colts can fail outright!” A pebble, upturned by the flurry of hooves, bounced off Red Field’s nose. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be looking for weakness.”
They had been running for two minutes and Red Field’s lungs felt torn and raw. He tried not to think on how much longer they might continue and simply focused on each painful step that hit his hooves.
“Gale Force Company is divided into two teams. And you can be sure they’re going to be looking for the best soldiers out of all of you. Any guesses on how many fillies they look for?”

“Haha I get you!” Red Field made out Full Wing’s testosterone-rich voice.

“Cadet! Name!”

“Full Wing sir!” A smile crept over Red Field’s face as he heard the sergeant clarify, in not particularly pleasant vocabulary, what he had meant.

“Sorry sir, I thought you meant like-”

“Not to worry cadet, now why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Said the instructor.
Full Wing started to enumerate on his dreams of being a Wonderbolt, then paused for a few breaths.
“Keep talking.” The instructor ordered. Full Wing started on his family, then paused to catch his breath. “Keep talking.” After a few minutes of forced description, a very winded Full Wing slipped to the rear of the group. The exhausted Pegasus fell past Red Field.
“Let me know if anything else is unclear!” Called the instructor. Red Field chuckled to himself as he postulated over the many more disciplinary activities that awaited Full Wing. Gale Force would no doubt wipe that stupid grin off of his face.

They ran for another fifteen or so minutes, and Red Field was nearing the limits of his physique when they came to rest. He bowed his head and gasped deep lungfuls of the warm air.

“There are three separate divisions of soldiers here at Gale Force.” The instructor shouted to the winded ponies. “Airborne, Infantry and UAT.” He gave a purple unicorn a shove. “Cadet, name!”

“Wishing Well sir.” Said the pony between breaths.

“Are you a dumbass, Wishing Well?” Asked the sergeant in what did not sound like a rhetorical tone.

“No.” The pony paused to take a breath. “Sir.”

The instructor snorted.

“Let’s hope not, you aren’t going to make it very long if you think as slow as you run.” He turned to the group. “From this point on, every action you make is going to be measured. You have ten minutes to stretch, run some more, or reevaluate your life decisions before you begin a timed kilometer.” He turned back to Wishing Well. “And after that, you’re going to have the chance to make up whatever poor performance you display by taking a test similar to the CAT.” He looked up at the ponies. “Because contrary to what we may demonstrate, Gale Force Company does not accept dumbasses.” Red Field felt sick and annoyed and ready to give up all at once. He was not running any further. Yet at the same time, he did not consider approaching the stocky sergeant and informing the soldier of his impending resignation. Red Field sank down and tried to recover his breath.

Red Field had only counted 233 seconds when the instructor barked for them to ready themselves at the start line. He was already sore and still winded as he trotted up to the rear of the group.

“Remember, just because you can’t fail doesn’t mean you can’t make yourself less desirable to the good teams.” Said the instructor. “Anypony with legs and brain can pass this test, doesn’t mean they’ll find a team that wants them.” He gave Wishing Well, who stood just ahead of Red Field, a pat on the shoulder. “It would be a real pain in the ass fighting a war by yourself.” Red Field was too miserable to grow further aggravated at the abusive stallion. “All right, get going! Make it all the way around the compound!”

Red Field noted two types of cadets. Ponies like Full Wing, who tore out ahead of the group and who apparently cared about impressing the gruff prefect. And he noted ponies whose abilities had already been taxed by the warm-up, and who made no effort to appear competitive.

The air was hot and despite his cantoring pace, Red Field felt sweat rolling off of him. His chest crushed inward and he tore a wheezing breath with each step. He had placed his mind in a dark cavern and did his best to shut his thoughts off. However his mind soon returned and he felt himself calculating the time until he was finished.
He saw the lead pack of stallions already rounding the first turn ahead of him. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with ponies like that for much longer.

“This is ridiculous.” Said the pony beside him. Red Field looked over and saw that it was the unicorn that the sergeant had singled out at the start of the test. He looked over at Red Field. “What do they expect of us? Equal physical capacity?”

“I would tell them to read a book about statistics if they did.” Red Field said. Wishing Well tossed his head in agreement.

“Maybe recommend an article on the relative value of physical strength in a technologically advanced and capitalistic economy.” Said Wishing Well.

“They’re soldiers.” Said Red Field with a snort. “Physical strength is their only means of solving problems.”

“Of course it is.” Wishing Well said. They both spent the next minute recovering from their momentary conversation. They were just rounding the first turn when Wishing Well again turned to Red Field. “Can you believe how misleading this place is?” He asked. “I had a full scholarship to the Academy of Magic in Yanhooyer, but I turned it down because this place said it had a better medicinal spells program.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I wanted to go to the Academy of Advanced Magic in Cantorlot.” Red Field’s body forced him into an involuntary breath and he choked momentarily. “For alchemy. But the best my family could do was here. Not that I’m staying.”

“Of course.” Wishing Well coughed and his pace slowed. Red Field matched him and they fell back a bit in the group. The other pony raised his head. “I can’t find who to quit to though.”

“Same!” Red Field said. Wishing Well shook his head.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they did that on purpose.”

The pair finished the run in dead last, behind even the secondary pack of unfit and likewise exhausted ponies. Red Field and Wishing Well were both heavily lambasted for their “shitty” performances. Yet the diatribe had no effect on Red Field, despite his being heavily cowed by the instructor’s furious presence.

Red Field took a few minutes to pull himself off of the ground, and the puddle of vomit next to him had already attracted a few flies. His vision was flat and the world was distant from his ears. The foul chord of vomit hung in his mouth, and the taste of processed syrup of the morning somehow returned to his palate.

He helped Wishing Well to his hooves, and the pair trudged after the group, who were already marching to the next evaluation.

The barracks had been cleared of the bunks, and twenty-two archaic desks were arranged toward the wall. The barracks had no air conditioning and the ponies continued to swelter from their run. Red Field and Wishing Well seated themselves near the back of the filled room.

“Gentleponies! Good of you to join us!” A yellow stallion spoke to the rest of the class. “Last guys who report in after an op are the ones who don’t report in at all.” He pointed to Red Field and Wishing Well. “Let’s hope they don’t have that much trouble getting out of an ambush, away from people who want to kill them.”

A few chuckles spawned in the group.

“Idiot.” Wishing Well said under his breath.

“Demonstratively.” Red Field said.

The test was pathetic. Red Field read and reread the questions three times each and worried that perhaps the wording utilized esoteric grammar that invisibly reworded the task. He could find no other explanation for such a pointless test. Ranging from basic arithmetic to the distinction between clauses and phrases, the questions would have been easy for Red Field before he had his Cutie Mark.

He finished the test in five minutes and walked to the front of the “classroom”. The instructor watched his approach with an expression of disdain. Red Field set his work down before the sergeant.
Red Field knew he looked like an upstart. Nopony in the class was anywhere near completing the test. He knew the sergeant knew that. The pair looked at one another for a moment as the paper divided the space between them.

“Gentleponies!” The sergeant said loudly. He lifted the page from the desk. “Seems we have a genius amongst us.” He grinned at Red Field. “Let’s have a look at his work.” Pulling an answer key from a drawer, he compared the pages. “It’s a good thing that today is the easy day.” He set the tests on the desk and looked directly up at Red Field. “Because our resident genius was incapable of gaining one point on this assignment.”

Red Field didn’t hear the coltish laughter or insults from the ponies behind him. He ignored the sarcastic requests for study help from the ponies around him and walked out of the barracks. The heat greeted him and he wiped some sweat from his matted mane.

He had not answered a single question incorrectly, he had checked each answer as the sergeant had set the key beside his test. His breath came slowly and Red Field felt the rage coursing within him. That misanthrope had lied through his fucking teeth.

In a few minutes, the door opened and the cascade of colorful cadets jogged past him. A few stopped to deposit some pre-planned ribbing on the unicorn, but in a few moments they were all heading toward the gymnasium for no doubt another “impartial” evaluation. Red Field didn’t follow them. He wasn’t doing any more for the “academy”.

“You know, I’ve never had a cadet finish that quickly, or with a perfect score.” He looked up. The instructor stood beside him. The burly yellow pony seemed lightly impressed, and he frowned down at Red Field. “But you don’t get anywhere in here by doing something like that.”

“I’m sorry, how should I have done it?” Red Field asked.

“Less cocksucker next time.” Red Field snorted. He was overheated, exhausted, annoyed, and had reached his tipping point. He turned to the stallion.

“I’m not staying here. I don’t know if your president thinks that he can rescind the option to quit after the first night, but I’m not going to be a part of this.” The words sang with pent up rage and he didn’t care how angry the soldier became. “This is an idiotic institution and the fact that you administer such worthless tests as that convinces me of the dire state of our military. I wasn’t even told what the hell this place really was before I came here.”

“What did you want to go to school for?”

“Alchemy. That’s the alteration of the-”

“I know what it is.” The stallion said. Without giving thought to where he was headed, Red Field started walking away from the churlish proctor. He heard the sergeant opening the door to the barracks. “You can quit tomorrow, just perform like you did today.”

Red Field didn’t tell the soldier that he had performed at the best of his abilities, or that his failure was due mainly to the slanted standards the school held for “cocksuckers”. He didn’t tell the soldier how impressively deceitful it was to offer a world class education, only to swap the offer with one that involved the unrelated activity for training for war. Red Field walked toward the gym and readied himself for wrestling or whatever the hell came next. He wasn’t going to say much of anything, because he wasn’t staying at Gale Force Academy.

The final test was a ropes course. The room was muggy with sweat and Red Field shifted to the rear of the group of stallions. A several cobwebs of tan rope were suspended from the ceiling and another displeased Pegasus barked orders to the frightened cadets. Red Field waited for his turn, then failed again.

He sat alone at dinner. The dining hall was filled with upperclassmen, most of whom were currently accosting the more muscular cadets. Red Field’s stomach hurt from the exertion of the day and he mindlessly shoveled down the dehydrated hay. He heard some shouts and hoots and looked up. The upperclassmen were crowding around a few gridded pages that had been taped to the wall of the cafeteria. The camouflaged stallions read the lists like a day at the races; some of them cheered, and others swore sharply. Others only glanced at the paper before shaking their heads and dispersing. Red Field knew they were reading the results of the evaluations. He turned back to his food. Somepony tapped his shoulder.

He didn’t like Bren, or care about his feelings at all. Yet Red Field still felt modestly uncomfortable as he waited for the Pegasus to think up a respectful way to ask him about the events of the day.

“Um, so, you don’t really do a lot of running do you?” Bren asked.

“No, not really.” Red Field replied.

“And the-”

“Barracks Six!” One of the soldiers who had approached Red Field at breakfast thumped Bren on the shoulder. “So how do you like your odds?” He sat down beside Red Field. “I probably should have asked before I offered you that chess set: You do know what your Cutie Mark is right? Someone explained that to you right?” Before Red Field could respond, he presented the black and white pony with a manila envelope. “Four hundred.” He gave the envelope a thump. “Most of the guys gave extra when they heard about the written exam.” Red Field opened the envelope and saw it was stuffed full of bits. The soldier saw his surprise and chuckled. “Lowest score on the evals gets a little something from everypony.”

“I’m quitting tomorrow.” Red Field said. “And I didn’t get any answers wrong.”

“Okay then, I’ll take your word for it! Anyway, I just wanted to drop that off!” He stood and gave Bren a nod. “Good catch Six.”

Red Field turned back to his meal.

“Hey, he’s kind of an asshole, don’t let him get to you.” Said Bren. “This was just the fir-” Red Field shoved the tray of nauseating food away.

“I’m done.” He said. Taking the envelope of bills, he left the cafeteria.

“Hey look I’m really sorry for how all of the other guys are treating you.” Said Bren, following him. “It’s just how we joke. Don’t-”

“No I’m quitting.” Red Field said. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here, I think we all fucking know that. Now tell me where the Goddamn registrar’s office is so I can quit.”

Bren lowered his eyes and sighed. Red Field didn’t care one bit.

“I don’t know what that is, but anyone who wants to quit just has to fail two tests tomorrow and then they get taken home.” He said tiredly. “Look, I’m not saying there aren’t assholes here, but you need-”

“No.” The word was a perfect statement of everything he felt about Gale Force, and Red Field felt a release of pent up outrage accompany the declination. Gale Force was foolish and arrogant and he would have nothing to do with it.

“Let’s just head back to the barracks.” Bren said quietly.

Bren laid down atop the blankets of his mattress and set his hooves behind his head. Red Field followed suit and began to consider how long the flight home might take. In a few minutes the door opened and the black unicorn walked into the dim building.

“Was at the Armory with Site, how’d he do?” Black Rain asked.

“He failed the written and his time was over three minutes.” Black Rain started to express his disgust via unabashed vulgarity but Bren spoke over him. “He’s dropping out tomorrow, so…”

“Of course.” Black Rain said shortly.

Silence.

Red Field sat staring at the ceiling, he tried to resume his calculations but oddly, the unsurprising disapproval of the pair hurt him. He didn’t care about what stupid soldiers thought of him. But hearing them talk was still frustrating. He was glad he wouldn’t have to put up with them for much longer.
A quarter of an hour later, the thick screen door creaked open and Siplinski strolled in. He was eating a chocolate muffin, and the pastry had smeared over his mouth. He laid down in his bunk and let out a satisfied grunt.

“Every third shift on perimeter duty gets these.” He said. “Blitz got them shipped in from some bakery in Cantorlot.” Bren grunted his approval and for a few seconds all four listened to the exceptionally annoying sound of the unicorn’s grazing.

“So, how’d he do?” Asked Siplinski. “I missed the results.”

“He’s-”

“He’s pussying out is what he’s doing.” Black Rain said over Bren. “His time is garbage and he failed the CAT.” Red Field felt the scowl growing on his face. Siplinski stopped chewing and they sat in silence.

“Woooow.” Said the unicorn. “That’s really fuckin’ dumb.”

Red Field fought it, but the anger would not back down.

“Oh yeah, tell me about it.” Black Rain said in frustration. “If Leupold weren’t a fuckin’ cheater I’da had that Full Wing guy and we wouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit.”

“Hey, you guys did your best, it wasn’t like-” Began Bren.

Red Field swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

“I’ve had enough of this stupid place.” All three looked down at him. He heard Black Rain snort. “Yeah I know, I’m not a big mean stallion, I don’t run miles or head-butt brick walls like you guys. I’m not supposed to be here, YOUR stupid academy lied to me and tricked me into coming here with a great education.” His words seemed to speak themselves and he grew more animated with each condemnation. “I’m actually really fucking smart believe it or not. I passed your fucking test in five goddamn minutes, but your alpha male sergeant or whatever failed me ‘cause I was too much of a cocksucker.” Siplinski chuckled and Red Field turned on him. “Oh you think that’s funny? You’re a fucking soldier, nobody cares about you and your stupid teams and squads. If you actually look at this place objectively, it’s nothing more than a bunch of burly stallions trying to show who has the biggest balls or whatever.” He ran out of things to say and the moment fell flat.

He heard Bren speak.

“Dude, stop talking.” Said the Pegasus.

“Yeah, you don’t have to be an asshole.” Siplinski said softly. Red Field felt a spike of vindication as the three shared in their humiliation. Then Black Rain gave an unexpected snort.

“I really don’t know why you two are getting your panties knotted by this guy.” He shook his head, rattling the bed slightly. “Colt’s a fuckin’ pussy.”

Red Field didn’t say he wasn’t a pussy. Red Field did not mention that he was smarter than the entirety of Gale Force Company and could easy pass any of their tests if he cared to train. He didn’t say that he valued his intellect more than brute strength and would no use this to his advantage later in life. Red Field didn’t tell Barracks Six anything, because he was not staying at Gale Force Academy.

And yet, as he lay awake that night, awaiting the next day of testing which he was going to fail out of, Red Field couldn’t get Black Rain’s brainless and basic accusation of his mind. Red Field turned over and began to calculate how long his flight home might take, attempting in vain to remove the thought of the vulgar label.

The next morning came earlier than before and Bren again accompanied him to the cafeteria. This time he said nothing and walked a few strides ahead of Red Field. Red Field didn’t care one bit.
Every muscle in his legs had been stretched and manipulated far beyond their normal capacity and Red Field stiffly shuffled his tray along the counter. How could anypony even live like this? The room was just as loud as the day before, but Red Field shut his ears to the fray and took a seat at an empty table. Thankfully, his artificially poor performance from the day before staved off any wheedling upperclassmen and the young unicorn sat alone, at least for a few minutes.

“Hey, missed you yesterday.” Wishing Well set his tray of green eggs beside Red Field and seated himself. “Did you really fail that test?”

“I got all of the answers right.” Red Field said, stabbing his eggs. “The instructor told me afterward that I was being too much of a cocksucker, so he failed me.”

“Wow, that’s…wow.” Wishing Well shook his head and turned to his food. “And they wonder why we don’t want to stay here.” He said. “Did you ever take the real CAT?”

“Yeah, perfect thirty.” Red Field said.

“It would be a travesty if you stayed here.” Red Field heard a chant rising from the tables around him. Full Wing was downing an entire container of orange juice and the upperclassmen were shuffling bits to each other in anticipation of his completion.

“That’s a good way of putting it.” Said Red Field.

Bren had thankfully left and Red Field and Wishing Well simply followed the other cadets to the gymnasium. Though he felt sore and exhausted, Red Field actually felt fine about the tests; after all, he was just failing two of them and leaving. He looked over at Wishing Well.

“I hope we don’t have to spend a lot of time taking these.” Red Field said. “I want to be home before I have to eat another meal here.”

“Hopefully they stick to their word for once.” Said Wishing Well.
The misanthrope sergeant from the day before had been relieved of testing duty for the day.
In his stead stood Lewerc. Next to Lewerc was a light blue Pegasus. Wishing Well and Red Field took seats near the back of the group.

“Good to see you all today!” Lewerc seemed genuinely pleased to see the cadets; Red Field didn’t ignore him completely.

“Hope you all slept well. We’ve got a lot planned today and today’s going to be important in placing you in your particular divisions.”

“Who’s excited for Airborne?” Asked the blue Pegasus. A few shouts rose from the cadets and he grinned. “You won’t be after a few weeks of training.”

“God this is stupid.” Wishing Well whispered.

“I’m Blitzkrieg, leader of the Airborne force. I can say that-”

“So there’s teams, squads, and divisions?” Red Field whispered to Wishing Well. “How many different designations do they need?” Wishing Well chuckled to this. For the first time since his arrival, Red Field held an intelligent, albeit derisive conversation.

By the time the two commanders had explained that their various performances on the tests would determine their particular placement in the confusion classification of divisions, Red Field and Wishing Well had already created their own, more efficient system of military classification.

“First up is the basic water immersion test.” Said Blitzkrieg. “Forty minutes of treading water, then forward crawl to shore. You’re lucky today, you won’t be doing it with full gear.” He and Lewerc started toward the exit of the gymnasium.

“This should be easy.” Red Field said as they followed the group.

“It better be.” Wishing Well said. “I’m getting really sick of all of this military stuff.”

The two lieutenants stopped at the doors.

“Back away from the center of the room.” Said Blitzkrieg. The cadets pressed close to the wall and the Pegasus knocked a worn blue button protruding from the door jamb. A mechanical grunt of hydraulics rumbled from the ground and a gap formed in the center of the blue mats. A few of the cadets murmured in awe as the mat folded backward, revealing a subterranean swimming pool.

“You start in twenty seconds, better get used to the water.” Lewerc said to the cadets. The first group of aspiring soldiers galloped forward and leaped into the pool immediately. They were proceeded by the less enthusiastic cadets who jogged to the lip and slid into the pool, and finally by Red Field and Wishing Well, who simply trotted to the water’s edge. The water was tinted rusty orange and it churned about with the motion of the thrashing ponies. It looked about ten meters deep and in no way appealing.

“We could just not get in.” Red Field said. Wishing Well nodded.

“That’s true, it would d-” Red Field felt his upper body thrust forward and he tipped headlong into the pool. The water was breathtakingly icy and he twisted his inverted body to avoid landing on another cadet. The impact stung his already sore torso and the cold shock of the water paralyzed his body. Momentarily thrashing about underwater, Red Field burst to the surface with a gasp.

“It’s a long way to the bottom cadets and I have been known to miss with the life preserver. Keep your heads up and you should make it just fine.” Blitzkrieg stood exactly where Red Field had. He didn’t appear to notice that he’d pushed Red Field; Red Field knew that was intentional. Wiping the water from his eyes, the Red Field stared up in sheer indignation at the lieutenant.

“Forty minutes, go.” Lewerc checked his watch. “Keep your heads up.” Wishing Well popped to the surface beside Red Field. He wiped the water from his mane and face.

“Are you serious?!” He asked Red Field.

“I fucking know.” Red Field replied.

“Hey, shut up.” Red Field looked to his right. Another unicorn was treading water next to him. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Hey idiot, we aren’t even staying here.” Wishing Well said. He swam toward the lip of the pool. He was just pulling himself out of the chilly pool as Blitzkrieg’s hoof descended onto his shoulder. With an ease that suggested he both practiced and relished the action, the Pegasus gently shoved Wishing Well back into the water. Wishing Well slipped on the wet metal and his head knocked against the lip of the pool with a painful clunk. A few snorts and chuckles rose from the group as he sank beneath the water.
In a moment the unicorn again popped to the surface. Red Field saw a bright red cut that trickled blood on his forehead.

“What is wrong with you?!” Shouted Wishing Well. “You could have killed me!” The cadets began to mutter in disapproval of the rebellious unicorn, but Blitzkrieg seemed unfazed.

“Takes more than a knock on the head to kill a pony, even one as babyish as you.” Blitzkrieg said.

“Hey moron, who taught you to push your students around?” Red Field shouted. “Or is that something you do for job fulfillment?” This caught the Pegasus the wrong way and he instantly snapped to Red Field. He tossed his hoof over his shoulder.

“CADET! Out of the water!”

“Happy to oblige.” Red Field replied. He started to pull himself out of the water.

“Hey! What about me?” Asked Wishing Well.

“Shut your mouth cadet, you were not addressed in-”

“Do I need to call you a moron too? I can do worse than that, I could say you-” Red Field was lifting his upper body out of the water when Blitzkrieg took hold of his mane and yanked him the rest of the way.

“Out of the water cadet!” Blitzkrieg shouted to Wishing Well. Red Field’s scalp stung and he began to shiver as he rose to his hooves. Wishing Well pulled himself out of the pool and Blitzkrieg shoved him toward Lewerc.

“Get these assholes out of here.” Blitzkrieg said as he threw Red Field toward Lewerc.

“Come with me.” Lewerc seemed more mature than Blitzkrieg and he only glared at the two cadets. The other cadets booed and called a few insults to them.

“It’s good to get this out of the way at beginning.” Lewerc pointed to the two. “Anything that immature or weak has no place in Gale Force, keep that in mind.”

“Anything that immature has no place in the real world.” Wishing Well pointed back at Bliztkrieg.

Lewerc lead them outside. The day was warm, yet the humidity prevented Red Field and Wishing Well from drying and they still stood sopping in the yard. They had just made it outside the doors when Lewerc turned to them.

“This is day one cadets, you have one chance-”

“Don’t want it.” Wishing Well said. Lewerc paused, he was evidently not used to being interrupted. Then he extended a long frown and nodded.

“Okay then, you’re outta here.” He looked to Red Field.

“Me neither.” Red Field said with a small smile. “I have no place here.” He said mockingly.

Lewerc seemed to forget that he was holding a conversation and his voice sounded like he were reading from a script.

“Gather your belongings from your barracks and return here immediately.” Wishing Well shook his head. Since the balance of power had seemed to swing in his favor he spoke with unabashed contempt.

“I didn’t bring anything, I was told that-”

“You?” Lewerc asked Red Field.

“Nothing I need.”

“Follow me.” Lewerc lead them through the dusty compound and to the lot full of chariots. He climbed aboard one of the aircraft and the pair followed him.

“Hey!” Lewerc looked over the side of the vehicle. A pink unicorn with a wrench Cutie Mark and ubiquitous grease stains thumped the side of the chariot. “Where you headed?”

“Washouts.” Lewerc said, prepping for takeoff.

“Jesus, couldn’t even swim?” Asked the mechanic. Lewerc shook his head.

“Kids.” The mechanic hoisted himself up over the side and peered down at the two ponies. He grunted.

“You ain’t kidding.” He said with a rough laugh.

“What’s the frictional coefficient of stainless steel?” Red Field asked.

“What?” Asked the mechanic. Red Field and Wishing Well both chuckled.

“I thought so.” Red Field said. The mechanic grasped that he had been insulted and he looked up at Lewerc.

“Awesome, have fun with them!”

Lewerc sighed.

They flew to Wishing Well’s home first. Though a constant wind whipped over the chariot, the sun soon dried both Red Field and Wishing Well and they sat comfortably. After about twenty minutes, Wishing Well politely asked Red Field about his family and hometown. As Red Field explained the dismal intellectual state of Rockvale, the other unicorn empathized with Red Field’s frustration with having very few outlets to channel his intelligence. In turn, Red Field learned that Wishing Well came from a middle-class family in the town of Antimony. Although he would have to wait another year to reapply to the Academy in Yanhooyer due to the debacle of Gale Force, Wishing Well wasn’t overly disappointed with his immediate future.

“My dad owns a small magic shop and wants me to work there over the summer, I’m the only real unicorn around there that has any knowledge of spells.” He shrugged. “He pays sufficiently and buys me all the spell books I can read.”

“Wow, that sounds perfect.” Red Field said. “I don’t know any spells.” He had admitted his most painful fault.

“Hey, you want to work with me?” Said Wishing Well before Red Field had time to process what he'd said. “You’re smart, and most of the stuff is pretty easy to pick up.” He smiled. “And my dad would probably like having eight hooves and two horns.”
“Are you serious? Absolutely!” Red Field said.

“I hoped you’d say that.” Wishing Well grinned. “Why don’t you give me your address, I’ll ask my dad when I get home, and I’ll send you a letter if he says yes.” Red Field frantically searched for a piece of paper. He cursed the scant interior the chariot. “Here,” Wishing Well held his laminated ID. “Recite your address.” Red Field quickly dictated his mailing address and watched in awe as Wishing Well enacted a spell that heated the words into the plastic surface of the card. In a moment, Red Field’s address was scorched into the ID.

“That’s incredible!” Said Red Field. Wishing Well flicked his head.

“Everypony says that.” He said breezily. He nudged Red Field. “I know one that can turn material of 80 percent carbon into diamonds.”

“No way!” Red Field said.

“I’ve got two books, one by Celestia. Both of them apply to two pony spells.” A coy grin opened on Wishing Well’s face. “There’s a spell in the appendix that’s classified as alchemic.”

The two spent the rest of the trip discussing spells, alchemy, and the overall nature of magic. By the time the chariot touched down in a grassy knoll, Red Field knew he had found his best friend. Disembarking from the chariot, Wishing Well waved to Red Field.

“I’ll ask my dad and write to you posthaste!”

“Don’t forget to tell him about the CAT thirty!” Red Field tried to think of any other qualifications he’d forgotten to mention. Wishing Well laughed.

“Don’t worry, you’re already impressive!” He started through the swaying grasses. Red Field saw at least ten buildings standing about a quarter mile away; Antimony was definitely better than Rockvale. He squinted at the blocky outlines. Did they have an office building?

The chariot rose into the air and Red Field continued to stare at the town. He had forgotten to ask about Wishing Well’s family. Red Field wondered if Wishing Well had any siblings. Would they be intelligent like their brother?

“Well that guy was an asshole.” Red Field flinched. He had forgotten about Lewerc. He looked up at the pilot. The Pegasus stared out into the sky and didn’t appear want a conversation. Red Field waited a moment, then returned to his calculations. “I wasn’t going to say anything while he was here.” Lewerc banked the aircraft and they lurched to the left. “But he was probably the worst brat I’ve ever seen.” Red Field ignored him and Lewerc looked back at the petite pony. “I kinda saw him taking the lead on everything; you just following the louder pony?” He didn’t seem sarcastic; Lewerc seemed condescending to the point of being serious. Red Field’s dislike for the soldier returned.

“Nope, he was the smartest pony out of all of the cadets and he-”

“Yeah but he was an asshole.” Said Lewerc.

“All right then.” Red Field said with a shake of his head. Lewerc turned back to the controls and Red Field tried to recall where he had left off in his thoughts.

“You know, you missed the first three tests today.” Lewerc rubbed his jaw. “But you’d still have time to make the CA prelims.” He cleared his throat. “We usually overlook any failed tests on the first day, and most of the ones on the second day too.” Red Field said nothing and Lewerc looked back. “You want to head back to Gale Force?” Though he was pretending not to listen, Red Field’s response was quick.

“Why would I?”

Lewerc pondered the question for a moment.

“Be ready to protect your country, learn how to fight.” He shrugged. “Become a stallion.” They were alone, and Red Field was nearing the end of his time with Equestria’s military, so he finally voiced his thoughts.

“Protect my country? We haven’t had a war in a few centuries, and Queen Twilight isn’t characteristically a warmonger. Learning how to fight is pointless unless I’m a slovenly drunk who can’t intermediate his problems.” He snorted at the final idea. “And really, can I rely on an academy that failed me on a test because I was a ‘cocksucker’ to be a reliable institution to mold me into a full grown stallion?”

“I don’t seem to recall war as adhering to a schedule. Queen Twilight doesn’t have to sign anything for it to happen. Just because you don’t see fighting as valuable skill doesn’t mean there might not come a day when you need to defend your family. Do you intend to safely live the rest of your life under the auspices of ‘intermediation’ and the hopes that your aggressors will as well? And you doubt the validity of an academy whose sole existence is to facilitate the maturation of colts into stallions, simply because a teacher failed you for being an upstart?”

The words sounded otherworldly coming from Lewerc and they sank into Red Field’s psyche. A second of silence passed as Red Field grasped that Lewerc might not be as stupid as he appeared.

“I’m-”

“An intellectual,” Lewerc said, “I saw your results on the test and your instructor told me how quickly you finished. You are most certainly an intellectual, but-”

“I have no need to waste four years of my life getting called a cocksucker when I can learn about spells and the things I want.”

“Absolutely.” Lewerc said. “Yet how easy will it be to achieve higher education if you shy away from challenges?”

“Oh? You’re saying that because I don’t stay and become a soldier that I shy away from challenges?” He snorted. “How convenient an association.”

“That guy was an asshole, I doubt he's ever going to change.” Lewerc said. “You’re just a cocksucker, your only problem is your ego. If you just realize that you can’t pick and choose how life works you’ll go a lot farther.”

“You’re saying-”

“You only value things that you’re good at.”

The rest of the trip was silent. Red Field was sick of talking to Lewerc, who was attempting poorly-hidden reverse psychology. He stared out the side of the vehicle until they arrived an hour later. The sun was setting and the familiar haze of granite dust coated his throat as they descended.
Lewerc said nothing as Red Field disembarked from the chariot. They had landed atop the same hill overlooking the rock field behind Red Field's house.
Not bidding farewell to his pilot, Red Field started toward his home.

Red Field’s mind was blank. He felt nothing as he descended toward the small shack. He was run down and a bit drowsy, and thus felt no jubilation at being out of that wretched environment.

Red Field thought of Wishing Well. He was going to get a job! One with magic! He smiled a little. Things had worked out after all.

The brown shack was just a few meters away and he quietly crept aside the dilapidated wood. He had arrived just after quitting time for the rock farmers and since the fields were empty, he listened for his parents.
For a few moments Red Field heard nothing, then his father’s nose whistled as Cyrus downed cabbage. Red Field started around the corner, then halted when he heard his name.

“Been gone what, two days?” His father said. “House doesn’t seem any quieter.”

“He’s probably joining a fraternity of honor roll students, or maybe organizing one.” Red Field could tell his mother was smiling. “I know he’s going to scare them with his mind-” His father cleared his throat and she stopped.

“Moon.” His father’s nose whistled again as he sighed. “I did some talking to the Whitmans.”

“Yes?” Moonlit Night asked. Red Field knew his father was staring at his plate trying to think of a good way to explain what he thought.

“They told me Gale Force is a military school.” Silence fell as Moonlit Night waited for him to complete his thought.

“So?” She asked after a few seconds. Cyrus grunted and his fork clinked as he tossed it atop his plate.

“I don’t know how that’s going to work out.” He said shortly.

“You don’t think the older colts will pick on him?” She asked cautiously. “I imagine they have rules for-”

“Moon they won’t need to.” The chair creaked as Red Field’s father stood and cleared the dishes.

“Cyrus, what do you mean?”

“He’s not going to do well there.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Please Moon.” His father said tiredly. “Don’t say that. You know as well as I do.” She took a short breath as she misinterpreted this as well.

“All of those times you said he’d change the world. You've seen how smart and talented he is-”

The sink clattered as Cyrus dropped the dishes.

“Yes, Moon, I know. But that’s all he is. That’s all he wants to be.” The anger left his father and his voice became tired again. “He’s going to walk in that door sooner or later and he won’t say a thing about it, he’ll just go back to reading and wishing for something else.”

“You don’t know that.” Moonlight Night said softly. “He could be a smart soldier.”

His father’s voice was gentler and apologetic, but had a hopelessness to it.

“He doesn’t want that. You know he doesn’t.”

Red Field began to run. He galloped through the warm, muddy field of rocks and up the hill. His muscles were sore and he grew lightheaded from having eaten only breakfast. Tearing up the incline, Red Field felt his stomach turn as he saw that the chariot was gone.

He glanced up.

The vehicle was already ascending toward a cloud. He frantically searched for a rock. Finding several at his hooves, Red Field took a smooth stone and hurled it toward the side of the chariot. The slate projectile arced upward, but lost momentum and fell short. He desperately lifted another. The muddy missile missed the bottom wheel of the chariot and returned to earth.

He lifted another, then stopped. The top of the chariot had started to enter the cloud and Red Field knew he couldn’t throw anything that far. He watched the green metal slowly recede into the white folds of the cloud. For a moment Red Field was still as he perceived the impossibility. Then he knelt to the ground and dug out the smoothest rock he could find.
Aiming for an instant, Red Field hurled the stone skyward with all of his might. His muscles shrieked in pain, and the force of the motion lifted his hooves off of the ground. He stumbled a few steps then fell face first into the mud. He pushed himself back up, despite the seething of his muscles.

The chariot was gone and he watched the cloud. Then came the clang of rock against metal. A moment passed, and another. Red Field’s neck grew stiff as he looked up. A wheel emerged from the cloud as the chariot descended back toward the hill.

Lewerc landed a few meters from Red Field. Red Field didn’t bother to wipe the mud from his face as he approached the vehicle. Lewerc leaned over the side and looked down at him. He said nothing.
Red Field swallowed and a bit of rock went down his throat.

“I want to be a soldier.”

The sun had set, and the moon was obscured by a film of clouds. Red Field’s legs shook from hunger, and his muscles, spent by the sitting and overexertion, threatened to drop him into the dust of the compound with each step. Lewerc lead him toward the giant gymnasium. They reached the doors and Red Field entered the gym.

Inside, the blue mats had been arranged into an erratic pattern of cubes and rectangles running in a circuit around the perimeter of the gymnasium. Red Field saw Blitzkrieg sitting at a table in the center of the room, writing something onto a clipboard. He was already displeased before he noticed the returned quitter. As he glanced up and caught sight of Red Field, his frown lengthened.

“I seem to recall you quitting.”

“I’m sorry sir, I mean to return.”

“You missed two out of the three placement tests-”

“I mean to attempt this one sir.” Red Field said. The stallion let out a sigh that coagulated with a grunt and pointed to a red line of tape that sat before the course.

“This is placement for Cavalry, bottom rung. If you pass, you move into Cavalry basic. If you don’t, then you’ll get the fuck out of my sight.” Red Field realized this was all of the information he would receive. He paused at the colored strip and looked back to Blitzkrieg. The Pegasus looked to him, then flicked his hoof to indicate that Red Field should begin.

Red Field took off around the lap.

The first of the obstacles was a lump of mats that stood a meter higher than Red Field. He leaped atop the stack and galloped over it. He dashed to the next obstacle: a long row of mats set into an acute triangular corridor. He sprinted through these. The darkness enveloped him and the path ahead bobbed in his vision. Red Field shot out of the tunnel and immediately came to the next obstacle: a long rectangular slab of low-lying mats.

He started to run across them.

“Cadet! Go under!” Shouted Blitzkrieg. Red Field nodded and returned to the start of the apparent crawlspace. A small opening lay uninvitingly at his hooves and Red Field slipped under the mats. The tunnel was long, and after so many repetitions by other cadets, was unpleasantly humid with sweat. Red Field’s vision soon vanished and he crawled blindly. His left leg tightened severely and became momentarily lame. He ignored this and doubled his efforts with his right leg. A drop of sweat ran into his mouth as he wriggled through the stuffy chasm. He passed into a malodorous section of tunnel and silently loathed whatever inconsiderate cadet had farted in the tight chamber.

After ten or so seconds of crawling, he emerged on the other side of the tunnel. His body began to shake from exhaustion and he weakly rose to his hooves and continued along the course. However his steps had involuntarily slowed and he practically limped up to the next stack of mats.

“Cadet! Mantle that!” Shouted Blitzkrieg. Red Field nodded and extended his leg to mantle the stack. The mat slipped backward as he put weight onto it. He slammed against the stack and rolled onto the floor. “Cadet! Thirty seconds!” Red Field was still trembling as he stood and his senses reeled from the fall. He rolled over the mats, then staggered the rest of the way through the course.

Red Field’s vision surged and darkened with each erratic heartbeat as he approached the final obstacle. Red Field felt only a dull sensation of impending collapse.

“Climb the final obstacle and get over here.” Blitzkrieg wasn’t shouting anymore, and he had walked over to the last giant stack of mats. Red Field looked to the stack. It stood a head and shoulders above him. He summoned his remaining strength and jumped towards it. He struck the wall well below target and fell onto his haunches. He rose and jumped again, his hoof caught on the top mat and fell back, landing on his side.

“Cadet! Can you complete this task?” Red Field didn’t answer, but rose again. Mucus was now filling his mouth and each breath was a clawing robbery of whatever air he could take in. Blitzkrieg was directly beside him and Red Field leaped up. Both forehooves caught and he hung for a moment from the pile. Then his shoulders deadened and he fell back to the floor. His head struck the mat and the world spun. The top mat fell with him and he shoved it away from his face.
“Cadet.” Red Field jumped again, lifted himself a millimeter, and fell again. The room spun, the next mat covered his face. His legs caught the top mat on the next try, but now Red Field couldn’t even press himself at all. The next mat dropped onto him. And the next, and the one after that.

Red Field stood, placed his two front hooves atop the pile, which had shrunk to the height of a speedbump, and climbed over it. As he stepped down, Red Field staggered a few steps, then collapsed. He was weakly trying to recover himself as Blitzkrieg stepped over to him.

“Cadet.” Red Field was wheezing and he stared forward at the Pegasus’ hooves. “You see anything wrong with your effort?” Red Field turned his head and looked up at Blitzkrieg. “Cavalry aren’t the smartest motherfuckers we have, but usually we like them to complete a test without fucking up every obstacle.” Red Field twisted his head and looked around the room.

Mats lay scattered and strewn about the hurdles and stacks. His eyes came to rest on the final stack, which had been reduced to a miniscule pile.

“I didn’t know-” He choked on his mucus and spat onto the mat. Blitzkrieg pulled his hooves back.

“You were forty-three seconds over time.” Blitzkrieg saw that Red Field couldn’t rise on his own. He lifted Red Field up and set him on his hooves.

“Sir, let me try again.” Said Red Field, but Blitzkrieg shook his head. “Please sir.”

“Cadet, are you going to end your stay here with yet another instance of disregard for authority?”

Red Field staggered over to the red line. He passed out two steps from the start of the course.

“Cadet.” Red Field lay in the position he had fallen in. He was slumped face down on the floor. A thin pool of sweat had collected around him. His heart fluttered within his chest and he rolled onto his back. The lights above him bloomed and swam and he drifted into semi-consciousness.

“Cadet.” Blitzkrieg knelt down beside him and shoved the hardened rubber nipple of a water bottle into his mouth. A syrupy flood of lemon-lime syrup drizzled down his throat. Red Field choked and gasped. After a few gulps, Blitzkrieg removed the bottle and they sat in silence. Beads of sweat ran from his body, and Red Field felt a chill descending on him.
“Most cadets faint after base jumping, or during the thirty-kilo march.” Blitzkrieg didn’t look down at Red Field, but stared out over the gymnasium. “You didn’t make it past day without going jelly-legged.” He flipped the water bottle in his hooves. “You showed me a perfect display of shitbrained dumbfuckery this morning and you failed three out of the three placement tests, giving you no place in Gale Force.” Blitzkrieg righted Red Field. “You might have the shortest stay here in history.” He tossed the water bottle onto a pile of mats and walked for the door. “Report to the cafeteria, tell them you need a meal.”

Red Field limped into the cafeteria. Pushing wide the doors revealed a mostly empty room, with a few soldiers sitting on the perimeter tables. Red Field approached the cook behind the counter.

“I’d like a meal please. It was authorized by Blitzkrieg.”

“Yeah, you look like you could use one.” He said with a grin. He handed a tray of extremely soggy hay over the counter.

“Don’t eat it fast, if you puke, you’re mopping up.” Red Field walked to the nearest table and seated himself. He quietly downed the food, returned the tray to the stack and left the cafeteria.

Red Field spent a few minutes outside of the door, ensuring he’d arrived at the correct destination. The tiny stenciled “6” was hard to read in the scant light above the door and he double checked the number before stepping inside. The lights were on, and all three ponies were in their respective beds.

Siplinski was the first to look up.

“Well look who it is!” He said. Bren looked over the side of his bunk.

“Red Field?” He cocked his head at Red Field. Catching sight of the returned cadet, Black Rain turned over on his bed and muttered a phrase containing the word “fuck.”

“What are you doing here?” Asked Siplinski, rising out of his bed.

“Yeah, I thought you quit.” Said Bren. “Flash told us you and that other fucker got kicked out before the end of the first test.” Red Field nodded.

He made his answer as solid as he could.

“I came back.” Before either Siplinski or Bren could reply, Black Rain rolled over in his bed and faced Red Field. He seemed impatient and his question came with a perfectly cynical shrug.

“Why?”

Red Field cleared his throat and attempted to square his stance.

“I want to be a soldier.” He said proudly. This declaration was greeted with silence. All three stared at him and Red Field became aware that perhaps they were not as excited as he was. He thought for a better explanation.

“Uh, well, you’re kinda an asshole.” Siplinski said finally. Red Field felt his cheeks redden and he bowed his head to this.

“Ding ding!” Black Rain said.

“What changed?” Red Field looked up to Bren, who had swung his legs off of the bed and now sat facing him.

“I’ve never done anything tough or tried to push myself in anything besides academics. I want to learn to do something besides think. I just took a physical fitness test that qualifies as the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted in my life. Up until this afternoon I would have given up after the first step.” Red Field braced himself against the side of the bed. “I’m not in shape and I know nothing about the army. But I want to change that.” He looked to his hooves. “And I’m sorry that I was a complete idiot to you before, I don’t know if you want me back, but I would like to rejoin your squad. You guys seem like a good group.”

All three were silent and Red Field started to explain more.

“What division are you?” Red Field looked up to Bren, who was studying him. “What are you looking at?”

“Cavalry.” Siplinski said. “If he missed the first two tests then he has to be Cavalry.”

“Yeah, I think that’s it.” Red Field said.

“Okay then, what branch are you thinking?” Asked Bren. Red Field had no idea about this additional subset and he admitted his ignorance. Siplinski laughed and Red Field heard Black Rain snort in disgust.

“This is the second smallest barracks in Gale Force.” Said Bren. “We haven’t won any team competitions in a long time.” He looked back at his squadmates, then back to Red Field. “And we’re not going to be dominating the battlefield with three guys. We’re not big enough to be picky about new members, and we were all pretty fired up to have gotten anypony in Dispersion.” Bren narrowed his eyes at Red Field. “But you’re a fucking asshole, and we don’t need fucking assholes.”

Red Field’s mouth went dry.

“Sip, what do you think?” Asked Bren, not breaking his gaze with Red Field. Red Field waited as Siplinski rose out of his bed and stood by Bren. He looked down at Red Field. His mouth twisted a bit and he bobbed his head in thought.

“We don’t need him.” He said with a dismissive shake of his head. “So why don’t we hold on to him and see how he does?” Red Field anxiously looked to Bren.

“All right, I guess that makes sense.” Bren said. “Rain, what about you?” All three looked to the supine unicorn. Soft snoring sluggishly rose from the blanketed soldier and Siplinski chuckled.

“Guess that’s a yes.” The red unicorn said with a shrug. Red Field extended his hoof.

“I want to thank you for-”

“Sure.” Bren said, then walked back to his bed and jumped up onto mattress. Siplinski did the same and Red Field was left standing.

“Sirs.” The two looked up. “I’m sorry for before, but I’m going to put my all into this.” He hesitated as he weighed giving another explanation of himself. “I’m a highly analytical thinker, and so if you explained what I need to know to work here, I could assimilate this an-”

“Are you going to listen this time?” Bren asked.

“Absolutely.”

Four hundred and sixteen total soldiers comprised Gale Force Company. These soldiers were divided into the divisions of Airborne, Urban Assault Teams, and Cavalry on an approximate distribution of twenty percent, sixteen percent, and sixty four percent, respectively. Each division comprised several different branches.

Red Field learned that Cavalry was divided into support, medical (nopony wanted to be a part of that branch, Siplinski explained, because they had an extra three months of medical training and they didn’t get any cool weapons) and finally “cloppers”. Both Siplinski and Bren advised Red Field to become a clopper, since he wasn’t particularly suited to hauling the heavy support gear around. Also, since Clopper training was the most basic and failed the fewest number of cadets,

Red Field agreed to make this his goal.

Beyond divisions, Gale Force was split into two separate teams, which were each a mixture of the twenty barracks. The purpose of the teams was to allow more versatility in conducting operations, since both teams could act independently. This organization also generated a predictable amount of team pride, as both teams faced off against one another in a giant war-game once a year. Because of this competition, each team would attempt any possible larceny of cadets to swell their ranks for the battle. Red Field had never known any such pride in his life and he became determined to devote himself to Team Two.

After learning a few vulgar acronyms and how to avoid being singled out for a shitty performance during training, Red Field finally asked his comrades about themselves.

“I’m Cavalry, but I’m at the top of the group.” Siplinski said.

“Yeah, Sip’s been doing this for a while.” Red Field looked up to Bren. “I’m Cavalry too, but I’ve only been here two years.”
They looked over to the sleeping black unicorn and Siplinski chuckled.

“Rain’s Cavalry too, but he’s support.” Said Siplinkski. “He’s also a hardass so don’t take anything he says too personally.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about him.” Bren said. He yawned and checked his watch. “Should head to bed, you’ve got what, another run tomorrow?” Red Field’s legs throbbed. Yet he didn’t so much as think to complain to his newfound brothers.
Siplinski tossed him a rolled-up blanket and told him to pick any bunk. Red Field climbed atop the squeaking metal bunk that sat beside Siplinski’s and laid down. Bren switched out the lights and they fell into darkness. Red Field heard the soft snoring of Black Rain mingled with the chorus of crickets outside the barracks.
He closed his eyes and began to review the facts of Gale Force again. He felt something press his side. Siplinski stood beside his bunk.

“Brohoof.” Siplinkski whispered. “You’re one of us now.” He held up his hoof. Red Field lifted an unsure hoof and gave Siplinski’s a tap. Siplinski knocked his hoof into Red Field’s, producing a hollow clop. “Haha great.” Siplinski walked back to his bunk.

Red Field returned to contemplating Cavalry and quickly felt the exhaustion of the day convert into sleepiness. Yawning, he rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket around his body. His hoof still tingled from the forceful brohoof.

Red Field’s eyes hadn’t closed before his bunk rattled.

“Get up, twenty minutes to Beast.” Bren didn’t wait for a response and kicked the bunk again. “Let’s go.” Even after he threw off the covers, Red Field still felt wrapped in the invisible blanket of sleepiness.

Both Siplinski and Black Rain were gone and Bren stood waiting at the foot of the bed. Red Field swung his legs off of the bed and rubbed his sleep-masked face. However, his tightened legs did not extend as far as they typically did and he nearly toppled from the bunk.
Red Field sucked in a sharp breath as a tendon along his inner thigh sharply constricted.

“That’s lactic acid, you get that after a hard workout.” Bren said. Red Field’s shoulders and legs protested the unplanned work by curtailing his steps and forcing him into an awkward trot. “You’ll have plenty of time to stretch out before your run.”

Red Field wasn’t giving up. But as followed the Bren to the cafeteria with his stilted gait, he wondered what he would do. He had reached his physical limit yesterday, what would happen if he reached it again?

The other cadets around Red Field began to notice him. He pretended nothing was amiss. He knew everypony was intensely curious about the unicorn that had mysteriously unquit. Bren thankfully shuffled him out of the cafeteria after a fast meal. Once outside, Bren turned to Red Field. At first Red Field was afraid Bren would mention the embarrassment that would await his return to the group. However Bren seemed more concerned with the possibility of Red Field quitting again.

“It’s just a time trial. You need to come in before seven minutes. That’s not too hard if you don’t go out too hard. Don’t say anything to the instructors, they’re all older guys from the other squads and so they’ll fail you for anything.” Red Field nodded, he would let them sever a limb before he spoke a syllable. Bren looked to the gate of the compound. “Okay yeah you should get going.” He pushed Red Field toward where the first few cadets were gathering. “Just, don’t say anything.” Red Field jogged for the group to demonstrate his confidence to Bren. He was not quitting, OR failing. However his sore body slowed his enthusiasm and he compromised to cantor the rest of the way.

“This everybody?” Asked the orange instructor from the first day. About thirteen cadets had gathered around two sergeants. Red Field stood near the back of the group and silently awaited his assignment. The second sergeant, an older white pony, counted them.

“Yep, let’s head out.” Without a word of explanation, the pair of soldiers started to jog out of the compound. The cadets, having since realized that Gale Force training ran on the concept of “just follow”, trailed obediently after them. Red Field had reached them just in time to begin the run.

The gravel road ran up the hill and into the darkened forest. They had just slipped under the leafy canopy when one of the instructors turned and faced the cadets. Jogging backwards, he spoke over the gentle thrash of hooves through undergrowth.

“Day one of Beast is a one mile time trial. Who here is going to be a medic?” A few cadets gave affirmative responses and the soldier nodded. “Your goal is going to be five forty, Gale Force ain’t big on slow ass medics.” Without looking, he sidestepped a stump and continued speaking. “We got any support here?” This was greeted by generally more enthusiastic affirmation. “Great, you guys want to be hitting five thirty, don’t worry, once you get onto the battlefield your gear’ll slow you down.” Red Field was focusing on steadying his breathing and he did not reply to the next question regarding the “cloppers.”

“You guys just have to beat seven minutes.” The instructor sidestepped another stump. He started to digress into how completely weakassed you’d have to be to fail at clopping. Red Field had his head down and stared at the hooves of the cadet ahead of him. He was just going to make it to the mile for now.

Within a few minutes, Red Field looked up. The trees were carpeted by rich orange-green moss that also appeared in plush patches along the forest floor. Boulders and logs dotted the trail and caused the path to become a winding vein of colorful ponies that flowed around the obstructions. Red Field had never seen such a complex ecosystem and he would have liked very much to stop and observe for a time. But he could study the passing woods only through the blur of the painful run. The pony ahead of him halted and Red Field ground to a halt. A chorus of breathing rose up as the group of ponies attempted to regain their stamina. They had stopped at a meaningless point in the path.

“All right shut up!” Shouted the soldier. “You guys have,” he momentarily conferred with his partner, “three minutes before first group starts their trial.”

Red Field had only counted 167 seconds before the soldier barked for group one to assemble. The first two groups of cadets started on their way, leaving the would-be cloppers to some rest. However their rest passed quickly and as the final group of ponies vying for the lowest position in Gale Force set off, Red Field’s body immediately reverted to its former state of exhaustion.

They ran on no course and Red Field was soon last in the procession. The “path” dashed over logs, buckthorn and anything else that could possibly obscure one mile of distance in a thick forest. Within the first quarter mile his lungs tightened and he began to slip away from the group. Red Field bowed his head and galloped back to the group. He was not slipping away, he was finishing with the group.

The next quarter mile passed terribly.

As did the next.

Nonetheless, Red Field had not fallen behind, and had miraculously navigated to a central position within the group. The sun suddenly dropped onto their backs. They had come to a clearing about the size of a football field. The first two groups of ponies were waiting at the opposite end of the grassy field.

“Clock’s ticking, sprint to the finish cloppers.” Their guide broke away from them and pointed to where the other cadets stood. Instantly, the ponies around him began to gallop, and Red Field was nearly ejected from the speeding mass. He quickened his pace and managed to keep near the rear of the formation. They were midway into the final stretch when the leg of the pony behind Red Field hooked around his leg. The world reeled as Red Field jackknifed into the grass and the sound of hooves began to leave him.

His spell of endurance was broken and his lungs were now parched and raw. He dizzily tried to push himself up. Suddenly something struck him from behind. A hoof frantically pounded his back.

“Get up, get up let’s go!” Said a desperately exhausted voice. Somepony half-grabbed, half-thrust him onto his hooves. Red Field looked to his right. A deep orange earth pony was galloping alongside him. They ran for the finish line.

The instructor stood waiting for them.

“Six fifty three, six fifty four.” Red Field staggered past the sergeant and immediately dropped to a dreamy walk. His stuporous trance took him to the edge of the forest. His vision flattened and the peculiar taste of pea hung in his mouth. He paid no attention to anything but the grass passing beneath his hooves.

He had just wiped the last of vomit from his mouth when the instructor shouted.

“Form up!” Red Field spat and shuffled toward the sound of the instructor. The rest of the cadets were forming into a lumpy group near the finish line about ten meters behind him. Red Field joined them. “This is Beast, you are Cavalry.” Said the orange pony who commanded their formation. Red Field pushed his way toward the front of the group. “When you hear ‘This is Beast’ you reply with ‘We are Cavalry’.” The cadets around him nodded and gave single syllabic acknowledgements of the limerick. He waited a moment, the shouted again. “This is Beast!”

“We are Cavalry.” The answer was comically disparate and sounded more like an appeasement than anything else. The sergeant laughed to himself and shook his head at the untrained ponies. “Jesus Christ, you guys get younger every year.” Red Field realized this was the same pony who had offered him the chess set in exchange for defecting to Team One.
“I’m Agent Orange.” The sergeant motioned to the other instructor, who was helping a cadet to his hooves. “That’s Agent White.”

The other instructor was appropriately named. As the snow white pony joined his cohort, Agent Orange swept his hoof over the group.

“That out there is Macmillan woods, that’s where we’re going to make you into soldiers.” A few of the ponies looked back at their future training grounds, but Red Field kept his eyes focused on the two unicorns. He would find a map of the forest and commit it to memory as soon as he could.

“Don’t worry.” Agent White spoke now, his voice lacked the thick, sharp thread of aggression and he sounded at least a decade or so older than Agent Orange. “You guys are going to get to know Macmillan soon enough.”

“Heh, yup.” Agent Orange said. “Today is the first step in becoming cloppers. You guys got the easy job, only requirements are not fucking anything up beyond belief.”

“Or, you know, injuring yourselves to the point where treating you would not be financially advantageous.” Agent White said. A few cadets laughed nervously.

“Gale Force Company is home to the strongest air force in all of Equestria, we get the Wonderbolts out here on a monthly basis to train our flyers.” Agent Orange said and looked over at Agent White. “EOD techs are what, mostly math and science majors from Cantorlot?”

“All of them have at least an undergrad in mechanical science or magic-based explosives.” Agent White said.

“They’re some of the smartest motherfuckers in all of Equestria, they’re going to be stopping IEDs and whatever else you guys find out in the field.” Said Agent Orange. “Urban Assault Teams are all capable of full ready position for at least twelve hours.” Red Field sensed the speech was headed to a derogatory ultimatum. “And then we have you guys. Cloppers. Most of you wouldn’t even hack it in college I’m guessing.” Red Field felt his resentment for Agent Orange already growing. “Cloppers are what?” He conferred with Agent White again. “Eighty percent of GFC?” Agent White shrugged. “Most of the company is guys like you.” Orange singled out a blue and red unicorn that stood near him. “What’s your name cadet?”

“Haystack sir.” Replied the anxious pony.

“Do you like taking orders Haystack?” Asked Agent Orange. “Well you will.” He said over the shy semi-agreement. He turned to the rest of the cadets. “You guys might not be smart, or strong. But you’re the first hooves on ground zero. You take orders from everypony. Air force can’t assault a bunker, EOD can’t defuse a wave assault.” He frowned in thought. “Well, I guess Urban Assault can do anything, but there’s not a lot of them. Anyway Cavalry are the ones who get it done. And even when air support pulls out and ordnance can’t rain hell, you guys will get it done. That’s because cloppers do it alone.” He finished with a certainty indicating that this was a key proponent of the philosophy of Cavalry’s lowest tier of troops.

Cloppers did do it alone.

Nopony found any water in the clearing and Agent White and Orange appeared unconcerned by this.

Sixteen down and backs came after the run. Red Field figured the heavy gallops to and fro across the field were some sort of short twitch muscle conclusion designed to supplement their previous mile and would complete the day. He just finished his sixteenth repetition and was catching his breath when Orange shouted for the cadets to get their asses over to him.

“All right, now you guys are warmed up.” He said to the mess of sweat-soaked ponies. “Now’s when the workout begins.”

Red Field’s heart pounded somehow faster. They weren’t done.

The great glowing globe of sun skittered sluggishly through the deep, cloudless expanse of blue sky as the cadets engaged in their first day of Beast. They ran another mile, this time in single file. The shade of the woods was worthless to the overheated ponies that weaved around the trees. They returned to the clearing. Red Field felt sick now, his stomach reeled with every step and he began to worry for his health.

“All right all right form up.” Agent Orange waited as the exhausted ponies grouped together yet again. “This is your first day, so we’re going easy on you and bringing you water. But after today it’s going to be your responsibility to bring a canteen.” The scintillating tinkle of magic cut through the air. Red Field looked into the sky. An olive-green chariot flew over the trees and descended toward them. It towed a blue plastic basin the size of a hot tub. “Oh shit, good timing.” Said Agent Orange.

The green vehicle touched down before them. The cadets, mad with thirst, bolted to the basin. Red Field was crushed between two Pegasi but he still gulped and bit into the water. On a less desperate day, Red Field might have made a comment about the dull taste of rust in the water, or asked about the lining of the container, which he worried might contain bisphenol. However his throat was swollen with thirst and he pulled in the water as fast as he could.
The surface of the water began to dip and all of the cadets leaned down to drink more. Red Field felt his hooves leave the ground as the two ponies pinching him leaned forward. His face plunged underwater, then his body somersaulted in after him. The chilly grip of the water felt good, but as Red Field burst to the surface, he heard the angry shouts of the other cadets. They curtly him why the fuck he was getting his sweat in the goddamn water; Red Field saw an oily layer of sweat originating from his soaked body filming over the water.

Before he could stammer an explanation, Agent Orange shouted for the cadets to form up. Everypony immediately abandoned the basin. Red Field sloshed after them.

He pushed his way into the group, water trickling down his mane. A few ponies shoved him away from them and he miserably perceived his newfound reputation. Day one of Beast was rapidly approaching a singularity of discomfort. Agent Orange was asking them to pipe the fuck down as Red Field unhappily took his place near the front of the group.

“Cadets, this is Lieutenant Commander Flashpoint.” Said Agent Orange.

Flashpoint’s body was a slate grey, what could be seen of it. He wore an immaculately fitted uniform that was speckled with digitalized forest tones. The outfit ran all the way to his grey hooves, which ended in black, anodized horseshoes. A single strip of obsidian sliced through his pewter mane. His nose was a solid chunk of greyed marble cut into an almost perfect ninety degree angle. The stallion’s icy blue eyes slid over the cadets.

“Class of Five Five Six, I am the head officer of Beast. While Agent Orange and Specialist White will be leading your daily exercises, I will be overseeing your progress.” A chill settled on Red Field. Flashpoint’s voice wasn’t rough or booming like any of the other instructors, nor was it rumbling and deep like Lewerc’s. The words were wrapped in a slightly nasal, and midrange octave; Flashpoint sounded like he was Red Field’s age. “However, despite my distance from you, rest assured that I will be intimately involved with your training. I’ll be enforcing infractions. This is your only warning: refusal to complete any exercise will result in immediate expulsion from this program.” He noticed Red Field’s overhydrated condition and walked over to where Red Field stood. Flashpoint was only centimeters taller than Red Field, and their eyes met.

“Cadet, please explain why you are wet.” A few snickers came from the ponies around them and Red Field anxiously thought for the most professional response possible.

“You see sir, I er,” Flashpoint waited without a word, “I was caught between two other ponies and as they leaned forward to- to drink, they pulled me in.”

“You were incapable of drinking via extension of your neck?” A few more chuckles came from the ponies around Red Field.

“No sir, it was very crowded, I had to lean. The water was draining quickly as well.” Red Field said. Though his expression remained static, Flashpoint released a fantastically unamused sigh.

“Cadet, are you aware of how many vertebrae are within an equine’s neck?” He asked.

“Seven?”

Flashpoint was silent, and Red Field feared he had accidentally committed some sort of rank blunder by answering. Flashpoint released Red Field from the momentary interrogation and returned to his group address.

“Report each day to the main gate of the compound at 0700. You will continue this for four weeks and three days as you progress through your general training. At no point will you be allowed to skip or otherwise miss a day of training. Again, as the acting officer of Beast, I will not hesitate to throw you out.” His instructions ended without the typical obscene conclusion Red Field had come to expect of the officers of Gale Force and Flashpoint simply walked to the chariot. The group still stood solidly, waiting for the tight-lipped pony to depart.

“Flash’s our resident military genius.” The cadets looked to Agent Orange as the sounds of the chariot gearing up for flight hummed through the air. “Flash!” Shouted Agent Orange. Flashpoint looked up from the dashboard of the vehicle. “Any advice for the rookies?”

Flashpoint paused and again looked over the ponies. His eyes stuck to Red Field for a second, and Red Field tightened his stance.

“Professionalism. We are a military organization committed to professional conduct and our mission is to remain at the forefront of modern warfare.” Said the dusky unicorn. The chariot lifted off the ground seamlessly and arced a gentle U back toward the base.

“All right! That’s Flashpoint. He’s real, so, don’t fuck with him.” Agent Orange said with a laugh. “Let’s get back to clopping!”
Red Field was still looking over the trees. A drop of water, now uncomfortably cold, ran down his back.
He had no idea if he had just fucked with Flashpoint.

The sun stabbed dusty yellow beams of light through the forest. Red Field’s body ached, a deep, thrombosis sort of ache. They had run another mile, then done push-ups, then run a half mile, then finished with a sort of crawling exercise where the cadets couldn’t use their hind legs. Agent Orange had applied a crass title involving handicaps to the final exercise; most of the other cadets thought it funny, or at least acted like they had.

Red Field wasn’t sure.
As he mantled a fallen log and gingerly stepped over a gnarled root on the “cooldown run”, he appraised himself as entirely unsure of just about everything in his immediate future. He wasn’t sure if his body would hold up. The first day had pressed him to his limits, then shoved him over the precipice. He wasn’t sure if he had inadvertently displeased Flashpoint via their sparse interaction. And he was still unsure of many of the aspects of Gale Force Academy. And of course he was in no way sure of even passing the next day of Beast. His leg overextended and he groaned as it twitched. Regardless, Red Field was certain of the most important aspect of his immediate future: he was not quitting.
They ended at dinner time and the cadets were sufficiently hungering.

Agent White herded them away from the dining area and toward the showers.

“Go in here, scrub off, report to the mess hall.” He opened the door to a misting tiled cave and pointed inside. “See you at Day Two.” Red Field’s stomach grumbled, but his muscles relaxed. Hot water would be an excellent way to decompress.
The walls of the communal shower were lined by steel showerheads that were a salty grey from years of hard water. A drain the size of a storm sewer grate sat in the center of the slightly sloped floor, and the white clouds of industrial soap bubbles popped and lurched across every surface of the room.

Red Field saw the rest of the cadets already bathing. The aspiring Cavalry found places around the room and were soon lost in the rapt joys of showering. Red Field slunk to a corner and sat down. For the first time since his arrival at Gale Force, his body felt relief. The soft mumblings of the other bathers and gentle splash of the warm water slowed the world around him and his body loosened farther. Rest felt heavenly. The salty taste of sweat ran into his mouth. He found a pearl colored bar of soap propped up against the wall and began to lather.

A draft of uncomfortably cold air slithered over him.

Five ponies, all richly tanned champagne unicorns, and all very muddy, had entered. All five were nearly the same tone color, and Red Field saw that their Cutie Marks were each a dagger flanked by silvered tree branches. They were chatting and their rolling laughter bounced off of the thick stone walls. As they strolled to the nearest showerhead, the first of the group saw the cadets.

“Whoa, this Dispersion?” One asked. All five looked over the little group.

“No, this must be EOD out for their monthly shower.” Said another. They shared a raucous laugh. “You all cadets?” The ponies nodded and the unicorn spat into the drain. “Cavalry?”
More nodding.
The five, who had since commandeered soap and were washing themselves, poked one another and chuckled some more.

“Looks like we’re going to be seeing more deployment than usual.” One of them said with a guffaw. “Since it looks like Cavalry’s supplanting their desk warrior teams.”
The five continued washing and after a few awkward seconds, the cadets resumed their competition.

Red Field had crossed midway thru the room when something took his right fore hoof out from under him. He slipped and fell face first onto the drain. His head swam from the impact and he made out the muck and filth and whatever else washed off the bodies of soldiers, inches below the rusted grate. He heard laughter. Red Field picked himself up and looked about him. The other cadets were laughing at him.

A crushed bar of soap stuck to his right fore hoof and waited to stumble him again. He was dismally scraping the tallowed surface of his hoof when one of the tanned stallions laid a hoof on his shoulder. Red Field looked up at the burly pony. The pony’s eyes were a deep hazel, and he cracked his jaw mirthfully. The stallion didn’t look directly at him, but out at the group of cadets.

“See this?” The group of soldiers shook with laughter and the stallion thumped Red Field’s shoulder. “This is what we’re talking about.” He turned to Red Field. “What’s your mile?” Red Field was still disoriented and his voice came out in an innocent daze.

“Uh- let me think.” He said. The stallion laughed.

“Jesus Christ.” The stallion shook his head and chuckled darkly. “You’re in for a rough time kid.” He shook Red Field a little. “Don’t think that because you don’t look like him doesn’t mean you won’t fail.” He said to the rest of the cadets. “There’s a long way to fall in Beast.” All around Red Field rose the snorts and chortles of the other cadets. Red Field felt the stallion that held him laughing, and he felt the flow of tears, cool against the steaming shower water, running down his face. He pulled away from the soldier and marched toward the door. He didn’t bother to dry, and marched out into the warm twilight dripping wet.

He had stopped crying by the time he had reached the mess hall, and Red Field wrung his mane four or five times before he entered. Red Field was exhausted, despairing, and wanted to eat and go to bed.

The long tabled hall was crowded with soldiers and cadets and Red Field threaded into the long line running parallel to the counter. The night’s offering was a maple hay bake that tasted like a 3M product gone awry; although taste mattered little to Red Field. He only wanted to make it till bed. He found a seat at an unoccupied table and started to down his meal. He was two-thirds of the way through the unappetizing hay when a hoof landed next to him. He looked up.
Lewerc held a tray of his own.

“Mind if I sit here cadet?” Red Field shook his head and the commander seated himself beside Red Field. “So, how was your second official day?”

“Fine.” Red Field replied. Lewerc took a bite of hay. He turned to Red Field. The Pegasus spoke quietly, despite the overarching noise of the cafeteria.

“I spoke with your instructors, I informed them of your ‘special circumstances’ and they are going to hold you in probation.” He paused and made certain nopony around them was listening to them. “You’re going to need to act a lot better from this day forward cadet, we don’t tolerate poor discipline.” Red Field felt the tears perched at the edge of his eyes. He remained collected as Lewerc informed him of the terms of the probation, and how only a single behavioral violation would remove him from the program. Once he had finished, Lewerc asked if Red Field had any questions. He didn’t. “Good.” Lewerc wiped his mouth with a napkin and crumped the paper up. “You know, Blitzkrieg told me about your test last night. You’re lucky to be here. He doesn’t make exceptions, especially for ponies he doesn’t like. Consider yourself very lucky.”
Red Field rose out of his seat, as the first tear had fallen. He heard somepony call for Lewerc and the commander rose after him. Red Field bumped into someone as he made for the door.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. The other pony said nothing and stepped aside; Red Field looked up to see who at Gale Force could be so polite.

Flashpoint had no expression.

He stared down at Red Field. Red Field’s stomach turned as the other unicorn righted his carton of milk, which had tipped.

“Sorry.” Red Field repeated timidly. The officer who Red Field was fairly certain he had fucked with continued toward his table without saying a word. Red Field looked back as he reached the door. Flashpoint was sitting with some other officers. They were talking, and Flashpoint was saying something. He paused midsentence and looked up at Red Field.

He had absolutely fucked with Flashpoint.

He was crying before he reached barracks six. A few soldiers, on patrol, or just loitering or doing whatever the hell soldiers did noticed him, and Red Field heard their mumbles and sniggers. He didn’t care. He reached Barracks Six and peeked his head inside. The building was derelict and thus he entered without cleaning himself off.

Red Field climbed onto his bunk.

The tears were rolling now and the misery of the day pushed them out with a furor. Red Field lay on his side and began to sob. Gale Force Academy was everything he feared it would be. Nopony listened or cared or took two seconds to consider anything. He curled up like a foal and wept quietly. Red Field squeezed out his sorrow over the course of the next few minutes, and the blanket under his head had grown damp by the time he receded to sniffling. The room was more humid than the outside, and he had started to sweat. Red Field threw off his blanket. He felt sick.

The door whined open and somepony slunk in.

Red Field heard the indescribably annoying smacks of somepony downing a container of yogurt without a spoon.

“Mm.” The pony kicked the bed, jarring Red Field. “Mm.” Red Field rolled over and looked over the side of his bed. Siplinski’s red tongue snaked into a white carton bearing the emblem of a strawberry. He nodded to Red Field and gave another muddled “mm.” In a second he extracted his tongue from the container and smacked his lips. “So how was your first day?” Siplinski asked in his rapid cadence. He tilted his head at Red Field. “What’s wrong?” He asked, licking some yogurt from his nose.

“Just, hard day.” Red Field said shortly. Siplinski tossed the carton to a rusted garbage drum that sat on the back side of the wall. The paper cup bounced off of the rim and landed on the concrete floor with a wet thwap. Siplinski grunted and rolled onto his bunk. Red Field heard the unicorn settle himself onto the mattress. He said no more and neither did Red Field.

Bren returned to Barracks Six in half an hour. The blue Pegasus’ hooves were smeared with grease and he went to wash them at the small sink by the door. Red Field’s face had since lost its tearstained luster and he was staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep.

“Hey.” Siplinski said.

“Hey.” Said Bren as he lathered his hooves. “Just got off now, we had two broken axles and one of them almost sheared off a wheel.” The gushing water rumbled in the sink and Red Field’s minute drowsiness dissolved. “Rain’s trying to get a position with Maremont so he’ll be gone for a while.” Bren twisted the faucet and Red Field heard his wet hooves clack to the ground. “Where’s the kid?”

“Tired, rough day at Beast.”

Bren grunted, then walked over to Red Field’s bunk. He pulled himself level with Red Field.

“Hey.” Bren frowned at Red Field like he was an infant with a soiled diaper. “You get your ID?” He asked tiredly. “You’re going to need to get that, if you don’t-.” Red Field produced the little card and Bren glanced it over. “Okay good.” Bren went back to his bunk and laid down. Red Field’s mournful frown was returning when Siplinski jiggled his bunk again.

“Hey, how’d you get your Cutie Mark? You never told us.” He asked. Red Field heard Bren sit up as well.

“I was playing chess when I was a colt. It appeared at some point.” Neither of the two said anything. The door swung open and Black Rain strode inside.

“I placed thirteen out of forty five candidates.” He said. The dark stallion’s uniform was pristine, save for a few grease stains hastily swiped across the digitized sleeves. He started washing his hooves in the sink.

“That’s not bad.” Bren said. “That’s way better than most of the rest of the guys.”

“Yeah but,” Black Rain started to unbutton his jacket as he walked to his bunk, “I got a bunch of rewelds which fucked with me. Like I got got ‘em done, but they weren’t pretty.” He groaned as he slumped onto his bed. “How were the chariots?”

The three started to discuss their respective days. Red Field soon guessed that Bren worked as a mechanic and Black Rain was attempting to get a position in some sort of manufacturing with the oddly named “Maremont” unit. Red Field was laying on his side, roughly one third of his bottlenecked attention rested on the conversation, and the rest was occupied in his misery. His mind was sluggishly searching for an adage or truth with which to endure with. The other ponies were talking about their rival squad when Red Field heard his name.

“Your Cutie Mark.” Black Rain was leaning against the base of his bunk. “Let’s hear the story.” His impatient expression showed that his opinion of Red Field hadn’t gotten any better since last they spoke and Red Field took a moment to craft his statement.

“I got it playing chess, I’m not sure when exactly.” He cleared his throat. “I was looking for somepony to match me and I never felt it appear.”

“Was there like some troll you had to beat at chess to rescue your family?” Black Rain sounded serious.

“Uh, no.” Red Field said.

“You were just playing chess one day and that’s how you got your Cutie Mark? Just, playing a board game?” Asked Black Rain.

“Yes.” Red Field said quietly. A protracted pause descended as the other ponies evaluated this.

“So, what’s your talent?” Bren finally asked.

“Analytical perception and cognition. I’m good at solving problems that I’m educated on.” Red Field felt a smile on his face as he spoke. He loved talking about his talent and he even sat up in his bed a little bit. “I spent a while studying my mark, and I realized that it represents how I function best in an environment that runs on solid facts and end goals.” The sorrow of the day lifted and he spoke more freely. “I do very well when given information and time to process-”

“Yeah great.” Black Rain said. “You know that like, none of that matters in Gale Force right?” Red Field’s smile left him. Black Rain shrugged. “Look, I’ve seen some dumbasses make it here because they were strong and did what their COs said. But those guys are strong. You’re not.” The words brought reinforcement to the impression of the day and Red Field felt his eyes begin to swim again. Black Rain walked back to his bed and laid down. “Orange told me how you did today and,” He sighed, “Jesus Christ.” Black Rain pulled the blanket around his heavy frame, squeaking the metal bedframe. “We have PD tomorrow, let’s turn in early.”

“Shit, yeah. Sip, hit the lights.” Bren said. The room clicked into darkness and the ponies shifted themselves about in their beds. The chirping of crickets radiated through the walls and Red Field also heard soft pat of warm teardrops rolling from his snout and landing on the thin mattress. The only adage that came to mind was actually a mining proverb he had heard in Rockvale.

All the picks, plywood and pyro in the world won’t make a mine. Ponies make mines.

Up then, that proverb had meant nothing to him.

Endurance, dedication and intelligence wouldn’t make him a soldier, being a stallion would make him a soldier. And Red Field was not a stallion.

Red Field’s stomach hurt, his legs wobbled, and a miserable frown fixed to his face. He jogged alongside the rest of the aspiring cloppers toward another day of exertion. Agent Orange was describing the forest to them.
Red Field lent only a little attention to listening to retain the concepts and keywords; Agent Orange’s “lecture” was not particularly erudite.

“Lotta genders been reassigned in these trees.” Agent Orange galloped backward over a small boulder. “Lotta pussies been discovered here.” Red Field’s hoof swiped the granite and he staggered a few steps. “Beast is more than just getting thick. Take a look around you.” Red Field kept his eyes on the path. “This is the one place in Equestria where you can learn everything you need to know about being a soldier. You guys are going to be learning concealment, assaulting positions, doing land nav, and a whole bunch of other shit right here.”

“Also, it’s worth noting.” Agent White spoke now. “There are no venomous snakes or insects in this forest. But if you get hurt, it’s a long limp back to base. Or if it’s serious, we have an old stretcher at the course that your teammates can carry you back on.” The irony in the medic’s laugh was uncomfortably unamusing. Agent Orange shared in the laugh.

“But hopefully nopony gets hurt today.” The sleepy cadets didn’t offer an inquiry about the day and he continued after a brief pause. “We’re doing the ropes course.” Red Field’s stomach turned in instinctive terror.

The forest was primarily flat, with a few knolls rolling past the cadets. However the ropes course had been leveled and cleared. The clearing was about thirty meters square and ten or so logs were dug into the ground in a random pattern. Suspended from the logs was a predictable mess of dark brown ropes.

Red Field had never been exposed to any unreasonable heights in Rockvale, except once. On a class trip out to a Talie mine, he and the other students had been afforded the chance to peer down into the black abyss that held their prospective careers. The mine had been pitch black and Red Field stared and stared and stared into the chasm, trying to understand it. Then he had seen the tiny pinprick of orange that his teacher explained was a torch. The awful wash of petrifying relativity that accompanies grasping the magnitude of such a drop had imprinted itself in his mind. And after reading up on the correlation between intellect and degree of fear of heights, Red Field had come to terms with never pondering any heights that would allow him to double in speed before landing.

“Twenty meters high.” Agent Orange unlocked a rusted metal chest sitting beneath one of the logs. Red Field stared up at the ropes, which swayed in the morning breeze. He wondered what would happen when Agent Orange found out he would not be climbing. The sergeant hauled out a gnarled mass of harnesses and karabiners. He dumped the wadded materials to the ground and faced the cadets.

“Drop and gimme forty while I sort this out.”

As the group slowly pumped out pushups, Red Field began to hear that he was not alone in his fear.

“No way I’m going up there. I can’t keep my balance through all that.” The pony next to him said. Red Field’s snout bobbed into the dust, then rose upward as he looked at the course above him. About forty meters of suspended rope sashayed to and fro in the air; Red Field hadn’t even thought of how poor his own equilibrium was. He too was glad he wasn’t going up there.

“Right!” Agent Orange dumped the first freed harness down in the dust, the thick metal clasps clinked like a guillotine. “Who’s up first?” He asked the prone ponies. They sat up, but none volunteered. “Not talkative OR bold, Jesus, you wonder why none of you are going to make UAT.” He clopped his hooves. “Okay then!” He pointed to Red Field. “Thanks for volunteering, show the rest of these foals how it’s done.”

“N-no sir.” Red Field’s voice cracked. Agent Orange seemed prepared for this and shook his head as he started toward the balking cadet.

“Nope, can’t back out of volunteering.” He reached Red Field and jerked him to his hooves. “I’ll help you hook up.”

“N-no.” Red Field said. Agent Orange pushed him toward the harness.

“I said, you can’t un-volunteer.” The sergeant said. He picked up the harness and started to orient it over Red Field.

“I didn’t volunteer!” Red Field squeaked. Agent Orange dropped the harness onto Red Field.

“One more time cadet and you’re out.” A breeze lifted some of the slate colored dust up against Red Field’s hooves and he realized that everypony was staring at him. He swallowed and became mute from shame. Agent Orange snapped the clasps onto him and tugged him toward the first pillar.

“Please.” Red Field whimpered. Agent Orange connected the harness to a rope which ran up the log.

“Okay!” Agent Orange addressed the spectating cadets. “We’re gonna be running this a couple of times today, slowest time gets dropped from Beast.” Red Field’s terror had already climaxed, and this new element of competition produced no response from him. “Head on up!”

The bent metal prongs serving as a ladder were flaking with rust; Red Field was so scared with the ascent that he only made the cursory assessment that they might be structurally deficient. Each time his hoof clinked against the metal, Red Field grew more and more numb. He rose up the pole like a mechanical infant, extending one leg, then the next. Once at the top, his terror grew into a storm.

The day was not particularly windy, but Red Field was now above the tree line and short bursts of wind ruffled his mane. He looked around the green fuzz of the leafy forest canopy. His eyes dipped. Red Field’s hooves grew moist and he clung to the pole. The cadets looked like small seated mice, and again the terrible relativity of a great height overwhelmed him.

“First set of ropes, timer starts once you get out there.” Agent Orange called up. A gust of wind caught Red Field and he realized he was covered in sweat. He looked forward and saw a single rope swaying before him. Above that was the cable to which the harness was connected. He had nowhere to go but forward.

Slowly raising himself up to the apex of the log, he eased his fore-hooves into the air. They caught the bobbing cable and he knit them tightly. He looked down at the seated mice. Then up at the rope. Red Field placed a shaking hoof onto the rope, which instantly jerked to the right. He flipped in response and the blood rushed to the left side of his face. Red Field stared down at the mice. The mice stared back.

The cable and rope distanced themselves more, and Red Field spread-eagled further. The world pulsed and throbbed to the beat of his galloping blood and Red Field realized he was whimpering again. Another cry of “Jesus Christ” rose up to him.

“Cadet! This is a competition, of which you are a part. Get your ass moving!” Agent Orange called up to him. Red Field’s mind grew numb to the degree in which he was essentially deaf, mute and blind to everything save the ambient notion of petrification. He icily slid a hoof forward, and the rope jiggled in response. He eased the next hoof forward. Eventually, he reached the next log and Red Field took hold of the wood.

“Cadet! That took you three minutes, for Christ’s sake, you better not take that long for the next section!” Agent Orange feigned exasperation, but Red Field heard the laughter in his voice. The numbness stoppered Red Field’s emotions and he looked ahead to the next section. It looked identical to the previous section, except that this rope was at chest height.
“Inverted climb, that means-”

Red Field knew exactly what it meant.

His mane became a forest around his vision and Red Field stared ahead toward the pole that pointed to the sky below him. Each time he plucked a hoof from the cable from which he was suspended like a bat, the entire rope swayed back and forth. Even through the haze of fright, which was deafening, Red Field could still make out the biting burns that the slowly passing rope left on his thighs. By the time he reached the log and clumsily reverted himself, the pain was so great that he had forgotten all about being afraid. The white skin had been scrubbed away by the rough, thatch-like weave and as he clung to the pole, the rough wood rubbed his wounds. He ground his teeth together.

“Cadet! Three more sections! You’re four minutes behind, hurry your ass up!” This time the laughter was easily audible, as the other ponies watched the struggling cadet scrape his leg and cry out.

Red Field grew numb to the numbness now. The fear became rote and the pain in his legs took precedence in his mind. His focus sharpened and he flew through the next few sections which were basic evaluations of varying forms of equilibrium. He was clamoring down the final log when Agent Orange greeted him.

“Jesus Christ cadet, my stopwatch-” Began Agent Orange.

Red Field jumped the last two rungs.

“Who is Jesus Christ?!” Red Field hadn’t even realized he was angry and the outraged question startled him almost as much as it startled Agent Orange.

“Wh-” Agent Orange blinked and took a step back as the demand hit him. “I,” he thought for a moment, “well I’m not sure. He makes a nice swear, that’s good enough for me.”

Red Field started to notice just how angry he was. The world tilted beneath his hooves and he felt sweat rolling down his body. He couldn’t feel the burns on his legs or even the notion that Agent Orange might fail him for impudence. Agent Orange took hold of him and started to undo the harness. Agent Orange shouted for the next cadet to ready up.

“Go for a mile run.” The harness lifted free of Red Field’s back and the cool air assuaged his sweaty suffocated skin.

“What?” Red Field asked.

“Go for a mile run. This is your only warning.” Agent Orange shouted for the next cadet to “get their ass up here.”

“What?” Red Field repeated. Agent Orange shoved him toward the treeline.

“You need to learn to can that attitude cadet, now get your ass on a run.”

Red Field had no idea how to calculate a mile. The woods were nondescript. There wasn’t a damned way he could accurately measure a mile in the foliage. His legs burned with each step. The climb had drained all of his stamina and he ambled along like a zombie.
Red Field had every right to be outraged and he exercised each with indignant relish.

Agent Orange had not given him adequate instruction, practically destroyed his performance by shouting obscenities every ten seconds and had finally sent him for a run for asking a legitimate question.

Red Field wondered if maybe he had asked whether or not Agent Orange had been able to see his the end of his colon from the position of his head, then the punishment would have made sense. But as always, it wasn’t about a rational process with Gale Force. Red Field jumped a log and decided to base his mile on time and head back in ninety or so seconds.

Something caught his hind leg and he jackknifed into the creeping Charlie. His face landed in a soft pile of what he hoped was mud and Red Field’s senses throbbed with the impact.

“Who the hell is this?” Whispered a voice behind him.

“The fuck?” Asked another.

Red Field was shaking from the fall as he started to rise up. Something grabbed him by the shoulders, flipped him over and clamped a hoof over his mouth. His captor dragged him back toward the log. The hooves gripping him were smudged green and brown and smelled like camphor. In a second, the pony shoved him into the mildewed crevice under the log. Two stallions lay under the log, one was a thin pony who wore a woodland outfit rimmed with fronds, and the other was a bulky mustang who was currently restraining Red Field.

“The hell is this?” The thin one asked.

“Red Field.” Red Field’s voice was a desperate, expiring sigh as the weight of the larger pony compressed his lungs. “I’m sorry for-” the soldier atop him again clamped a hoof over his mouth.

“Shit.” The thin pony whispered. “Contact rear.” Nopony spoke and the pair held their breath. Red Field heard nothing save the creak of poplars and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“Fuck.” Said the mustang. He rolled over and thumped the other pony. “You take the kid, I’ll button hook right, break contact. Secondary regroup location. Drop ten seconds after me.” He was still muttering curses as he quietly slipped out from under the log. The mustang was only about ten meters from the log when a long string of what sounded like mechanical flatulence rang out amidst the trees. The mustang bolted suddenly and vanished into the undergrowth.

“Dammit!” Whispered the other pony. “Go.” He rolled off of Red Field and shoved him out from under the log.
Red Field’s camouflaged captor galloped directly behind him, spurring him on like a jockey. Red Field sprinted through the trees as several more strings of popping and snarfing rattled the woods around them.
“Pull up here!” Shouted the pony as Red Field leaped a sunken boulder. Red Field frightfully clung to the side that faced away from the snarfs as the pony drew up against him. “Shit! Where’s the-” Something wet and viscous wapped into the rock before Red Field’s nose. As he recovered from his flinch, he saw a dollop of blue paint trickling down the grey slate. His captor swung around and suddenly pulled Red Field to his chest like a beach towel. “You’ll never take me alive!” The thin pony shouted to the unseen foes.

Red Field caught sight of about ten ponies peering out from behind trees and from under the carpet of undergrowth. They wore shaded gas masks and for a split second they stared at the strange white unicorn spread across the soldier. Red Field heard a loud pop over his ear and the gas masked ponies tightened themselves against the trees. Something hit his thigh, it stung like an oversize bee sting and he was just tilting his head to check the injury when another hit him, then seven, then twelve. In a moment a swarm of invisible, paint-filled bees assaulted him and he screamed. The pony wasn’t holding him anymore and Red Field fell to the ground in a stinging, whimpering ball.

“P-please stop, don’t, please.” All of the imaginable phrases regarding surrender and pleas for mercy were spilling from him as somepony yanked him to his hooves. He heard laughing, and beneath the multiple levels of fear, a part of Red Field was very unsurprised.

“Who the hell is this?” One of the ponies had removed his mask and it was cocked atop his head like a butyl medusa. He was looking into Red Field’s face, yet Red Field got the impression he wasn’t being spoken to.

“Goddamn.” Somepony pushed through the group of soldiers. It was the slim, frond-fringed pony that had first captured Red Field. His green suit was mottled and speckled with almost as many multicolored splats of paint as Red Field’s body.

“Yeah I don’t know. Motherfucker jumped our hide like a steeplechase and we figured he was onea you.”

“Not us.” Somepony said.

“Who the hell are you kid?” The frond-covered pony asked Red Field.

“What in the hell is going on here?” A rich green stallion who stood a head and shoulders over the other ponies pushed his way into the group. Red Field recognized Bombs Away as the commander caught his shoulder. “Who are you and how did you get here?”

“N-nothing sir!” He blurted out. “I mean, I’m-”

“Name, rank.” Said Bombs Away.

“I’m Red Field sir, I’m a Cavalry cadet. I was just out for a run and somepony tripped me. I’m sorry sir.”

“Cadet this is an Urban Assault Team; they’re out here training to conduct operations that will prevent soldiers like you from ever having to see combat. What in God’s name are you doing out here interrupting that training?”

“No sir nothing.” The attention of the group rested on him and Red Field began to stick under the pressure. “Nothing, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Where’s your training group?”

“I was out taking the ropes training, then I was told to run a mile. I was just trying to go back.”

“That explains it.” Bombs Away turned to the Urban Assault ponies. “Run it again.” He looked back to Red Field. “Cadet! Come with me.”

Neither spoke as they walked.

Gale Force Company’s commander led Red Field through the forest. The paint splattered across Red Field’s body was filming over and each step caused the scabbed liquid to reopen and drip down his body. Red Field itched horrendously.

Red Field had noticed a trend in the events of Gale Force: First he was assigned some difficult task which he failed, then he was reprimanded without adequate instruction on what to do on his next effort(various states of shock and terror were randomly interspersed). Nothing ever went well at Gale Force, so Red Field’s degree of surprise only rose a little when Bombs Away brought him back to the ropes course and flagged down Agent Orange to inform him of Red Field’s infraction.

“Bombs Away!” Agent Orange saluted his commanding officer. “We’re running the first of the ropes,” he noticed Red Field. A look of dread came to his face as he pointed to the paint-stained cadet. “Shit, did he-”

“We were running a basic evasion Sergeant. Your colt here broke in and turned it into a hostage rescue.” Bombs Away pushed Red Field toward Agent Orange like a dog he had found digging in his garden. “You weren’t supposed to be running anypony in that area today.”

“Apologies sir, he mouthed off and I just sent him for-”

“Not keeping a hoof on your cadets is no excuse for sending them off to interrupt the training of the other wings, sergeant.” Bombs Away said. “Deal with the infraction properly and don’t send any more of your ponies off into Macmillan on runs.”

Bombs Away walked back toward the forest. Both Red Field and Agent Orange stared after him, before Agent Orange grabbed Red Field by the shoulder.

“You get to administration back at base and let them know you fucked up cadet.” He said through his teeth. “And don’t you dare think about changing your story or I’ll throw your ass out of this program right fucking now.”

“Where is that?” Red Field asked. Agent Orange closed his eyes and sighed.

“Jesus Christ, it’s where you got your Goddamn ID.”

Agent White shouted for Agent Orange and he looked back to the training he was supposed to be administering. Another cadet clung to the top of the second pole in the course, paralyzed with fright and unwilling to budge. The orange stallion sighed and muttered another Jesus Christ and started toward his primary occupation. Red Field only stood for a few seconds this time; he was getting used to Gale Force and was learning to operate on an information-scarce basis.

The walk back to the compound at least gave him time to wipe off most of the paint and stagnate in his misery. The gooey paint smeared and soon Red Field ended up looking like a pony-shaped compress of tutti-frutti. Every hour dug him deeper into the pit of mistakes and inadequacies that he would have to eventually face up to if he actually made it through Beast.

He’d have to get fit; Red Field wasn’t sure if he was genetically viable for the degree of fitness that “clopping” would demand. Then he’d have to make an astounding turnaround in his interactions with his superiors; Red Field worried that first impressions were the only impressions in Gale Force and he would be relegated to indefinite disapproval from the officers and instructors.

Red Field reached the edge of the depression that sloped down to the base. He stopped and looked out over the buildings. Red Field thought back when he’d quit. He remembered standing outside of his home.

“He doesn’t want to be anything but smart.” He could still hear Cyrus' certain, hopeless words.

Red Field started down the hill. Nothing Gale Force threw at him could hurt more than the thought of going home and knowing those words were correct.
Red Field reached the green yurt of a building and politely knocked on the frosted glass window. A formal “come in” emanated from the door and Red Field stepped inside. The windowless room was dark and cool and Red Field took a few tentative steps forward.

“Uh, I’d like to report an infraction. I was told that I needed to-”

“I see, take a seat please.” As Red Field’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the gloom pulled away and he saw a lone pony sitting behind one of the desks. “What kind of infraction?” Asked Flashpoint.

The pressed plywood chair dug into Red Field’s back and the glow of a reading lamp that had seen far too many years of work illuminated the desk between the two. Flashpoint had pulled from a drawer a small, pink sheet and was now scribbling Red Field’s ID number onto the sheet with a ballpoint pen.

“Nature of your infraction?” Flashpoint was still writing.

“The,” Red Field hesitated and his tongue stopped in mid vocalization. “I was participating in the ropes course-”

“Which one?” Red Field hesitated again.

“The first one, we’ve only done one. I was atop one of the poles that we were to climb.” Red Field realized that he wasn’t sure where the infraction had occurred. “I wasn’t performing satisfactorily, and I had difficu-”

“Did you complete the course in the allotted time?”

“Yes, I think? I was first so I don’t know if my time was the-”

“Did you suffer a medical emergency during or after the exercise?” Flashpoint still hadn’t looked up from the pink page.

“No sir, I was just afraid of heights.”

“Cadet.” Flashpoint looked up at Red Field. Their eyes met and Red Field’s stomach turned as the dark stallion recognized him. “Please tell me what happened.” Red Field had no idea what he should confess, and Agent Orange would undoubtedly be on the lookout for any misreporting.

“I complete the course, and I, as I dismounted.” Red Field swallowed, drawing a bit of dust that was swirling around the lamp into his mouth. “And I spoke in a somewhat derogatory manner. I guess I-”

“Cadet, Gale Force is a military institution.” Flashpoint spoke abruptly. “We do not tolerate any form of indiscipline.” He stared directly into Red Field’s face, and Flashpoint’s blue eyes looked almost glazed under the glow of the lamp. “Not because we want to just stick to the rules and ruin anypony’s fun.” He took a sharp breath and continued to watch Red Field. “But because war, and the work of Gale Force tolerate no lack of discipline. You are here to receive training that could very well determine the result of life or death for you and your teammates. If you are serious about becoming a part of the Gale Force Company, you need to radically reevaluate the way you perceive authority. If this is not possible for you, then you are instructed to quit immediately.” Flashpoint hadn’t blinked and his eyes seemed to track every twitch of Red Field’s. “Cadet, this is your first and only warning.” Flashpoint looked back to the paper. “Because Agent Orange did not recommend any specific disciplinary action toward you, and this is your first offense, I will release you with no punishment.” He looked back at Red Field. “However, be advised, very few ponies who mouth off so early make it into this establishment. I strongly suggest you reevaluate your line of thinking.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field’s nod was a nervous tic and he attempted to sound as acknowledging as possible.

“Now please explain why you are covered in paint.” Flashpoint said as he filled out the bottom of the sheet. Red Field began to itch again.

“Agent Orange sent me for a run and I accidentally found my way into another training ground.” Flashpoint seemed indifferent to this additional infraction. He set the piece of paper into an empty file folder and pushed it into the cabinet at his hooves. He looked back to Red Field.

“I see. This has been noted in your record. You are dismissed cadet, shower off and report back to Beast in the morning.”
As Red Field rose out of the chair, his paint-stained back unstuck loudly from wood. The amber shaft of light that greeted him as he opened the door was accompanied by a breath of soothingly fresh air. He was glad to escape.

“Cadet.” Flashpoint reclined in his seat a bit, though he was still staring at Red Field. “What did you say to Agent Orange that upset him?

“I asked him who Jesus Christ was.”

A slight wave of amusement undulated through Flashpoint. He cocked his head and gazed out the door above Red Field’s shoulder.

He looked back to Red Field.

“As I said cadet, I strongly suggest you reevaluate your approach to interaction.” He was laughing. Just a bit.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Red Field mumbled.

The shower was thankfully empty. The tile walls and floors sweat beads of condensation and the cubic room was soon masked with the minor fog that built from a single showerhead. The paint washed off easily, and Red Field watched as the rainbow snaked toward the drain, where it grew to a muddled brown and then sank from sight.

Red Field counted twenty-two welts of varying size and red-pink hue all across his body. He had no idea what he had been shot by. The water awoke the slumbering pain, and each time he bent to scrub himself, the welts became a stinging firework show.

The mess hall was empty. The tables and benches shone with ammonia and the concrete floors were slick from a recent mopping. Steam rose from the empty metal gaps behind the counter in which the basins of food would soon sit. The cooks’ rolling laughter exited the kitchen, along with the pungent and putrid odor of stroganoff. Red Field took a seat on one of the slick benches and slumped forward.

The unicorn studied the speckled face of the table before him and thought about ammonia. He was hungry and sore and his body wanted nothing more than for him to simply quit harassing it.

He knew Agent Orange was going to make his time harder from this day forward as Flashpoint now officially disliked him.
What kind of concentration of ammonia was typically used for institutionally proportioned cleaning? He heard the door to the mess hall clip closed and somepony called into the kitchen about their dinner. Assuming that a certain PPM couldn’t be exceeded- a raucous laugh interrupted his thoughts. Red Field grumbled to himself and restarted his thinking. Assuming that the predetermined PPM cou-

“Hey.” Somepony jiggled his shoulder. A short unicorn, only a little taller than Red Field himself stood next to him. “Can you give me a hoof?” The pony was a light tan, sort of like a toasted marshmallow. His frame lacked any bulk, and was rather svelte, at least relative to the rest of the ponies of Gale Force, although the tell-tale fibers of a workhorse stood out on his legs and shoulders.
However the most prominent feature of this pony was his profuse brown beard that hung from his chin like a stalactite. Red Field had never seen such a beard before and was mesmerized by the bushy hair for a moment.

“’Scuse me?” Asked the pony. "Can you give me a hoof?"

“Yes, absolutely.” Red Field said, trying to draw his attention away from the pony’s beard.
Red Field followed the pony outside.

“I usually get blanks shipments early in the month but for some reason these came today.” The stallion said as they crossed the center of the compound. “’Preciate the help, ‘rest of the guys are out on duty. I only dropped by the mess hall to grab my dinner.” He turned to Red Field. “I’m Site by the way, head of the armory.”

“Red Field, cadet.”

“Oh, nice.” Site chuckled. “I’ve been so busy with refurbs and a few side projects that I didn’t even see that you guys got in.” He looked Red Field over. “What branch are you shooting for?”

“Clopping.” Red Field answered promptly.

“Oh nice.”

They traveled diagonally across the base and toward one of the nondescript metal shacks that sat across from the long line of barracks. To their left stood about twenty or so chariots in a fenced enclosure. Site clutched his plate in his mouth as he fished a ring of keys from the pocket of his cargo pants. Red Field waited as he unlocked the garage door that comprised one wall of the shack. Folding the door upward, Site motioned for Red Field to follow him around the side of the building.

A stack of three wooden crates about half Red Field’s height were piled next to the corrugated metal.

“These right here.” Site took one end of the crate and Red Field gripped the other.
Red Field expected the box to be aggravatingly heavy, but instead the box jumped into the air as he gave it a sharp tug. The contents of the box, which felt like pipes of some kind, knocked around.

“Sorry sir.” Said Red Field.

“They’re wrapped in foam, shouldn’t be too bad.” Said Site with a shrug.

They carried the box into the darkened shack. Red Field saw benches and tables along the walls, and the biting odor of kerosene filled his nose. They set the crate down amidst a hopelessly disorganized heap of other crates and cardboard boxes. Red Field tried to make out the forms of any swords or spears in the gloom; he was curious to see what kinds of weapons Gale Force stocked. Unfortunately Site immediately turned and started for the next crate, and Red Field saw nothing but darkness.
They ferried the next two crates quickly, and as they rested the final container on the concrete, Site gave Red Field a thankful, if somewhat dismissive nod.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Said Red Field and shuffled out of the shack. He looked up and saw a growing stream of ponies walking toward the mess hall. Red Field sighed, then went to join them.

He reached the doors of the hall in an exhausted daze. He had gone back to thinking about his predicament with nearly every aspect of Gale Force. The hall was now packed with loud, bustling soldiers. After Red Field received a plate of eraser-colored stroganoff, he stood for a moment looking over the crowded tables. Somepony bumped into him.

“Heyhey! Siddown here.” Somepony tugged at his right foreleg. An orange earth pony had shifted over on the bench and offered him a miniscule seat along a table packed with cadets. Red Field complacently seated himself alongside the pony, if only to avoid further embarrassment.
Red Field recognized the pony as the one who had helped him up on the first day of Beast.
The pony took a slopping bite of stroganoff, then cleared his throat.
“So, Jesus pony.” He looked at Red Field, grinning. “How’s it going? What happened to you, we saw you come back all covered in paint.” Red Field saw that the rest of the table was watching him with more or less the same expression of anticipated jest.

“Nothing.” Red Field stood up to find another seat.

“Whoa hey, hang on.” The other pony said in semi-apologetic surprise. Red Field ignored him. No matter how willing he was to be berated by his “superiors”, he would not sit around and let his bullish and ignorant peers make fun of him.
He saw literally no other seat in the mess hall; Red Field scanned the room twice.

With the absolute reluctance of an intelligent pony forced to appear shortsighted to a group of peers that already misunderstood him, Red Field sat the hell back down. He clomped his tray down again beside the pony and started to eat again.

“Heh, okay.” The pony laughed a little as Red Field reseated himself. The other cadets were chuckling at him. “So dude, what happened to you? You were like a rainbow pony when you came back.”

“I got caught in a training exercise with some of the other soldiers since I wasn’t told where to run.” He answered with the correct degree of quietness that would downplay the story, yet with enough enunciation that it wouldn’t sound like he was terribly ashamed of the event. As usual, this careful cadence was moot as the ponies erupted into a raucous wave of scornful laughter.

Red Field had finished half his meal and was rapid downing the remainder. Not too fast so as to appear ill at ease, but fast enough that he could escape within thirty or so seconds.

“Saw that commander guy chewing out what’shisface.” The orange pony said, still laughing a bit.

“Agent Orange.” Said one of the other cadets.

“Yeah that’s him, dude’s suuuuch an asshole.” The orange pony said. The other ponies at the table nodded and grunted in agreement. Red Field traced his spoon around the perimeter of the tray, collecting the last of the oily sauce. “Hey thanks for being the first fuckup dude. Now we know what he’s like when pissed.” Red Field took his tray and started away from the table.

Red Field plunked the tray into the soapy basin by the door and walked into the warm summer evening. He heard one of the cadets say “Jesus pony” again.

Red Field went back to thinking about ammonia, specifically its LD50.

Of all of the things Red Field hated about Gale Force Academy, the non-communication was probably the most irksome to him. Besides Beast and meals, there didn’t appear to be anything to do. A group of upperclassmen/prior soldiers engulfed him from behind. They were shouting a strange semi-song as they jogged. They passed around him in a sweaty, smelly stream of stereotypical stallions.

What did his bunkmates do during the day? It sounded like they had jobs of some sort, mechanical probably, in greasy garages with blaring rock music and posters of barely legal fillies. Red Field had acquired his view of manual laborers in his time around Rockvale. Gale Force seemed like the same kind of lifestyle, just with weapons.

He reached his barracks and entered. He hopped atop his bunk and actually managed to slip into a light sheet of sleep. He awoke to the low tones of two bunkmates conversing beneath him.
Siplinski was asking Bren his opinion on something when Red Field swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey.” Bren sounded serious. “Come down here for a sec.” They had heard about his mistake that afternoon. Red Field reluctantly obliged and dismounted the bed.

“What happened this afternoon?” Asked Bren. Red Field had done nothing wrong, and no actual discipline had been administered, yet he was still a little cowed by the seriousness of his squadmates.

“Just, got scared when I was taking the first ropes course. I got a little mad at Agent Orange.”

“Yeah after that.” Siplinski said.

“I accidentally ran into some other guys training.”

“Do you have any idea who the fuck they are?” Asked Bren.

“Their commander was more displeased with Agent Orange for sending me to-”

“Dude shut up.” Bren’s physical anger was much more subtle than the other stallions’. He did not swear or glower quite so much, but Red Field saw his shoulders rising and falling with short breaths and knew the blue unicorn was waiting to add his own spiel to the heap of excoriations. “He’s commander of the UAT. Goddamn it do you know who they are?!”

“Urban Assault Teams.” Red Field said sharply. He knew of the UAT, though little besides. He now attempted to translate what Agent Orange had said about them earlier in the day into something semi-cogent. “Roughly forty ponies, tasked with special operations and procedures, limited deployment. Emphasis on small scale operations with strategic and tactical values.” He was out of information and now attempted to infer meaning from his interactions with them. “Fluid team strategies, modular unit size-”

“Jesus Christ shut up.” Bren said. “You’re totally right, that’s exactly UAT. They’re the best of the best.”

“Unless they’re planning on killing us while we sleep what’s the problem?” Red Field’s confusion gave way to anger; anypony had yet to tell him of any grievous sin he had committed and all of the condescension was unwarranted until then.

“UAT sometimes plays in the war games. They always pick whatever side they want.” Siplinski sounded less angry, but Red Field could see the dismay lining his face.

“They’re probably going to remember today. They’re going to remember who fucked up their training session and which team you’re on.” Bren said. The damned war game? That was it? The explanation had the opposite effect on Red Field’s guilt; now he was vindicated.

“The war game?” Red Field asked slowly. “That’s what you're so concerned about?”

“Yeah, you know what, fuck it.” Bren said. He pointed to Red Field. “Sip you can deal with this, I’m done.” He started for the door. Siplinski shook his head and followed after Bren.

Red Field’s blood went cold as they left.

“Er, I’m sorry!” He said, running after them.

He bolted toward the door to speak to them. It swung open as he reached it. The wood edge caught his snout and he recoiled into the side of the sink. The metal sank into his flank and both ends of his body burned in pain. Black Rain didn’t seem to notice Red Field and walked toward his bunk. Red Field’s eyes were watering from the sting and he was wiping them as Black Rain turned.

“Hey.” The dark pony wasn’t particularly talkative that night. Red Field thought perhaps he should apologize to him first, especially since the war games would no doubt hold quite a bit of meaning for the surly unicorn.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry but-” Red Field hadn’t the slightest idea as to how to phrase his apology properly. “I know you’ve probably heard that I was-” Black Rain pulled open the drawer aside his bed, rifled through it, then yanked it from the stand. He lifted a thin black case from drawer and started back toward the door. “Excuse me.” Red Field fell into step with him. “I know I messed up this afternoon but I want you to know I’m terribly sorry.” Black Rain opened the door slightly, then hung his head.

“Kid, stop, just stop okay?” His deep voice was the epitome of exasperation and instead of looking to Red Field, he stared at the door before him. “Me and Sip and Bren’ll be back later tonight. For God’s sake just stop doing anything okay?”

Red Field took a step back.

“Okay.” He said softly. A light buffeting of warm air wafted in as Black Rain departed with the other two members of barracks six. Then the dark coolness of the empty barracks overtook Red Field. He reached for the door, then stopped.

The hoofbeats of the three faded away.

Why had he forgotten to respect the game?

His flank rubbed the side of the bunk as he climbed back into bed. He would just wait until they got back to apologize. He started to think on everything that had happened earlier in the day; Red Field was asleep in a minute.

When he awoke, the barracks was dark and still. The day outside was just growing light and he could see everything in the barracks without squinting, including the empty bunks of his comrades. His heart jumped.
He had slept in and missed Beast.

He tore off the blankets and leaped from the bunk. Throwing open the door, Red Field looked toward the gate where the cadets would assemble. The sky lingered in twilight. The sun hadn’t risen at all and the light came merely from the preemption of the sunrise. A few soldiers patrolling the perimeter talked and yawned peacefully as they passed by. Red

Field breathed a nearly orgasmic sigh at not having missed training. He looked back.

Where was everypony? The beds of the rest of Barracks Six didn’t even appear to have been slept in. Siplinski’s nightstand had the plastic beetle of an alarm clock on it and Red Field read the time. He had about forty minutes before sunrise and the next day of his training.

Had they left him?
The mess hall doors were open, but the hulking forms of the stallions mashing up the day’s breakfast in the kitchen were absent. The exhaustion of inadequate sleep hung over Red Field and he took a seat at the nearest bench.

Why had he awoken so early?
He started thinking on how to avoid being picked first by Agent Orange for any more training sessions. Could he meet with Bombs Away to apologize? How should he apologize to the rest of his barracks? With the regularity resembling that of a physical constant, he came to somepony’s attention. Somepony tapped his shoulder and Red Field sighed.

“Cadet, breakfast isn’t for another thirty three minutes.” Flashpoint seemed like a physical constant, his appearance wasn’t haggard from the early hour and his squared disposition was unaltered from the day before. “Please explain what you are doing here.”

“Sorry sir, I was just up early.” Red Field said, rising out of his seat. “I apologize if I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I see.” Flashpoint looked past Red Field and started for a bench across the room. The simple excuse appeared to have satisfied him. Flashpoint carried a small black box slung over a shoulder. A worn cloth rolled up like a sleeping bag hung from his side. He walked to a table and took a seat.

Setting both the cloth and the box before him, Flashpoint reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a small book, which he began to read. Red Field watched him for a moment then returned to thought.

Flashpoint was a soldier. Clearly he would tolerate no perceived insubordination and Red Field started to devise cogent apologies and requests for clarification to apply to the stark officer. Red Field looked back up to the stallion across the room; what was he doing? Red Field watched Flashpoint for the next few minutes. The grey unicorn scanned the pages with the visible engagement of a rock. Eventually he set the book down and placed his hooves on the table. He looked straight ahead.

Somepony entered the cafeteria behind Red Field and called to Flashpoint. The pony was another officer that Red Field hadn’t seen before. He too wore a clean uniform and tightened expression. Flashpoint rose, walked past Red Field and left with the officer. Neither said anything to Red Field. Red Field was glad for that.

The opening jog to their next exercise wiped away the last traces of foggy exhaustion and left Red Field with just a dull ache in his stomach to indicate that he had not slept well. His canteen bumped and sloshed against his side as he trailed behind the crowd of cadets jogging into the forest.

According to Agent Orange, today was day one of land nav.

“There’s actually two war games in the training year.” Agent Orange called as he ran backwards through the foliage. “First is team one on team two.” A few whoops and shouts of agreement rose from the cadets who had grown team loyalty in their few days at Gale Force. “Team One has most of the Pegasi and like a lot of the EODs.” He grinned dubiously. “But we don’t fight in Cloudsdale or Cantorlot.” He kicked the thick trunk of an oak tree. “We fight in the fuckin’ forest, and more often than not, it’s the team that’s better at land nav that wins.”

They ran for another half an hour and he continued to describe the factors that decided what team won the war games. Finally, they stopped at a dilapidated wooden fort that barely contained all of the cadets. The wooden palisade walls were rotting and the structure didn’t even have a roof. Agent Orange shoved his way through the milling ponies until he found a moldy folding table which he opened in the center of the cadets and used as a podium.

“Cadets, atten-” Red Field had read enough books about armies to know to stand still before the final syllable. The group took a few moments to discard their conversations and Agent Orange frowned disapprovingly at the ponies beneath him. “A message going forward for you cadets: When I say attention, I get your attention. Or you get kicked out of Beast and Gale Force. First part of land nav is simple traversal; you can’t move through Equestria if you don’t know how to move through a forest. We’re starting simple cadets but I’ll still throw your asses out if you fuck up.” He clopped his hooves. “Get into teams of four cadets, thirty seconds.”

In a second the group began to converse and attempt to arrange its membership into increments of four. The ponies around Red Field were asking one another names and hurriedly forming groups; nopony asked Red Field. He resigned himself to another berating from Agent Orange since he didn’t particularly want to ask anypony if he could join them.

“Hey, you, Jesus pony.” Somepony grabbed him by the withers and tugged him backward. It was the pony that had named him from the day before. “You want to join our group?”

“Time! Let me see those groups!” Shouted Agent Orange. The cadets hurriedly ranked themselves and Agent Orange perused the groups.
He noticed an odd cadet.
“Cadet, where’s your group?” The cadet said he hadn’t found one.

After forty pushups performed before his silent teammates, the cadet was sent to a group of three and labeled a “dumbass.” Agent Orange saw Red Field and called to him.

“Cadet! Group!” Said Agent Orange as Red Field pulled up beside the orange pony.

“Here sir.”

“Great.” Agent Orange turned his attention to the crowd again. “One cadet from each group takes one of these.” He took the pack from his back and unzipped it. Setting it at his hooves, Agent Orange pulled a bundle of worn laminate sheets from the pouch.

After the maps had been distributed, Agent Orange again clopped his hooves.

“There’s three locations you need to make in any order before heading back in to base.” He pointed to the gate that led out of the fort and into the forest. “Nopony skips a location. Nopony uses any spells or magic and nopony takes longer than 2200 to make it back to base or they’re getting kicked, got it?” The cadets murmured their submissive understanding, but at least one of them had the courage to ask what Red Field was wondering.

“Sir! Where are we now?”

“It wouldn’t be land navigation if you knew that.” Said Agent Orange with a smirk.

“All right, let’s get out of here.” The orange pony held the map and he led Red Field and the other two ponies out of the compound. Some of the other groups had already rushed into the woods in an effort to gain a head start, while others waited inside the walls and reviewed the map. Red Field hoped his team would follow the latter example. “Okay, so, let’s do names.” The orange pony put a hoof to himself. “I’m Blue Streak, yeah I know, weirdass name but it’s whatever.”

“I’m Fit Finish.” Said a white unicorn who sounded quite a lot like Full Wing.

“Ah’m Apple Core.” The rich green pony with an apple core Cutie Mark said.

“My name is-”

“Jesus pony.” Said Fit Finish with a laugh. Red Field’s face burned as the others laughed a little bit. “You’re Jesus pony.”

“Right so,” Blue Streak held up the map, “we need to figure out where we are.”

“Let’s just start walking, we’ll run into something on that map eventually.” Fit Finish said.

“I think we should try and get our bearings.” Red Field said, eager to avoid getting more lost. Blue Streak looked to Apple Core.

“What about you?” He asked.

“Ah’m good with whutever, let’s just get goin’.” He said.

“All right, let’s just start walking.” Blue Streak said.

Of course they started walking.

Over the course of the next half an hour, the group had passed five or six potential landmarks that Red Field could have probably identified had he been given the map. The heat of the day had peaked and the forest steamed and choked the bumbling cadets. Apple Core tripped on a hidden root and fell.

“Shit we’re not headed in the right direction.” Said Blue Streak, bringing the map into a patch of the dappled sunlight. “We need to be here, or here, or here.”

“Lemme see that.” Fit Finish took the map. “Easy, we just walk until we hit the river that runs right through the middle of the forest. Then we follow it down to this like bunker thing and then from there we head to the first place.” He gave the map back to Blue Streak. “This is easy.” He said with the certainty of a pony who wasn’t aware of which side of said river he was on. “Apple, you okay?” Apple Core was pulling himself out of the weeds.

“Eyeah ah’m fahn, let’s just get goin’ agin.” He said, wiping some mud off of his body.

“Where’s Jesus pony? Did we lose him already?” Asked Fit Finish with a chuckle.

“Naw he’s right behind you.” Said Blue Streak. Fit Finish looked back to Red Field.

“Oh hey, glad you’re still here. We’d probably get a penalty for losing you or something.”

After another hour of walking, all four ponies were scraped, bruised and out of water. Red Field trailed behind the other three, especially Fit Finish, who ran further and further ahead with each passing minute.

“I hear water, come on!” Called Fit Finish.

“Yeah, sure you do.” Blue Streak muttered. “Goddamn it, how did we miss the river?”

Red Field could have very well told him they had never missed something that had always been behind them, but he was hot, stinging and not keen on his nickname. They could all fail together.

“We gotta hit it sometahm raght?” Asked Apple Core.

“Psh, not with this dumbass leading us.” Said Blue Streak. Fit Finish called that he heard rushing water. “Yeah, okay.” Called back Blue Streak. “What time do you think it is?” He asked Apple Core. “We’ve got to be way behind the other teams.”
Red Field knew the time was between 12:00 and 1:00 given the position of the sun, and of course they were behind; they were being led by an imbecile.

“Hey move your asses, it’s right up ahead!” Shouted Fit Finish.

“All right fine!” Shouted Blue Streak. “Goddamn it I’m gonna take the map back after this shit.” He said as they galloped ahead to Fit Finish’s “river”.

“Those two’re a couplea jackasses.” Apple Core said to Red Field. "Glad ah at least got somepony with a brain."

“No shit. I’m Red Field by the way.”

“Kahnda wondered whut ya’ll’s real name was.” Apple Core said.

They had found a cliff. Instead of rushing water, Fit Finish had heard the sounds of a dry wind whipping over the rocky ledge that hung over the seemingly infinite sands of the Neigharan Desert. Fit Finish and Blue Streak were already arguing when the pair reached them. Red Field stood back, waiting for the pair to finish their fighting when Apple Core stepped past him and approached the two.

“Shut the hell up botha ya’ll.” Apple Core’s accent flexed with frustration at the squabbling ponies. “Ya’ll ain’t found shit.”

“He hasn’t found shit, I didn’t get a chance.” Said Blue Streak.

“Ya’ll had yer chance, gimme the map.” Apple Core snatched the map from Fit Finish. “And nao we got no ahdea where were are.” He shook his head. “We could be on any edge a’ this damn forest.” He looked back to Red Field. “Ya’ll any good with maps? It mahght as well be ya’ll’s turn.”

“We have to be on the western side since we came to the cliff before the river.” Red Field looked up along the cliff. Trees and mosses obscured his view of the outline. “There’s nothing to tell us where along the cliff we are so it’s best to just go back.” Blue Streak started to interrupt him but Red Field spoke over him. “There looks to be,” he squinted at the map, “that looks like a logging camp, that’s a bunker, and this is a little marsh.” He held out the map to his cohorts. “If we run into or see any one of these, we’ll have our bearings. If not, we walk until we hit the river and follow it down to this little dam.”

“Go back the way we came and just keep wandering around. That sounds great.” Said Fit Finish. The thought dawned on Red Field that neither Blue Streak nor Fit Finish particularly liked him, and that showing up their cartography skills was not helping his case. However he was thirsty and losing his patience with his companions’ idiocy and he began to ask aloud about how it was that Fit Finish had mistaken a sirocco for a river and if that qualified him to judge the validity of his comrades’ plans.

"Alraght, sounds good, lets go, we’re losin’ daylahght.” Apple Core said before Red Field could say anything.

“Yeah let’s go, we’re way behind.” Blue Streak said and stepped around both Red Field and Fit Finish. Red Field followed him, and Fit Finish brought up the rear.

Red Field had never taken any classes in cartography. Nor had he joined Rockvale’s chapter of the Coltscouts. But imagining himself as a point of undetermined location on a map didn’t require any sort of concentration. As they walked, he kept watch for any signs of the landmarks on the map.

They reached the marsh first. Apple Core’s hooves sank into the spongy ground and he motioned for the group to stop.

“Ahraght, we’re at the marsh, nao let’s figure out where t’go from here.”

From the marsh, the group spent another twenty minutes traversing the forest before they came to their first checkpoint. It was represented on the map by a simple blue dot and Red Field wasn’t particularly sure what they were looking for. The cadets had searched for some time and only when Red Field caught the sound of some ponies talking that they found the first checkpoint.

The blue dot on the map represented a thick pillar of rebar painted a bright blue that stood amidst a few pines. Two camouflaged soldiers were leaned up against the surface and were conversing as the group popped out of the forest.

“Took you long enough.” Said one. “You guys are the last group; you better hustle up.”

“Who’s your leader?” Asked the other, noticing the discord within the group.

“Ah am.” Apple Core said over both Fit Finish and Blue Streak.

“Really?” The second soldier pointed to Red Field. “Then why is he carrying your map?”

“Ah jus’, he was-”

“If you’re leading these soldiers.” The stallion snatched the map from Red Field and held it toward Apple Core. “Then typically you lead them. Not follow somepony else.”

A chuckle escaped one of the two ponies who weren’t Red Field or the “leader” and the first soldier pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in a reaction of feigned surprise.

“Sounds like you have a discipline problem too, better sort that out if you want to make it back in time.”

“Ah, eyeah, we’ll kin do that. Sorry sir.” Said Apple Core.

“Hey don’t apologize to me, it’s your guys’ asses that are on the line here.” Said the pony, resuming his reclined position.

They waited for a moment as Apple Core realized he was making the decisions now. He turned back to Red Field.

“Uh, ya’ll,” he looked back to the two soldiers, “kin ya’ll advahse me on this?” He asked carefully. Red Field looked back to the two soldiers to see if this would violate some rule. Neither seemed interested in the cadets and Red Field glanced down at the map.

“We’re,” He thought for a moment and realized he still had no idea which side of the pillar they were on. “Which way is north?” He asked the soldiers without thinking.

The two looked at him, then laughed.

“Maws always grows on the north sidea trees.” Apple Core said pointing to one of the pines.

“Okay!” Red Field didn’t bother asking why Apple Core hadn’t mentioned that earlier and he perused their options. “We should,” he caught himself, “I advise we move that way.”

“Alrahgt!” Apple Core said with a grin. “’S go!”

They made a good team. Red Field wouldn’t have believed any relative of the Tartlets could be so cooperative, but the green pony and he made quick work of the next leg of the journey. Both Fit Finish and Blue Streak whispered to one another the entire trip and followed with a minimal degree of cooperation. However for the first time in his life, Red Field wasn’t bothered by the slander of other ponies. As impossible as it was, Red Field felt himself feeling some camaraderie toward another stallion.

“Whut’re we lookin’ for?” Apple Core asked as he mantled a fallen tree and turned to assist his navigator.

“That.” Said Red Field. The Apple turned to look where Red Field was pointing. Rising out of the undergrowth and culminating in a wooden apex, was a pile of logs painted green. It was off to their right side and Red Field instantly saw his navigation had been off by about ten degrees. However Apple Core didn’t seem to care about the miscalculation and he bolted toward the two soldiers leaned against the stack.

“All right, you guys are third to last so you need to haul ass on your remaining objectives.” One of the soldiers said.

“Yessirs!” Apple Core said. “Red, ‘s go.”

“Whoa, you think you have everything?” Asked the second stallion, stepping off of the logs. Red Field hurriedly produced the map.

“Yes! I’m advising him you see, I just-”

“Not that, a couple of things that walk on four hooves maybe?” Asked the soldier. Red Field and Apple Core looked back.

Fit Finish and Blue Streak were nowhere in sight.

“Fuck.” Apple Core muttered as he ran back the along their path. He was followed closely by Red Field. Apple Core, having no idea where his teammates might be, began to shout their names as they retreaded their journey. “Ah’m gonna skin those clowns alahve.”

In five minutes they found their lost teammates. The two ponies were resting beside a tree and didn’t appear particularly concerned at their separation.

“Whut are ya’ll doin’?!” Apple Core asked. “We gotta get t’the last target.”

“Hey calm down, we stopped to take a break and by the time we got up, we couldn’t see you guys anymore.” Said Blue Streak.

“We thought you’d come back.” Said Fit Finish, who was still lying on his back with his hooves crossed.

“Wha’ the hell didn’t ya’ll come lookin’ fer us?!” Asked Apple Core.

“We got tired, and we were just going to wait until you guys finished and came back for us.” Fit Finish said as he got to his hooves.

“Whut? Ya’ll are the biggest bunch a pansies ah ever seen.” Said Apple Core. Fit Finish, whose opinion of their leader hadn’t grown in their separation, stepped before the country pony.

“Well it took ya’ll a pretty long time to notice we were gone.” He said. “Ain’t too leaderlike of ya’ll now is it?” He said in sudden, yet unsurprising anger.

“Ah didn’t hear ya’ll volunteering to lead us nao did ah?” Said Apple Core.

“Guys, we’re wasting time.” Red Field stepped between the two. “Come on, we need to go.”

“Yeah guys, kill each other after the test, seriously, let’s not lose cause of this okay?” Blue Streak said.

The tenuous truce between Apple Core and Fit Finish lasted the next few hours as the sky began to fade to black. Red Field had forgotten to track their progress on the map and they spent forty five minutes returning their bearings, only to find that their final objective, a group of buildings, lay on the opposite side of the woods. The sun was drifting down to the horizon as the ponies pushed and snagged their way through the underbrush. Red Field had long since lost the ability to read the map and was hoping he hadn’t made any mistakes in the dead reckoning calculation of the final leg of their trek. He walked behind Fit Finish, who walked behind Apple Core.
The four were silent as they marched.

“When’s 2200?” Asked Blue Streak.

“Ten.” Said Red Field. They had to be nearing the deadline. The last rays of the sun were slowly bleeding out orange into the skies above them when Red Field heard the quiet thrash of a river.

They weren’t supposed to be anywhere near the river.

He galloped toward the noise and the other ponies hesitated, then followed their errant navigator.

“Hey! I thought you said it was this way!” Shouted Blue Streak. They reached Red Field. He was standing on the bank of the river.

“I didn’t think this was here, I think we might have taken a wron-”

“Fuck!” Blue Streak tore the map from him. “Goddamn it I knew this was going to happen.” He squinted at the map for only a moment before throwing it to the ground. “Great, I can’t see anything. Now we can’t even figure out how lost you got us!”

“We have to be-” Red Field began.

“Just shut the hell up okay?” Said Fit Finish. They were bathed in the glow of a dim blue light. Emanating from Fit Finish’s horn was a dull illumination spell. Ignoring his comrades, the white pony scooped up the map and began reading it.
Red Field was instantly at his side.

“Whoa back off! You don’t know shit for spells and are the whole reason we’re here in the first place.” He said, giving Red Field a shove.

“Ya’ll let ‘em see the map.” Said Apple Core.

“Hey fuck off captain, you’re not much better.” Said Fit Finish, still trying to pinpoint their position. Apple Core shoved him and the smaller pony stumbled a few steps.

“Whoa cowboy, you want to fight?” Fit Finish said in an eager recitation of a question meant to be asked in surprise.

“Goddamn it stop it both of you.” Blue Streak said. He picked up the map and held it to Red Field. “You, figure out where we are.” He pointed to Apple Core. “You stop telling everypony what to do.” He pointed finally to Fit Finish, who was still glaring at Apple Core. “And you lead us to where we need to go.”

“Fahn.” Apple Core said.

“Here, Jesus pony, figure this out.” Blue Streak gave the map to Red Field. Red Field looked up and down the represented river.

“Here, we’re here.” Red Field said.

Blue Streak took the map and gave it to Fit Finish, who was still eyeing Apple Core.

“All right, let’s move out.” Said Fit Finish, finally drawing his attention from Apple Core.

Their final objective wasn’t staffed by any soldiers, and all four knew they were late. Fit Finish led the way, his horn's ambiance allowing the team to see just enough of the foliage around them. Red Field saw stars appearing in the sky above them when the warm white glow of the academy began to illuminate the trees around them.

“C’mon, we gotta run.” Said Apple Core, though they were already galloping at full tilt. Red Field’s lungs were raw and his legs seethed at the overexertion, but he knew they were far behind and he pressed himself onward.

The first three of their group reached the edge of the trees sitting before the sloping hill that led into the camp.

“Red, come on, we all gotta make it t’gether.” Apple Core called to the straggling pony. Red Field reached them after a minute and they exited the test as a complete, if belated, team.

Flashpoint was standing behind the linked fence. Two other ponies stood with him and he was telling them something. He looked up the instant the four left the woods.

“Fuck.” Was all Fit Finish had time to mutter before the steely officer reached them.

They stood at attention. Flashpoint had halted them, and took a green notebook from his breast pocket. He opened it and flipped to a page. He read for only a few seconds.

“Group fourteen. It is now 2330. You are an hour and a half late to the rendezvous. Do you have any explanation for this?”

“Yessir.” Apple Core said. “We-”

“Who are you cadet?”

“Apple Core sir, ah, ah’m the leader.”

“I see.”

“Well y’see sir. They got lost, an’ we all got lost a few tahms, so ah reckon that’s wha we’re late.” Flashpoint listened, then gave a nod of comprehension.

“I see. Who do you think deserves the blame for that?” He asked. For the first time since their unfortunate confederation, group fourteen worked as a team and nopony said anything. Flashpoint surveyed the tired cadets. “Well then, as no exact member has been indicated, I imagine discipline ought to be meted equally then.” He flicked his head to the fence. “Ten laps, then head back to barracks.”

Red Field’s heart fluttered and he panicked. He couldn’t make ten laps. He couldn’t possibly make ten laps. The ponies around him began to shuffle toward the fence and he followed them.

“Cadet Core.” They stopped and looked back. Flashpoint was replacing the notebook. “Why is it that one of your ponies is currently utilizing a spell, after being explicitly informed of the illicit nature of such enchantments in this exercise?”

“Ah, ah guess-”

“Cadet Core will be the only one doing laps tonight, the rest of you can go to your barracks.” Said Flashpoint. All four hesitated and Flashpoint grew impatient. “You three return to your barracks, cadet Core will spend some time learning what the responsibility of leadership entails.”

Fit Finish and Blue Streak left immediately, but Red Field watched helplessly as the only other productive member of their team was punished for the failure of another pony. Flashpoint, who was following Apple Core to the fence, turned back to the small, black and white pony.

“Cadet Field, return to your barracks or join your squad mate.”

Nothing was right with Gale Force.

Red Field would have been more outraged, however he was incredibly exhausted and he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner. The mess hall was closed and he walked past, hoping to just fall asleep and forget the day.
He reached his barracks and pushed open the screen door. The lights were off and he flicked them on.

A few groans rose from the beds, then a minor barrage of obscenity. Siplinski poked his head out of the covers.

“Red!” He pulled off the covers and climbed out of the bunk.

“Oh.” Said Black Rain. “You made it back.”

Red Field remembered his apology.

“Hey guys I’m sorry. I was being completely insensitive last night about your game. I know it’s a big deal to you and I wanted to say that I-”

“Hey guys.” The voice came from Red Field’s bunk. Full Wing sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s goin’ on? We having a drill or something?”

Red Field only slept a few hours. His stomach growled and knotted and kept him from dozing off. His legs were thrashed and sore from the lengthy route his team had taken.

They had replaced him.

They had given up on him.

His squad had completely avoided any possibility of relying on him. Red Field didn’t answer Siplinski’s inquiries about how the test went and why he was so late, or Bren’s explanation for Full Wing’s presence. Red Field knew that if they had gotten the chance, they would have traded him to any other barracks.

The only reason they hadn’t was that nopony in Gale Force Company wanted anything to do with him.

According to the official results, Red Field’s group had finished one hour and thirty three minutes after the allotted time. Red Field learned that most of the tests at Beast could be repeated, but after a certain number of failures, cadets would be expelled from Beast. A week passed and Red Field had garnered five fails, along with a case of tendonitis. Nopony had told him how many fails he was allowed, but he couldn’t assume it to be many more.

He was going to fail out of Gale Force; that was already certain. His short lived desire to avoid fulfilling his parents’ disbelief about his perseverance had died off after several days of intense failure. He knew he could return somewhat easily to his family and honestly say he had done his best. The thought of facing Cyrus still hurt, but Red Field was far beyond the point of hoping to succeed as a soldier. In any case, he didn’t have anypony urging him onward; Black Rain asked him each day if he was out of the program, Bren avoided talking to Red Field at all, while Siplinski took the disdain a step further and avoided showing signs that he was even aware of Red Field.

Full Wing was the worst. Though he was as polite as a thickheaded athlete could possibly be, he was also somewhat successful with only two failures thus far. His very presence, coupled with the relative ambivalence of the rest of Squad Six, told Red Field that everypony, including himself, was ready for him to go.

In this spirit, Red Field found himself standing before a long, muddy trail. The trail, which was really more of a horrid obstacle course in which each obstacle mandated the participant to remain prone, extended from a sandy strip near the base and into the woods. Today was the last day of land nav. The cadets assembled at the start of the course, while Agent Orange stood beside them in a camouflaged poncho.

By nine A.M. Red Field was shivering in the rain.

“All right cadets, this is your final day of land nav. Today you’ll be performing a three hundred yard crawl four times, then returning here.” Agent Orange checked his clipboard. “It looks like ten of you already have five fails.” He looked up. “Any of those ponies who fail today gets kicked.” The ten ponies made no identifying movements, but Red Field really didn’t care if anypony knew. “Now line up before the entrance.”

The entrance was literally one end of the three hundred yard trench. The trench had already filled with sloshing muddy water. Most of the trench was covered in barbed wire, and at portions the trench seemed to end and hit a solid section of turf.

“We’ll be observing to make sure none of you, you know, die.” Said Agent White, who had returned for this particular test. “Just keep your head up.”

By Red Field’s turn, he was terrified of the trench. The punctuated line of ponies ahead of him churned the mud and as Red Field knelt to insert himself under the canopy of barbed wire, he saw a shiny worm burrow into the mud before his snout.

He squirmed and wriggled his way through the crawl. The water leaped and splashed about from the ponies ahead of him and Red Field shivered harder. His vision, obscured by waves and mud, was already dimmed as he tried to close his eyes to the water bugs and unidentified bits of dark matter that bobbed next to his face.

His nose struck a wall. He jerked back. The trench had ended. The rainy sky overhead was still gridded with the barbed wire. He was trapped. He had no room to maneuver and reverse himself. Red Field started to panic. What had he done wrong?

“Under! Go under!” He looked up. Siplinski was kneeling just outside of the barbed wire. “You gotta go under. There’s a little tunnel under there. Keep your legs close to your body.” Siplinski tucked his legs close under his own body. “Like this.” Somepony shouted and Siplinski pointed to the water. “Dude you have to go.” Red Field dipped his head under the water and opened his eyes. He saw nothing in the black mud. Red Field started to feel for the alleged tunnel. His hoof met a curve in the solid mud and he swam forward. Bumping his nose into the wall of the tunnel Red Field realized the crawl bent downward in a U and his fright only increased as he swam to bottom. Pushing his way under the curve, Red Field felt the momentary fright of claustrophobia as he crawled through the muddy tunnel. He broke the surface with a gasp.

“Keep crawling.” Said Siplinski.

Red Field passed under trees and their roots began to scrape him as he crawled past. Leaves filled the channel and he was continually spitting out fallen cellulose. The channel wasn’t dug well and he occasionally became wedged between the narrow banks. Red Field shivered as the rain washed over him and his muscles began to decry his abuse.
After so many mornings of waking earlier than normal and being subjected to harm, his body had lapsed into a shell of dull submission. Red Field was sure the feeling was some form of overexertion and had simply grown used to it. He wormed his way along the trench in a reserved cocoon of illness.

He passed under another tunnel, this time without fear. After two hundred and fifty yards of soaking agony, his mind gave up the tiresome act of being afraid. The pony ahead of him had been steadily growing closer and was now just a few yards ahead of Red Field. The pony had been in the pattern of pausing for a minute, then crawling, then pausing again.

In a few more minutes, the pony before him finally came out from under the barbed wire and Red Field saw a pair of instructors pull him out of the water. Red Field breathed a sigh of relief; the only treatment for his new illness was rest and he waited for them to help him exit the trench. But as Red Field reached the end of the channel, neither instructor came to aid him. He twisted his neck around in an effort to see above him, but Red Field couldn’t tell where they had gone.

“Hey! Hey I need a hoof!” He shouted. He heard hoofbeats and in a moment both soldiers took hold of him.

“That was fast. Did they start you early?” Asked one.

“No?” Answered Red Field as they set him on his hooves.

“Just follow that back to the start.” The instructor pointed to a washed out path leading back along the trench. Red Field had forgotten he would complete the course three times. The illness drew back and he began to feel seriously exhausted. He experienced a peculiar, and frustrating sensation jogging back along his journey in just a few minutes when the trek had taken him half an hour. Once back at the start, Agent White looked him over. The older stallion glanced over Red Field’s filthy body and nodded that he should again return to the start. Red Field thought to ask for some water, if only to take a short break.

“Excuse me-”

“You should have nothing to say cadet, you’re ahead of schedule and doing fine.” Agent White said. “Now get going.”
The illness of exhaustion was unfortunately not severe. As Red Field again crawled through the murky course, his muscles fell into a languishing state of pain that resided just below the threshold of collapse. However after a few more minutes, Red Field was directly behind the next pony. The other cadet was substantially larger than Red Field and he grunted and panted as he writhed through the canal. Red Field sighed and waited for the pony to move. The rain picked up and he sank down in the water in a pointless effort to avoid the wet lashing. In a moment, an instructor appeared over them.

“Hey! Move your ass! You’re holding your teammate up!” He shouted to the other pony.

“S-sorry sir.” The exhaustion was evident in the cadet’s voice and Red Field felt a little sorry for the pony.

“Sorry doesn’t bring your dead teammate back to life.” Said the instructor. “He’s pulling his weight and you’re stalling him.”

“Sorry sir, it’s just-”

“There are going to be forty more ponies all backed up behind you, how long do you think they’d survive in-” The soldier looked up. “What? All of ‘em? Okay, does White know?” The two cadets waited for him to finish his conversation with the unseen speaker and return to berating them. In a second, he looked back down to them. “Little incentive coming cadets.”

He left them and the other pony muttered a dismal curse and began to exhaustedly tug himself onward.

Red Field waited a minute or so to allow the pony to create a little distance between them. He dipped his snout into the water and was just starting to writhe forward when something like a firework popped and exploded on the bank beside him. Another firework detonated on the other side of the trench. A puff of bright red sparks showered onto the water from what appeared to be a frighteningly large sparkler laying atop the bank. The dark trench was now illuminated a flickering white-red. Red Field scrambled away from the flares. A series of puffs and pops exploded along the banks of the trench and now the entirety of the trench was doused in sparks. The pony ahead of Red Field desperately pushed himself along.

The trench started to fill with thin white smoke from the flares and Red Field began to hyperventilate. He heard the pony slip and lodge himself in the narrow channel. Red Field, dizzy with terror, threw both fore-hooves into the pony’s rump.

“Goddamn it GO!” Red Field rallied his sickened muscles, trying to force the pony out of his way. The pony was still attempting to free himself when Agent Orange appeared over them.

The soldier took one look at the pair of halted ponies and knelt before the other pony.

“Cadet why aren’t you moving?” He asked over the hiss of the flares.

“I’m, I’m stuck sir.” Said the blue pony.

“Cadet why aren’t you unsticking yourself?”

“I can’t. I’m-”

“Cadet unstick yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

“Stop trying and unstick yourself.” The cadet began to wriggle and squirm in a desperate attempt to appease the instructor. “Cadet there are ponies behind you.” The cadet wriggled harder. “Cadet they’re dying.”

The other cadet paused to catch his breath.

Easing up the barbed wire with his hoof, Agent Orange stepped into the trench.

“You’ll get another chance to repeat this test later.” He reached into the water and took hold of the pony’s shoulders. “Let’s go.” He lifted the cadet out without so much as a grunt and tossed him onto the bank. “Head back to barracks.” He eased the barbed wire down over Red Field. “Keep going.”

Red Field spent the next twenty minutes again navigating the trench. As he neared the end of course, the illness again fell onto Red Field and his fear ebbed away. His muscles again began to growl their suffering at him and he ignored the smoke and sparks. He was somehow hot, despite the grip of the icy water, as he once more pulled himself out from under the barbed wire. Agent Orange stood directly before him.

“I’m sorry sir.” Red Field said. Agent Orange grabbed his shoulders and turned him back toward the course.
“Like hell you are Jesus pony! You’re five minutes behind! Get back to the start and don’t take so long this time!”

He had one more circuit.

The illness, or perhaps simple resignation prompted him to accept his punishment and trot back to the start of the course. As he trekked back, Red Field saw more instructors kneeling beside the burning trench. Most were shouting or giving disappointed evaluations of the struggling cadets; a few had opened the barbed wire and were pulling out failures.
A line had formed at the start of the course and Red Field breathed a delighted sigh of relief as he slowed to a stop and waited for his turn. The ponies moved slower now that their course was lined with burning flares, however this appeared to be the opposite of the result that the instructors desired.

“Come on!” Shouted a Pegasus with a warthog Cutie Mark. “Flight teams don’t slow down under fire; if you can’t look past a few flares, how do you think you’ll fly against a squadron of gryphons loaded for bear?”

“If UAT can do this under tear gas, you had better be able to get it done with just flares!” Shouted another instructor, who was hauling out another exhausted cadet. Red Field couldn’t hear Agent Orange but imagined he was saying something about cloppers being able to clop through anything thrown at them.

“Cadet, go!” Shouted somepony behind him. Red Field realized it was again his turn. He thoughtlessly knelt and slipped into the water. It was cold, it hurt, he was sick. Red Field mindlessly shuffled through the water. He got stuck behind another cadet. This time he waited only a minute before an instructor opened the barbed wire and plucked the cadet, who appeared frozen from fear. Red Field began again. An oily film had collected over the brown-black water and in his state of sickened exhaustion, Red Field watched the sheen bob and move out before him as he crawled. He came to the first tunnel, swam under, surfaced and crawled further. The walls of the trench had been smoothed and opened a little with the eroding passage of ponies and Red Field crawled a bit faster.

The illness, in a new effort to stop him, ceased to sting his muscles and simply slackened them. Red Field grew tired of the crawl and he began to slow. His body just wished to stop. Red Field reached the next tunnel and dove under. Red Field rose to the surface and saw the finish ahead. The line of ponies ahead was gone, though he was too exhausted to care much. In another minute he was squirming tiredly onto the slick mud. Somepony grabbed his shoulders and stood him up.

“Well whaddya know.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field weakly wiped some mud from his face.

“What sir?” He asked foggily. Agent Orange shook his head and again pushed Red Field toward the start.

“Nothing cadet, head back to the start and join your teammates at attention.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field nodded and clopped clumsily back to the start. The flares were burning out one by one and the dark grey sky was quickly becoming the only source of light. His heart jumped as he saw every other cadet standing at attention already.

He must have taken too long.

Despite understanding his inevitable dismissal from Gale Force, Red Field still hated failing. He weakly jogged a bit faster and took his place along the edge of the group. The procedure for “standing at attention” was never explained, but Red Field had found standing as still as possible while maintaining a blank expression usually sufficed. A few of the muddy ponies around him noticed him, but none said anything. Agent Orange came to the group after a few minutes. He carried a clipboard which he reviewed before standing before them.

He did not look pleased.

“Today was a shitty day cadets.” He pointed behind them, to where the trench lay. “That’s the long crawl, it’s just that: a crawl.” He looked them over and realized that this statement had no effect. “It’s a damn crawl cadets! How is that NONE,” he emphasized this last word with theatrical effect, “Of you could successfully complete it?” Red Field continued to stare forward but he now ignored the pontificating pony. He had done his best, and today had gone relatively well; he hadn’t been paralyzed by fear very much and hadn’t cried at all. But of course it wasn’t nearly enough.

Agent Orange was asking how many cadets wanted to be flyers and if they thought Gale Force’s Air Division had ponies who couldn’t long crawl in it.

“We did have one of you complete the course successfully.” Red Field nearly rolled his eyes to this. Of course somepony had gotten it right. He didn’t need to look around to know that it was one of the stronger, more “soldier” ponies. He took a little pride in knowing that only one of those smarmy jocks had succeeded. He became aware that somepony was standing directly in front of him, and that pony happened to be Agent Orange, who happened to be repeating himself.

“Cadet! To the front!” He said. “We’re not waiting on you.”

How had he completed the test? Agent Orange seemed to share in the sentiment. Red Field took a dumb step forward, then another. He would have kept walking had Agent Orange not pulled him back and turned him to face the other ponies.

“This, cadets, is who succeeded.” Agent Orange said dismally. He waited a moment for the depressing news to sink in.

“Yeah Jesus pony!” The voice came from the center of the group and Red Field was too dazed to identify the speaker.

Agent Orange let out a sigh.

“Cadets, this is unacceptable. Do you expect to secure Equestria’s borders and defend its interests if you can’t crawl through a simple trench?” Agent Orange looked back to his clipboard. “Starlight Dash, Grasshoof, Bold Wing, come see me please.” He turned to Red Field. “It’s your lucky day cadet, head to the mess hall and have yourself a nice quiet dinner. See you tomorrow.” Agent Orange looked back to the remaining group. “Cadets, let’s try the crawl again and see how motivated you can get this time.”

Red Field walked toward the open gate of the compound, still expecting to be called back or sworn at. Only after he entered the empty mess hall, took a plate of steaming, tasteless whatever-it-was and began to eat that he realized he was really done.

Red Field had no reasonable cause to be proud of himself. In the most literal sense he’d completed a single test out of a battery of which he was failing, and this sucesss would have no effect on his outcome. He’d passed one test, which just so happened to be the one that everypony else had failed at. However no amount of logical rationale could suffocate the feeling of pride that rose up within Red Field as he shoveled down his meal.

He’d passed a test.

He’d won.

Everypony else had failed.

True to nature, Red Field spent the next several minutes reviewing exactly what he’d done, and tried to postulate why he’d succeeded. His pride dipped as he realized that he might just be more apt for crawling through muddy trenches than most ponies. Red Field decided to stop analyzing his achievement and return to gloating. He’d done well, and that was enough.

He ate the last of the meal and tossed his cutlery onto the tray. Rising to leave, Red Field felt his legs, which had been slumbering, burn anew. He groaned; no amount of winning could change his physique. He began to walk down the aisle between the two tables. Red Field had only made it a few shimmying steps before he bumped into one of the seated ponies.

Flashpoint looked back at him. A fabric checkerboard, covered in chess pieces, lay before Flashpoint. Red Field saw a notation pad with a few scribbles sitting beside the board.

“S-sorry sir.” Red Field said. “I apologize.” Flashpoint said nothing and Red Field continued to squirm between the benches. The officer watched him, then turned back to his game. Red Field hastily deposited his tray and left the hall.
The sky had begun to sprinkle again. Tired and growing sleepy, Red Field grew chilled in the light precipitation. He hurried back to his barracks as the rain grew heavier.

He closed the door on the downpour. His body was soaked and his mane clung to his head like a limp leech. He headed straight to bed.

“Is that,” Bren was laying in his bed and poked his head over the side to see Red Field. “Red?” Red Field knew he’d been expecting Full Wing. He felt a sense of smug revenge as Bren squinted in confusion at him. “What’re you doing here?” He asked without an attempt to conceal his surprise.

“Done with the Long Crawl.” Red Field said with thespian nonchalance. “Do you have any towels?” Bren pointed to a brown cabinet beside the sink. Red Field thanked him.

“So uh, what happened?” Bren asked. Red Field could feel himself grinning.

“I finished.” He said, finding a towel and starting to dry himself. Bren nodded slowly, and looked as if he were trying to picture something. Red Field dried himself and looked to Bren for where to put the damp towel. Bren pointed to a white nylon laundry bag. Red Field again thanked him and tossed the towel into the bag.

“Say, do you want to play a prank with me?” Asked Bren.

“Uh, what?” Red Field asked.

“Today’s the first day that you can fail out of Beast, like if you failed every test and then failed today. Black Rain thought you were gonna freak out during the crawl and quit before you could even fail. I bet you wouldn’t.” He paused to see if this might offend Red Field. “Since you totally killed it, we have to get him.” Red Field grinned, he liked the sound of this. Bren pointed to his bed. “Just like, pretend you’re sleeping. But like hang your right leg over the side of the bed so he sees it when he comes in.”

The idea wasn’t much of a prank and Red Field could have thought of five or six better pranks along the same thread, but he didn’t feel like contesting a moment of friendship. He laid in his bed, and made certain to droop his leg over the side. Bren took a seat on his bed and started to fidget with his knife. They had only waited five minutes before the door squeaked open.

“Hey.” Said Black Rain. “Long day at Maremont, looks like they’re changing things up- aw motherfucker.” Red Field heard Bren snickering. “Jesus Christ how did he do it?”

“I dunno, just got back here and went to bed.” Bren laughed. “So you got the money?”

“Shut up.” Red Field heard Black Rain pull out some bits. “Fuck this, where’s Sip?”

“Probably still working the crawl. You know, Red got back early, must have done really well.” Bren said.

“Oh what the fuck.” Black Rain clomped over to Red Field’s bed and gave it a rough shake. “Great job kid, great fuckin’ job.” Red Field smothered his laughter as best he could. He relished revenge on Black Rain.

“Heh, we’ll just see what tomorrow brings won’t we?” Said Bren. “Maybe he’ll pull a hat trick in the first game.”

“Go to hell.” Black Rain fell heavily onto his bunk. He was asleep in a minute. Bren eventually walked back to Red Field’s bunk and peeked up at him. Red Field saw he was grinning too.

“Nice.” Bren said, holding out his hoof for a brohoof. Today had been Red Field’s best day at Gale Force. “I’m gonna turn in, that was some funny shit.”

He too journeyed to his bed and fell asleep after a few minutes. Despite his exhaustion, Red Field stayed awake a long time that night. His smile stayed on his face long after the light faded and the room was robed in darkness. Bren had brohoofed him, they’d played a prank together. While Red Field had seen Bren as just another disapproving member of Squad Six, evidently he had been wrong. The best way to gain the favor of a soldier was to demonstrate ability at soldiering. He smiled.

Bren had bet on him; he wouldn’t ever forget that.

Presently, the door squeaked quietly open and two pairs of hoofsteps entered the barracks.

“Just wash up over there.” Siplinski whispered.

“Yeah okay.” Full Wing whispered back. Red Field heard a squeak, then the raucous rattle of a faucet blasting water into a sheet metal sink. The faucet was instantly silenced. “Sorry, I just-” The faucet was again turned on, but this time only a quiet trickle emanated from the sink.

“Just turn it off when you’re done.” Said Siplinski tiredly. Red Field smiled to himself as he listened to Full Wing attempt to clean himself without rousing anypony in the barracks. No doubt he was covered in mud from the crawl.

From failing it.

In time Full Wing shut the sink off and slunk softly to his bunk. Red Field rolled over and closed his eyes; he really did need to get some sleep. He still had another day of Beast. As the cords of sleep laced over him, Red Field heard somepony stir. Somepony got out of their bed and shuffled across the room to Siplinski’s bunk.

“Hey.” Said Bren. He whispered so quietly that despite being directly above him, Red Field could scarcely interpret what he was saying. “Here.” Red Field heard the soft slap of bits between hooves. “How’d you know he’d make it?”

“He’s half the size of the smallest pony, he didn’t need to be good, he just didn’t get stuck.” Siplinski whispered back. Bren snorted softly.

“Yeah well I beat out Rain at least, he said he’d give up.”

Red Field couldn’t sleep that night. Despite an early dinner and bedtime, Red Field slept terribly that night. He waited for the morning, to fail.

The strangest occurrence Red Field had ever experienced, happened at Gale Force: the weak cadet from Rockvale couldn’t seem to fail. The first few weeks of Beast had ruined him. Constant physical exertion, poor sleep, a diet of nutritional drivel quickly eroded what little health he had.

However, if the first few weeks burned him down, the last few couldn’t scatter his ashes. Red Field’s illness, manifested as only a general soreness and sleepiness, seemed incapable of finishing him off. At week three, the cadets began to meet in classrooms and were given detailed instruction on subjects such as team communication, survival skills, and gear orientation. Bizarrely, Red Field was nearing the point at which he could technically be considered a soldier. He was down to his last failure before expulsion and though Red Field couldn’t help but feel a little proud of how far he’d come, he still knew he wasn’t a soldier.

Fourteen cadets had failed and gone home thus far. Those remaining had changed. The word “like” appeared less in their conversations and less quarrels broke out between them. Nicknames were being issued and the trading of cadets from barracks to barracks grew more and more infrequent as the first of the two war-games neared. The strange patriotism that accompanies such basic designations as “Team One” and “Team Two” was in full swing and the mess hall grew to be a place of bets and debates over anticipated performance.

Full Wing, despite his stupidity, was a strong and tactically desirable pick and several offers and an instance of kidnapping had already taken place in an attempt to sway his allegiance. Barracks Six, though still the smallest and weakest of the constituents of Team Two, felt good. Black Rain had gotten his job at “Maremont” and returned most nights with anecdotes of either somepony saying the funniest thing or “total fucking bullshit” his foreman had given him to do.

Siplinski appeared in more of the tests and exercises of Beast as they grew more and more specialized. He was evidently more experienced than his awkward and excitable nature indicated. Bren apparently worked with one of the machine shops tasked with maintaining the chariot fleet and usually only spoke on such matters.

Red Field didn’t give a shit about any of them.

Besides betting on when he’d be kicked from the Company, the members of Squad Six also addressed him as they had on their first day, like a colt. Full Wing was treated to a few poker parties at Barracks Twelve and more than a few occasions had found him sneaking off base with the other stallions.

Red Field just got asked if he had fucked anything up each day. Red Field knew he was going to fail, and even if he didn’t, no one wanted him. Gale Force was at its most bearable when he could just be a face in the ever-shrinking herd of cadets, a face with the nickname “Jesus Pony”. In the weeks of Beast, nothing had changed for Red Field. He hated his teammates, felt sick, and was going to fail soon.

He sat at a desk too small for him, filling out a multiple choice exam on the proper way to approach a fortified hill position under third-tier inclement conditions. He’d spent thirty seconds on the exam and had drifted through the questions without thinking much on them. They were all just memory questions, applied to a hypothetical scenario. All of the classes were this way. Apparently rote memory was beyond some ponies, as the last round of tests had weeded out two more cadets.

Red Field shaded the last oval, set his pencil atop his desk and waited for the timer to sound. He was still sore from the morning’s run and tried to get comfortable. He glanced around the room to see if anypony else was done with the test. Nopony was.
He then looked back to the test and reread the questions. He wondered what circumstances would prompt the Company to launch an attack in pouring rain on a cliff-mounted pillbox.

The military philosophy of Gale Force Company had never been told to him, or any of the cadets for that matter. According to banter, Gale Force Company “fucked shit up”, though this had not been expounded upon. Red Field puzzled over how they’d trained for weeks and never been told who their enemy might be. Besides the very first night, they hadn’t seen the commander of Gale Force Company. Either Lewerc or Blitzkrieg headed larger exercises and Red Field didn’t even know where the commander lived.

“Time!” Called the proctor, who also happened to be a CQC instructor by the name of Crunch. Red Field heard a few groans amidst the clacking of pencils. He sighed and readied himself for the next exercise. The schedule for Beast had become: workout in the morning, MSRP’s(horrid dried meals that came in unappetizing brown wrappers) then several hours of class, followed by more exertion until dinner. Red Field had come to rely on class time as a rest from the painful exercise of training.

He dismally waited for the proctor to inform them where they’d be heading next.

“All right cadets.” Crunch looked down at a paper on his desk. “Today is advisement, there’s an advisor in each barracks. Head back there and he’ll take it from there. Leave your tests on the desk. There will be no more exercises today.” The cadets gave a cheer of jubilance and the classroom quickly emptied.

The day was muggy. Every day at Gale Force was muggy. The river, named “Victor Charlie” in reference to some war game that had taken place before Red Field’s arrival, gave off enough humidity to make Red Field long for the constant dusty dryness of Rockvale. The sun hid behind a haze of clouds and Red Field was sweaty before he’d gone ten paces.

“Hey dude, wait up!”

Full Wing was the only pony in Gale Force who was kind to Red Field. The friendly, stupid-dog sort of kindness of Full Wing grated Red Field. Full Wing had still been brought on to replace Red Field once he finally dropped out, and that made the magic of friendship difficult to conjure between them.

Full Wing was sweating too, and he was even panting as he caught up to Red Field.

“Geez it’s hot out here. Glad we don’t have anything more today, I’d die.” He said, wiping his brow.

“Yeah.” Red Field said. Full Wing knew full well that he annoyed Red Field, yet he continued conversations long past their proper expiration.

“We got that advisor though.” He looked over at Red Field. “You know anything about that?” Red Field had no rational reason to know any such thing. He shook his head. “Yeah, I bet he’s just going to tell us like what jobs we’re probably going to do if we finish Beast.” Military jobs were called posts, though Red Field had given up trying to explain anything to Full Wing. He just nodded and eventually Full Wing stopped talking.

They reached their barracks and Full Wing bowed away from the door.

“After you.” He said with a smile. Full Wing wanted to find out what the advisor would say so that he could prepare evasions to any answers that might intimidate him. Red Field didn’t care, he had no stake in Gale Force and ascribed no value to what an advisor might say.

Without a word to Full Wing, Red Field opened the thin screen door and walked into the barracks.

The “advisor” was Agent White. The doctor had set up the small card table that had been tucked in the closet of the barracks. He sat behind the table with his forehooves hooves resting atop one another. He smiled as Red Field entered.

“Hello Red Field, take a seat.”

Agent White had memorized every cadet’s name over the past few weeks. Agent Orange only referred to cadets as “you” and “goddamn it cadet” but Agent White addressed each pony by name. How much he knew about each of his students Red Field didn’t know and he readied himself for whatever the older pony might say.

“How have you been Red Field?” Asked Agent White.

“Good.”

“How is Beast going for you?”

“Fine.” Said Red Field. Agent White looked down to a sheet of paper on a clipboard.

“Are you having any difficulty with the academic side of the course?”

“None.”

“Any difficulty with the physical side?”

“No.”

“Really.” This response caught Red Field off-guard and he returned his attention to Agent White. Agent White chuckled. “You’re down to one strike on your record and have not passed a single climbing or rappelling course.” He cocked his head. “You do know that I observe the exercises?” Red Field grew uncomfortable as Agent White waited for a response. The medic returned his hooves to the table. “Red you’re a pony of intelligence, not strength.”

“Yes sir.”

“What are you planning on branching, assuming you pass Beast?”

“Clopping sir.”

“Cavalry you mean?”

“Yes.” Said Red Field. Agent White looked at Red Field as if he expected Red Field to give the last portion of the joke.
“Your plans are to join a group whose average is three hundred pounds on bench press?” Agent White knew about enough Red Field. Red Field was trapped and since he didn’t consider it prudent to mention that he was only still at Gale Force to say that he hadn’t quit, he acted ignorant.

“Oh, well, I don’t really know of anything else.” He laughed a bit. “I’m not a Pegasus so I can’t-”

“You haven’t been paying attention to any of the instructors when they make recommendations and list potential posts?” Red Field had ignored everything the instructors had mentioned about posts on account of the fact that he wasn’t going to get one. He had no time to think of a plausible excuse and Red Field just replied in quiet honesty.

“No sir.”

Agent White looked at him and Red Field lowered his eyes. He had grown to realize that nothing was more offensive to the ponies of Gale Force than a lack of motivation.

“It must be hard to cope with all of these aggressive stallions around.” Red Field looked up. “In test scores and exercise scores, you’re nearly the perfect inverse of the average cadet.” Agent White smiled. “I was fortunate to go to a medical school where the most we ever did was form a croquet club.” He took the clipboard and set it into his bag at his hooves. “But I still have a place here. Red, you’re a pony gifted with a brilliant mind; you could be a very valuable asset to the company.” He took a paper from his bag and set it before Red Field. “Read this over, I’ve highlighted the posts that I think you might be interested in. I’ve also crossed out any posts requiring a mile time of better than seven minutes.” Red Field looked up from the list and saw the Agent White was smiling. “I know you don’t like it here, but there’s more than just lifting weights and running.” He shrugged. “Anyway, this concludes your advisory and I see no reason to recommend your removal. Please send in the other cadet from your barracks.” Red Field nodded and rose from his seat. Agent White spoke before Red Field reached the door. “The first of the war games is coming up. If it doesn’t go well,” Agent White also knew about Barracks Six, “remember that it doesn’t count toward anything. And the day after you’ll be doing hooves on with the weapons of Gale Force, a lot of cadets find that day to be their favorite.” He added with a smile.

Outside, Full Wing was pacing before the doorway.

“Hey dude! He ready for me?” Asked Full Wing. Red Field nodded and started to walk around him. “Hey.” Full Wing caught his shoulder. “Anything to expect?”

Red Field had read the list before he’d left the barracks. Four of the jobs he could perform outside of Gale Force for more money and with less “stallions”. Two of them did not interest him in the least, and performing them at a military academy interested him less. The rest were either too closely related to soldiering or too mundane to even consider.

He shook his head.

“Nope, no surprises.”

He still had an hour before dinner, but without friends, a job, or even a barracks to lie in, Red Field listlessly trudged to the mess hall. The particular odor emanating from the kitchen indicated they’d be eating stewed tomatoes with a salad of greens that had been dehydrated prior to Red Field’s birth. That was one of his more favorite meals. Red Field walked across the empty room and sat at a table bordering the wall. He didn’t want to be near the door when the crowd of hungry cadets came rumbling in for their dinner. Red Field had sat for some time when the door again opened. He looked up and saw Flashpoint.

Flashpoint had first intimidated him, the quiet grey officer intimidated every cadet. Flashpoint followed his namesake and shadowed nearly every training exercise, but he’d failed to actually do anything, at least anything intimidating. He’d held a few more rhetorical exchanges with cadets and failed two for on the spot for sarcasm toward him. That had maintained his reputation and kept the cadets in fear of him.

Red Field no longer feared Flashpoint, he had quickly seen the officer as a professional soldier whose sole concern was selecting only the best cadets. He didn’t appear to care about looking tough or making exceptions for anypony and wasn’t a problem for cadets who didn’t make themselves a problem; Red Field probably respected Flashpoint more than any of the other instructors or officers at Gale Force. The grey pony scanned the room and didn’t seem to notice Red Field. After seeing nopony of note, he walked to a table near the center of the room and took a seat. Flashpoint had with him the same flannel roll and accompanying box which he placed atop the table.

After a few minutes, the door opened and another officer entered. It was the same officer that Red Field had seen Flashpoint with a few weeks before. The officer, a greenish-yellow unicorn who looked nearly as squared as Flashpoint, walked over to him and sat down. They began to talk and Red Field again closed his eyes.

He remembered the impending war game.

The peculiar illness which had overtaken Red Field had gradually damaged the part of Red Field’s brain that felt fear, or shock, or really, any strong emotions. Swimming through the chilly waters of Victor Charlie had only been miserable, and even falling five meters and swinging into the side of the rappelling tower had only tugged at his sense of fright. The illness had reduced most of the previously terrifying exercises into simple misery.

But the war game brought the fear back. Red Field had heard very little about the actual rules or even objective of the war game in his time at Beast. Most of the talk between the soldiers and officers was only bets and ribbing; apparently everypony already knew how the game itself worked.

Red Field started to consider the name, and this unnerved him the most. Surely they wouldn’t use real weapons, but how close would they come? How much was game and how much war? Gale Force was a military academy and the game was easily the most important topic to the soldiers; the battle would be full of utter chaos, no matter how many rules and safety regulations were in place. Red Field pictured himself being stabbed or knocked unconscious by an overzealous competitor. His stomach turned. Why couldn’t he have failed before this?

The doors banged open and a few raucous voices shouted that they were hungry, signaling the end of his peace. As Red Field sat up, he saw several pieces sitting atop the unfurled cloth before Flashpoint and the other officer. Flashpoint and the officer had taken out notepads and were scribbling down their positions. After a moment, they swept up their pieces and returned them to the box. Rolling up the board, Flashpoint smiled and gave his opponent a hoof-shake. More ponies filed into the mess hall and Red Field’s ears began to hurt. Both Flashpoint and the officer left.

“Jesus pony! Yo! Over here!” Blue Streak called to him from the line. “Saved you a spot!” In the course of Beast, Red Field had come to be something of an irregularity in terms of his reputation. Nopony ever considered him for a group leader, or even chose him for group exercises. Yet he wasn’t the weakest. Odd as it was, after his anomalous success at the Long Crawl, Red Field had gone on to succeed at a few more athletic challenges. His body, though still grossly undersized, could, it seemed, perform to some degree. This, in addition to the occasional aid he rendered to his classmates during “harder” sections of the bookwork, had grown at least a little favor for “Jesus pony”.

“All right, be right there.” Red Field called back.

Red Field wasn’t friends with Blue Streak. Most of the time Blue Streak seemed to ignore Red Field, or ask him a few bland questions then forget about him for the rest of the conversation. But Red Field always accepted his invitation; at least with Blue Streak he looked a bit more like he belonged.

“So what,” Blue Streak set his tray down beside Red Field, “are you planning on branching?” Red Field shrugged.

“Bookkeeping.”

“Hehe makes sense.” Said Blue Streak. The hall around them filled over the course of the next few minutes and Blue Streak’s friends joined them. They’d all come to expect Red Field’s silent presence and most nights they just talked around him. They’d talked for a few minutes on something when Red Field heard his name.

“Yeah, what about Red?” Asked Pyre, a reddish-orange unicorn who bragged about going into ordnance. Red Field waited for them to repeat the question.

“Are you thinking of joining Barracks Thirteen?” Asked Blue Streak. “For the game at least?” Red Field shook his head and returned to eating. “They’ve already got like six more cadets to join.” The ponies at the table shook their heads and a few gave dismal laughs. “They’re gonna blitz everypony.

“Do you know what we’re even using?” Asked Salt, a greyish earth pony. “Like as weapons?” Red Field’s ears lifted to this. Several ponies answered but Salt’s brother, Light, answered over the others.

“Yeah, we’re using markers.”

“No no.” Blue Streak shook his head. “It’s paint, like to mark hits and stuff.”

“It’s paint, on fake knives and shit. I don’t know the rules or anything but Orange was telling a few guys that it’s basically all knives and no spells.” Said Light. They continued to discuss the particulars of the game, but Red Field had heard enough. He rose from his seat and nodded to the group. On his way back to Barracks Six, Red Field began considering methods of contracting an illness to prevent him from participating.

He was not getting stabbed or slashed by anything, no matter how far into Beast he was.

Red Field was in the habit of arriving back at the barracks before any of his teammates. Many nights the older members of Squad Six had been out working, or socializing and Red Field had been unpleasantly awakened by Black Rain’s drunken accusations against the other workers at Maremont. Even Full Wing was gone a lot, working out and “hangin’ with the guys”.

Surprisingly, Red Field found all four of his squadmates sitting in their bunks, eating their dinner. Siplinski was the first to look up.

“Oh hey Red.” He said, his mouth full of old greens. Red Field saw that they were wearing their uniforms. He had interrupted a meeting. This sort of thing happened from time to time. Red Field occasionally found himself with Barracks Six when he really didn’t need to be with them.

“What time should I come back?” He asked. Red Field usually went for walks whenever this happened.

“Shit uhh, how about-” Began Bren.

“Three hours.” Black Rain called loudly from his bed.

“Um, guys.” Said Siplinski as if he saw an unsightly elephant in the room. A chewing-filled pause descended as the other ponies tried to ascertain his meaning.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” Said Bren.

“Fuck.” Said Black Rain. Red Field waited to learn about the elephant. Black Rain rose out of his bed. He wiped a bit of stewed tomato from the corner of his mouth. “Hey kid, you don’t like it here. Maybe go talk to Flashpoint to see if you can opt out of the game.”

“Hey come on.” Bren said to Black Rain with a hint of distaste. He hopped from his bed and approached Red Field. “Red, we were going to spend a couple hours tonight practicing for the game. You’re a part of Barracks Six, so you’re supposed to be with us.”

“No you aren’t. You can just stay here and read, or sulk or whatever.” Black Rain said, stepping around Bren.

“Rain knock it off, he can come if he wants.” Said Bren.

“I agree with you!” Said Black Rain indignantly. “He doesn’t want to come!”

Red Field didn’t want to go and romp around in the forest with pretend knives to make a strategy for a game they were inevitably losing.

But he also didn’t like Black Rain.

“Sure, I’ll go.” He said with an amiable shrug. He was losing a few hours of rest, and was going to spend time with Barracks Six, but the confounded sigh from the black unicorn was worth his trouble.

“Great!” Said Siplinksi. He gulped down the tomatoes and jumped from his bed. “We need to get Full Wing though.”

They walked back to the mess hall. The night was more humid than usual and the sticky air hung dead around them. The only noise from the four was the disgusting smack-smack of Siplinski eating his mushy tomatoes. Bren led the way and was on the lookout for Full Wing, and Black Rain trailed close behind him. Red Field heard Black Rain grumble every few steps.

Red Field’s presence disrupted the chemistry of Barracks Six with an unexpected severity.

“So.” Siplinski finished his tomatoes and licked his lips. “What’s our plan this year? We still recon? That didn’t go too bad last year.”

“No.” Black Rain said. “We’re getting assigned at the team meeting. And shut the fuck up till we get there.”

“Hey relax, okay? Let’s grab Full and get an early look at the terrain.” Bren said. Black Rain shook his head, grumbled, and jogged ahead to the mess hall. Bren slowed down to match Siplinski’s pace. “What’s up his ass?”

“UAT’s probably going to Team One. I heard something about it today.” Siplinski replied. “And, you know.”

Red Field knew he was the “you know”.

“Still wouldn’t kill him to chill the fuck out sometime.” Black Rain reemerged from the cafeteria with Full Wing in tow. The Pegasus’ mouth was full of greens and he looked from one soldier to the next.

“Dudes!” Some greens spilled from his mouth. “What’s goin’ on?” Bren flicked his head back toward the gate.

“We’re heading to a team meeting for the game.” Full Wing jogged out to them, followed by Black Rain.

“Sweet! We got some killer plan?” He asked. Siplinski nodded.

“We’re probably recon.” Red Field heard Black Rain clear his throat and Siplinski stopped. Full Wing asked what recon was and Red Field could tell tonight would be very unpleasant.

The forest was overgrown with the dense antennae of garlic mustard. Buckthorn scraped at their hooves and legs and soon Red Field regretted his decision to participate. Macmillan forest had almost no trails, despite the years that an entire company of soldiers spent running and navigating the woods. Bren seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of where they should go and he led the group.

Nopony spoke one the trip.

Eventually a familiar wooden fort came into view. Red Field realized it was the same fort he had started his ill-fated land navigation from. They passed under the rotting arch and into the dirt courtyard. A few officers were looking over some maps atop the same dirty table that Agent Orange had stood on. They looked up as the group entered.

“Rundown doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” Said one of the officers. Bren nodded and looked back to Black Rain, who seemed to have been the driving force for their early arrival.

“Do we want to look over hill eight?” Black Rain asked. “That’s always the swing point.”

“Eight’s covered in foliage. You can’t see five meters into the base.” Said one of the officers.

“Oh damn.” Bren said. “We’ll probably send extra guys to cover there then right?”

“What’s so special about hill eight?” Asked Full Wing.

“It’s what Team One will try to take.” Said Black Rain as he turned and walked from the fort. The rest of Barracks Six followed him. Siplinski and Bren began to explain the tactical importance of hill eight to Full Wing, and occasionally they glanced over to Red Field, to see if he was interested. Red Field was more interested in making sure he didn’t trip over anything painful on the way. But he heard and absorbed every word.

Hill eight was home to an outpost from which am expansive view of Macmillan and of any approaching forces, could be had. The hill was steep, and as he climbed up the grassy incline, Red Field had no skepticism regarding Siplinski’s story of how four survivors of Team Two atop the hill had held off forty members of Team One during a rainstorm.
Full Wing pestered Bren for stories of Barracks Six’s exploits on Hill eight, but Bren told him to wait. Finally they reached the top of the hill.

The summit of the hill was only about ten meters square. The outpost was no more than a tower big enough for one pony. Even without standing in the tower, anypony atop the hill could see over the ground cover below. Red Field couldn’t help but feel a little impressed at the view. He imagined he would have liked to read on Hill eight.

“All right look guys.” Black Rain was speaking now and Red Field was back to Gale Force. The other members of Barracks Six looked to the black stallion who stood at the base of the miniscule tower. “Full.” He pointed to Full Wing. “You should know that we’re not a big part of the battle.”

“Haha that’s cool dude, I’m fine with that!”

“I mean we get destroyed like every game.” Full Wing was silent to this. “We’re a small group and we’re not coordinated like a lot of the other barracks.” He let out a sigh “I think our best bet this year is just recon.” He looked to Siplinski. “You’ve been talking to Quantico, does it sound like we could do that?” Siplinski nodded and Black Rain nodded in response. “Okay, so, the plan would hopefully be to flank left.” He turned and pointed out from the hill, away from the direction they had come. “They’re going to hit here hard, so we’d probably just see if we could find a fault in their advance and send in some guys to hit them.” He turned back to them and he was grinning just a bit. “Or at least hit them ourselves, sort of a kamikaze mission to slow them up.”

“Hell yeah!” Said Full Wing. “I’m down with that!”

“Yeah that’s cool.” Said Siplinski in a disturbingly relaxed tone. Even Bren seemed open to this and gave an agreed nod.

“That’s sounds like a good idea.” He said.

Silence fell over Squad Six, and Red Field imagined this was because of him.

“Hey! Can I check out the tower?” Asked Full Wing.

“Haha yeah, head up and take a look!” Said the newly-enthused Black Rain. Full Wing headed up the tower and began to marvel at the view. Black Rain called up some stories about soldiers who’d stayed up there even during lightning storms. Red Field was looking into the forest below and thinking about how many tax bits were spent on the war game. Somepony stepped beside him.

“Hey, you know what recon is?” Asked Bren. Red Field didn’t find it hard to guess.

“Yeah.” He replied. They listened to Black Rain talk about the great spell fight atop hill two.

“Are you going to actually be in the game?” Asked Bren. Red Field started to speak. “I mean, it’s not going to be much of a game. Everypony from UAT’s on the other side and they have yet to lose a game when they fight as a team. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t even go this year but it means a lot to Rain, and I think Siplinski’s pretty into it.” Red Field had never concerned himself with the possible winner of the game and a paradigm had shifted for him.

“We’re going to lose?”

“Yeah pretty bad, Barracks Thirteen has gotten like twenty more cadets so it’s not even going to be close.” Red Field wanted very much to see Black Rain get his ass kicked for once.

The battle would be short and he’d just surrender at first chance anyway.

“Yeah I’ll probably come.” He said after a moment of false deliberation.

“All right cool.” Bren said with a smile. “And hey sorry for not really including you in anything. Usually the first couple weeks are pretty competitive for cadets for the war game. You just, you know, never really seemed into the whole thing.” He shrugged. “But now it really doesn’t matter.” Red Field didn’t care how bad Bren’s apology was; he was going to see Black Rain get trounced, and that was more than enough.

“It’s fine.” He said with a shrug. Bren turned back to the rest of Barracks Six. Siplinski was seated atop the hill and was throwing stones off the incline and Black Rain and Full Wing were still conversing about other battles.

“Hey we should head out, they’re gonna start soon.” Bren said. Black Rain nodded.

“Yeah, we better go.” Full Wing jumped from the tower and landed softly on his hooves after a single beat of his muscled wings. Siplinski rose to his hooves and groaned.

“All that extra undergrowth is gonna make it hard to hold this place tomorrow.” He said worriedly.

“That’s why we’re gonna hit ‘em from the side and break their advance!” Said Full Wing. Red Field was also going to see Full Wing get put in his place; maybe the game wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

Walking back down the hill and through the forest, they saw other squads from Team Two walking toward the fortress, which was already filling with soldiers and cadets. Bren led Barracks Six into the palisade enclosure and they were squished and jostled as they tried to find a place to stand.

The deep tones of stallions talking to stallions bombarded Red Field’s ears and he was glad when he heard somepony finally call over the commotion.

“Let’s start this!” The soldier, an officer that Red Field had seen in a few exercises, had a tan mane and a light green body. “There’s a few more coming but we should get this started now. How many of you is this your first war game?” About ten hooves, including Red Field’s, were raised into the air. The officer nodded. “Great! Glad to see we have some new guys.” He picked up a clipboard. “I’m adjutant Captain Herstal, I’m a supervisory officer under commander Lewerc, but in case you didn’t know, both Team Commanders abdicate command to their staff for the game. That means me and adjutant Captain Obendorf,” he motioned to another officer standing beside the table, “are going to be your leaders for Monday’s battle. Under us are three lieutenants who’ll be in charge of the three divisions for Team Two, and then from there it’s just barracks by barracks.” He looked out at the group. Herstal looked like the kind of pony that would enjoy a job in algorithmic trading. “I’m just going to go over the rules quick so everypony knows what we’re doing.” He flipped the page on his clipboard. “The first war game is an attrition conflict, both sides are attempting to capture and hold an objective position. Weapons are melee only, no spells of any kind are permitted.” He pointed out into the forest. “For them the objective’s going to be the bridge just above sawmill island, bridge delta 2 if you are familiar.” A few nods from Team One. “Our defense objective,” Herstal continued, “is hill eight.” To this Team One cried out in anger and disgust. Herstal, who did not appear to be a particularly staunch stallion, held up his hooves and tried to explain. “They changed the rules since last year on account of the standoff on the landing pad. I know it’s sudden and I did see the plant growth at the base of the hill.” He paused as he realized that now would be a good time to insert some good news. “But you guys are Gale Force, you can hold anywhere.” Even Red Field could tell that Team Two was going to get destroyed. Herstal received more boos and he nodded, “I realize this is not an optimal matchup, but I think we still have a chance. Let’s break into teams now and get our POA laid out. Barracks Two and Four and Six meet with Quantico, Eight, Ten and Twelve, you’re with Stoner, and Mesa is in charge of Fourteen through Twenty.” He dismounted the table and Red Field was again pushed and shoved as squads dispersed to find their leaders.

“Hey it’s still okay guys. We’re still gonna recon then hit their left flank hard.” Black Rain said to the rest of Barracks Six. “It might even be better since we’ll be hitting their entire force off guard.”

Lieutenant Quantico was a tall grey stallion who looked a little like an older version of Flashpoint. He was talking to another group as Barracks Six approached him. He smiled, gave the leader of the first squad a slap on the shoulder, then turned to Bren, who was apparently the leader of Barracks Six.

“Sergeant.” Quantico’s voice sounded only a few years older than Bren.

“Sir.” Said Bren. Quantico looked over Squad Six, then back at Bren.

“What are you thinking?” He asked. Siplinski stepped out beside Bren and came to attention.

“We were thinking recon sir, take the left flank and alert you to any weaknesses and maybe set up an ambush.” Siplinski said. Quantico verified this plan with Bren, then looked down to clipboard he held. He looked it over for only second.

“I’m putting you on perimeter duty. We’re running double security and we need-”

“What?” Interrupted Black Rain. Quantico looked up.

“Perimeter duty, soldier.” He said. “You’ll be on the ten to two.” Black Rain became panicked and the desperation was evident even in his formal tone.

“Sir, I think that-”

“You are on perimeter duty.” Quantico said. “It looks like you have one more member than what I remember and we need more force on the front, now that the hill is their only target.” He pointed toward hill eight. “You have your orders, now move out.”

Despite the forest around them being alight with the conversations and communication of the other squads of Team Two, Barracks Six walked in silence. Red Field walked behind the group and watched the leaves and plants pass by underhoof.

They were going to lose anyway, what did it matter where they spent their time?

He knew how disappointed Full Wing must be, and a part of him felt a little sorry to have ruined his fun.
They reached hill eight, but instead of climbing the incline again, Bren led them around the base of the hill, and toward a thick, green swatch of weeds. A deep trench which curved around the front of the hill lay behind the weeds. He heard Siplinski sigh when the trench came into view.

Red Field didn’t know what “perimeter” was, but he sensed it wasn’t a particularly pleasant duty. Bren reached the trench and without missing a step, hopped into the muddy chasm. Water splashed around him and he cursed aloud. The past several days had been rainy. Siplinski slid in after him, then Black Rain, Full Wing, and finally Red Field.

The trench was about two meters deep and the water was about half a meter deep. The trench gave each pony about a meter of space. The water stank, and Red Field felt his skin crawl as bugs skimmed along the surface.

Siplinski was the first to say something.

“Wow, this is shit.” He said.

“No fuckin’ shit!” Said Black Rain. “This is the worst fucking bullshit possible and it’s because of that fuckin’ idiot.” He pointed to Red Field, who was trying to stand as far away from everypony as possible. “Goddamn it you stupid fucking-”

“Hey knock it off!” Bren said. “Stop bitching about everything, we’re in this shithole job and there’s nothing we can do besides do our best. Does everypony know what we’re doing here?”

“Uh I don’t.” Said Full Wing. Bren turned to him.

“Perimeter means we’re the first line of defense.” He pointed to the garlic mustard that surrounded the trench. “They’re most likely going to come from that direction. This trench is here to slow them up. He pointed to a sloping ramp that led out of the trench and up the hill. “If we get attacked in here, somepony’s going to rush up there and let the guys up top know.” He looked up and down the trench. “It’s pretty tight in here so let’s spread out as much as we can and start marking off sectors of view.”

“Of what?!” Asked Black Rain. “There’s a wall of fucking plants, we can’t see a fucking thing!” The garlic mustard grew so densely that anypony looking out of the trench only saw a mass of thin green shoots. Red Field started to pull down a few of the plants, before realizing that their roots were so thickly intertwined that he couldn’t wrest them from the ground.

“Barracks Six!” Quantico stood above the trench, just above Red Field. “Are you getting set up?”

“Yes sir!” Called Bren. “Are we all supposed to hold this trench sir?”

“That is the idea soldier, I’ve talked with Stoner and Mesa and we’re running a broken pyramid defense so we need your whole squad posted up here. This is the only real blind spot in our defense, so we need you guys to let everypony up top know once you are getting moved on. We’re launching the trap once they hit you guys so you’ve got to let everypony know right away.” Everypony in Barracks Six gave their agreement “It’s on you to make this work.” He said solemnly.

Even Red Field knew that was a lie; anypony atop hill eight could see advancing attackers. If he had to guess, Barracks Six was positioned as a stumbling block for the onslaught of Team One.

They finalized their plan after about five minutes. Barracks Six spread out along the short trench. Red Field was relegated to the corner. They left the trench as soon as possible and Black Rain led them around the hill and surrounding area to confirm the plan with the rest of the squads.

A collapsing pyramid plan, Red Field learned, meant stationing forces in a triangle facing outward from the hill. The base, which was Barracks Six, would alert the rest of the Team which would theoretically now be behind the attackers. If all went to plan, the attackers would be surrounded and routed.

In all of their meetings with the other squads, nopony in Barracks Six was ever told what would happen to them once they came under attack. And as Red Field followed his teammates back to base under the darkness of night, he felt his stomach turn once more. He was almost assuredly going to get stabbed or slashed or injured in some way.

Later that evening, the cadets journeyed back to the gym, where Crunch taught them another course on hoof-to-hoof combat with the rubber knives they’d be using during the game. The first CQC course had been Red Field’s second recorded failure. He’d learned the basic moves and attacks, but couldn’t even match the weakest cadet, and according to Crunch, “hit like a bitch”. Crunch demonstrated a thrust with the knife. He was a scarred and sinewy black stallion who self-classified as “not somepony you’d want to run into in an alley”. Somepony leaned over and shook Red Field’s shoulder gently.

“Yo Jesus pony.” Whispered Blue Streak. Red Field had learned how to respond when accosted during a lesson. Keeping his eyes directed forward and giving no indication that he’d heard anything, Red Field gave a slight “hmm?” from pursed lips. Blue Streak put his mouth uncomfortably close to Red Field’s ear. “You hear that UAT is on the other team tomorrow?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Hmm.”

Crunch called for a volunteer and a Pegasus timidly offered.

“Those guys are seriously scary, like they’re total commandos.” Whispered Blue Streak. Red Field began to grow nauseous as he recalled his unpleasant run-in with them at the beginning of Beast. “They have got to have killed ponies at some point.”

“Is there something you want?” Red Field unhappily whispered. Blue Streak chuckled.

“Yeah, there’s a bet going around that you’ll either cry or get injured during the game by them.”

Crunch told the Pegasus to “come at me bro”, which seemed absurd even in a training scenario. Blue Streak shoved his mouth practically into Red Field’s ear.

“I bet with you, I found out that you can surrender if you get in a fight.” He whispered. “All you have to do is surrender to the first guy who attacks you and I’ll win two hundred bits.” The Pegasus only made a hesitant step toward Crunch before he was assaulted. Blue Streak spoke again. “I’ll give you fifty bits if you make sure not to cry and don’t get injured.” Crunch had flipped the defenseless pony on his back and mock throat-slashed him.

“Mmhmm.” Red Field agreed.

“Sweet, remember, all you have to do is say you surrender.” Whispered Blue Streak.

“If that happens, you’re dead and you go back to base!” Said Agent Orange, who was in charge of adding the particulars of the rules to the demonstration. “And if that happens with Crunch, you go to the afterlife.” He added with a laugh.

Red Field was already repeating his surrender as they were dismissed for the day.

Most of cadets attended the base-wide poker game the night before the game. Red Field would have gone, if he had liked poker, or had any friends who did, or if he were a different pony. Red Field sat in the mess hall for a while after the other ponies had left, then he went for a walk.

The humidity had gone down, and the night air was comfortably warm. The grounds of the base were occasionally peaceful, and the night was almost pleasant for a stroll around the compound. Red Field walked along the fence and looked out at the dark forest. He looked around at the interior of the base. It was mostly deserted. A few mechanics were working on a chariot and the clink of their tools sounded like a small, ringing triangle.

Gale Force could be strangely peaceful at times. Red Field passed by a smallish building which resembled a typical Equestrian house. He’d seen the building many times before but never discovered what it was. He walked around to the front of the building.

It certainly looked like a house.

A small stepping stone path led to what looked quite a bit like a front door. A little frosted glass window was inlet into the door and Red Field approached the door to see if he could discern anything on the other side. He froze as the door opened and Commander Lewerc stood before him. The commander was looking back inside and was laughing to somepony, he was still laughing a bit when he looked before him.

“Red Field!” He said. “Did you need something?” Before Red Field could reply, Blitzkrieg stepped around Lewerc, he too was chuckling.

“We’ll have to see about that.” He said to Lewerc. Red Field had never seen Blitzkrieg smile. He too noticed Red Field. “What are you doing cadet?”

“I was just out for a walk, and I wasn’t sure what this building was.” Red Field said. “I’m terribly sorry if I trespassed.” Blitzkrieg grunted and began to leave, his apparent good spirits replaced with his typical expression of reserved dissatisfaction. Lewerc, though, seemed entirely fine with Red Field’s presence.

“This is Commander Bombs Away’s home cadet.” Said Lewerc. “We just finished dinner.” He cocked his head. “Did you know there’s a poker game tonight for all of the cadets?”

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field as Blitzkrieg strolled away. Lewerc frowned at Red Field, then stepped out of the doorway.

“Walk with me.” Said Lewerc. Red Field followed him and they walked toward the center of the base. “How has your training been?”

“Fine sir.”

“I have to say, I’m very pleased you reconsidered and are back at Gale Force.” Lewerc smiled at Red Field. “You’re a capable pony and I know there’s a post that would suit you.” He sounded like he was trying to convince Red Field of something.

“Thank you sir.”

“I understand how unpleasant Beast has been. Specialist White and I discussed your performance and records and I can see you’re more of the intellectual. I had asked him to show you some of our posts in intelligence, did you get a chance to look at those?”

“Yes sir.”

“What did you think?”

“I think they look interesting.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of all of the different posts available. Right now you’re down for being a clopper. I wanted to make sure you knew there were jobs besides sleeping, eating, and lifting for company members.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well good, I’m very impressed with how you’ve done in Beast so far, I know you can take it all the way.” He gave Red Field a pat on the back. “Remember, tomorrow’s game doesn’t count for anything. I look forward to seeing you graduate soon.”
Red Field bade the commander goodnight, then went back to his barracks and ran through his surrender speech until the rest of Squad Six returned.

A breakfast of oats, the first he’d had since coming to Beast, stewed within Red Field’s nauseated belly. He trekked behind Full Wing and brought up the rear of the procession of Barracks Six as they marched from the mess hall to Macmillan forest. They had awoken an hour early, apparently the war game often ran late and everypony wanted to get an early start. Dew still shone on the leaves and branches of the plants around them. Red Field wasn’t sleepy, his heart raced in his chest and his belly twisted with fear. Despite the fact that he would avoid combat via surrender, Red Field was still terrified of the battle ahead as the other soldiers and cadets of Team One exchanged last minute plan changes and tips.

Team Two was going to get destroyed. That rumor had already permeated the company and no amount of planning was going to save them. Red Field hadn’t slept the entire night before, as he had helplessly envisioned the terrible fate which lay in store for “the base of the collapsing pyramid”. Black Rain had already made plans to abandon post to join in a raiding party which he maintained could “save everything”.

Bren and Siplinski had brought along a deck of cards and Full Wing said he might do a little hill workout; Barracks Six was not prepared to “go all the way for victory.”

They came to the staging area in just a few minutes. About forty folding tables were loaded with rubber knives. Twenty or so officers were donning striped outfits; apparently even war games needed referees. All around them came the ribbing and exchange of boasts as the two teams prepared for battle. Red Field’s heart pounded as Siplinski brought a load of knives back for the squad. Red Field took his frightfully. The knife was covered in scratches and gouges.
The bottom of the hilt unscrewed and a tiny tube of red paint fell into Red Field’s grip. The other soldiers around him were smearing the paint across the blades of their weapons; Red Field began to shake with fright.

“Here.” Siplinski took his knife and spread on the paint for him. “Make sure you put more on if you kill somepony.” He said, apparently not realizing who he was addressing. Red Field numbly took the knife, he was on the verge of pretending to pass out to keep himself from actually participating in the impending nightmare.

“Hey!” Somepony smacked his shoulder. Blue Streak stood beside him. He was wearing a striped t-shirt and carried a thick rulebook. “You look great, you got this!” He said, his grin more affiliated with the prospect of winning his bet than his facetious confidence in Red Field. “I got a job helping one of the refs and I’ll give you a hoof if I can, like when he’s not looking.”

“Excuse me, could you see if I could do that too?” Red Field asked. Blue Streak saw how close he was to crumbing.

“No no dude! You gotta do this! It’s really not that bad! Do you remember what I said about surrendering?” Red Field was about to plead more desperately when Blue Streak again slapped his shoulder and pointed. “Holy shit dude that’s UAT!” He said in a disturbing reverence. Red Field looked to where Blue Streak pointed.

UAT seemed to both fulfill and dispel the stereotypes circulating about the elite group of ponies. On the one hoof, they were secretive and shadowy, as they trained off base and were only occasionally seen showering or eating. On the other hoof, a sort of unspoken and unreasoned requisite for UAT was said to be a beard. However, in the dull, overcast morning light, Red Field saw only about four or five of the stallions had beards, and the rest were clean shaven. They weren’t much taller than the other members of Gale Force, and there were even one or two that were Red Field’s height. However the subtle lines and angles of each pony’s body betrayed their legendary physique. Oddly, most were unicorns, with only a few earth ponies, and not a single Pegasus.

The group of about twenty or so ponies stood at the far end of the row of tables. They wore green digitized uniforms, and black metal horseshoes. The team’s commander was talking with one of the referees.

Blue Streak stared at UATs as if they were the next incarnation of Nightmare Moon herself. He gave Red Field a final, wordless pat on the shoulder, then trotted over to meet the group. The UAT commander and the referee continued to converse, and the rest of UAT stood around, seemingly disinterested in the commotion around them. They hadn’t even taken their weapons yet.

The rest of Barracks Six caught sight the UATs.

“Simo, I don’t see Simo.” Black Rain said, hurriedly scanning the group. “You think he’s hurt?”

“Nope, there he is.” Said Siplinski, pointing to a short white unicorn.

“Fuck, that’s a whole team.” Black Rain said. Red Field watched the UATs, a few talked with one another, but none responded to any of the cadets or soldiers who sidled up to them. Red Field couldn’t tell if they were intentionally acting pretentious or if they were genuinely disinterested in the war game. He was still observing them when he heard the crowd around him grow quiet. He looked back and saw Commander Bombs Away accompanied by Blitzkrieg and Lewerc, standing at the other end of the rows of tables.

“Gale Force Company, attention!” Said Blitzkrieg. All of the ponies hastily formed into their squads and stood at attention.

“Today’s the annual Team on Team war game.” Bombs Away voice called. “This exercise was started seventy years ago as a means for the entire company to practice hoof-to-hoof combat and to learn a little about war without modern weapons.” He was walking down the rows of ponies. “I realize that a lot of you see this as just a big game. But it’s my hope that you can learn something about cruder fighting.” He stopped in the middle of the company, about ten meters from Red Field. Bombs Away looked around. “This is not how we will fight. We fight with better training, better weapons, better tactics, and better planning.” He paused and looked around at the teams. “But if we ever fight like this, we’ll still win.” He started down the line. “If you ever find yourself in a fair fight with you enemy, in pure hoof-to-hoof combat.” He said as he passed Red Field. “Plan A has certainly failed.” A few ponies laughed as Bombs Away reached the other end of the lines. “That being said, the game starts in fifteen minutes. Make your way to your starting positions.” A cry of “yes sir!” rose from both teams.

Red Field was still wincing from the sudden shout when Siplinski grabbed him by the mane and yanked him backward. All around them, soldiers and squads were galloping and bolting to and fro. Leaders shouted orders and subordinates shouted agreements. Red Field nearly toppled over as Siplinski shoved him after the rest of Barracks Six, who were running full tilt toward hill eight.

“Come on! We gotta get set up!” Said Siplinski with renewed vigor. Red Field’s heart was racing and he had forgotten about his terror as he bolted after his squad. They reached the hill in just a few minutes. Siplinski leaped into the trench without an instant of deceleration and deposited a splash that rocked the water. Red Field landed a few seconds after him with a “plunk”.

“Go, get to your side!” Said Black Rain. He pointed to Red Field. “Get in the fuckin’ corner, watch for anypony!”

“Full, where’s Full at?” Asked Bren. Full Wing was sprinting up the hill. Both Bren and Black Rain shouted up at him. Full Wing had been so excited he’d forgotten his station and was rushing up to the top of hill eight. The previous detachment and even resignation to the battle had turned and everypony, even Red Field, was focused on the impending battle.

After Full Wing had returned, Black Rain made certain everypony was in their position and had their sight angles down. Red Field, sitting in the far left corner, could see around the edge of the weeds. He saw groups of what he hoped were Team Two ponies fanning out into the falling pyramid formation. His heart raced as somepony hammered his shoulder.

“Hey! See anything?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field told him of the groups of ponies.

“Hey, it’s just Stoner’s team getting set up.” Bren seemed to have calmed somewhat. “We’ve still got like eight minutes till it starts.” For a moment, all five caught their breath. Then Siplinski stepped to the middle of the trench.

“Let’s get a battle plan.” He said, talking even faster than normal. “If they come in Rain’s sector, I’ll cover his back while you,” he pointed to Bren, “come at them from the front and try to occupy them.” He motioned to himself. “Same thing, one of us gets my back and the others go to engage them.” He pointed to Bren. “You’re in the corner, so you either need to pull back and we fight as a group. Or you can try to hold them for a couple seconds while we rush in behind them.”

“I’ll try and hold them; you guys will get them from behind.” Bren said.

“And if anypony comes at Red Field, we’ll rush in to get his body.” Said Black Rain.

“Just try and hold them. We’ll kill ‘em as long as you keep their backs to us.” Siplinski said to Red Field.

“Okay.” Red Field said . He was so frightened that he didn’t recall his plan to surrender. Siplinski turned to Full Wing.

“You gotta fly as fast as you can. I know it’s going to be hard to tell what’s going on in the adrenaline of the moment, but the second we come under attack, you have to go.” He said severely. Full Wing was giving his “hell yeah” when a siren wailed through the forest

“Shit.” Said Black Rain.

Sweat ran down Red Field’s face and he struck at it as if the small salty drop were a fly. His ears twitched and searched about and every falling leaf in the forest terrorized his nerves. Red Field was utterly readied for the impending attack.

At least for the first twenty minutes.

Bren was leaned against the wall of the trench. Black Rain was leaned against the opposite side, listening for anypony approaching. Red Field was crouched in the embrace of the muddy corner. Siplinski stood in the middle of the narrow moat, he was methodically cracking all of the joints in his body.

They’d heard nothing.

Every now and then, somepony would profess to “hearing something” but the forest was as still and quiet as it should have been. Siplinski popped his neck and Black Rain turned on him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He whispered. Siplinski bowed his head without saying anything. Black Rain turned back to listening to the forest.

“I’d heard from a couple guys last night that they might be sending some runners ahead of the main attack to test our defenses.” Bren said. Red Field’s ears noticed a crack in a twig about twenty meters away. He hadn’t heard such a noise before. “We have to watch for anything, even little stuff.”

“I think I heard something.” Red Field said as quietly as he could. Only Siplinski noticed he had said something. The red unicorn turned around.

“Did you say something?” He asked. Red Field licked his lips, which were suddenly dry.

“I think something over that way, like a twig snapping I think.” He said a little louder. Siplinski flicked his head to Black Rain and the bigger unicorn sloshed over.

“What is it?” He asked Siplinski. Siplinski deferred him to Red Field. Red Field pointed out to the forest.

“I think I heard a twig snap.” He whispered. Black Rain nodded and pushed by Red Field. Carefully pressing his hind hooves into the muddy wall of the trench, Black Rain lifted himself upward and poked his head out of the trench. He scanned for a few seconds, then bade Siplinski to take a look. Siplinski rose up too, and Red Field waited nervously as the pair of exposed soldiers looked for the source of the noise. He heard another crack from the same direction and anxiously considered telling them.

Siplinski and Black Rain dropped down after a moment.

“Nothin’.” Said Black Rain, wading back to his position. Siplinski also returned to his station. Red Field’s heart raced as he waited for whatever it was that his comrades had missed to descend on him. After fifteen minutes, he began to relax again. Black Rain had stepped away from the wall and was now practicing a few jabs and slashes with his knife. Siplinski sloshed over to Bren and suggested they trade positions. Red Field let out a long breath and watched a piece of bark float along the still surface of the water. Bren agreed to trade places and began to ease past Siplinski.

Something in the forest snapped.

Everypony froze. Bren hurriedly returned to his original position. Siplinski pressed himself against the wall closest to the noise, along with Black Rain. The noise had sounded like a large branch cracking in two. It had also sounded close.
They waited for whatever it was. Red Field held his knife under his chin. The blade dipped a bit and led a thin line of red onto his chest. He adjusted it and wondered if he might claim to have killed himself to escape the impending attack. However he was much too terrified of what lurked on the other side of the plants to consider rising out of the trench. He wiped away the paint and waited. Presently he heard Siplinski ask Black Rain what the noise could have been.
“
Dunno. Could have been a rope.” Whispered Black Rain.

“You think they’re roping in from the trees?” Asked Siplinski.

“I dunno know the fuck’s up, we’re stuck in this goddamn trench.” Said Black Rain. They heard distant shouting, and a whistle blow several short bursts. “Group contact.” Black Rain said. “Means they might still be a few hundred meters out if we’re just meeting them now.” He pulled away from the wall a little bit. The shouting erupted again, along with a few more whistle blows.

“God, I hope that’s not UAT.” Said Siplinski. Black Rain shook his head.

“There’s no contact with UAT, refs don’t need to watch for any rule breaking. They just drop down behind you and cut your throat.” He said. Red Field’s skin began to crawl.

Squad Six would certainly come under attack first. Or would the UATs bypass the trench entirely and simply sneak up the hill and secure it before anypony knew what was going on?

In a minute, Black Rain relaxed.

“We’re clear.” He said with a certainty that seemed overconfident to Red Field. “That’s gotta be their main attack force running into one of our recon teams.” He said. He again started to knife the air. Siplinski began to relax as well and he began to crack his joints again, which had since regained their crack-ability. Red Field wasn’t so easily pacified, and kept listening for any sounds of movement.

Another half an hour passed and Red Field was still straining for anything in the forest. He’d heard several noises which he considered suspect, but had decided against alerting his squadmates. He was nevertheless convinced that somepony lurked nearby.

Red Field theorized the various manners in which approaching enemies might have caused the noises. But how plausible was each explanation? How much could he really expect of his enemies? Would they be foolish enough to break a twig? Was it plausible to assume two instances of a plant snapping back a in less than three minutes were the signs of an approaching soldier?

Red Field hadn’t expected how much paranoia and self-questioning guard duty brought on.
He didn’t even notice the hair-like legs of the water strider curiously stroking his leg.

The noontime sky, though still overcast, had grown much lighter. Bren leaned against the wall of the trench. Black Rain did the same and pressed his chin to his chest as he rested. Siplinski was sitting beside Full Wing on the small ramp.

Red Field had made a game out of his listening. He graded each sound immediately after hearing it. Any sound not meeting a required suspicion level was disregarded. Qualifying sounds he then analyzed on the basis of their position and plausibility of a pony being in the proper position to create such a noise. From there he created a mental map of suspect directions and areas, and made certain to search for trends or patterns indicating a likely enemy presence. Red Field also made random spot checks on sounds which did not meet the suspect standards, as part of his process of vigilance. He’d poked his head up several times and used his view to create a mental map that he could interpose the various sounds onto.

Red Field knew nopony was there.

Red Field had heard some shouting, and a few times the battle had sounded close. But after many hours of passivity the members of Squad Six knew they weren't in any great danger. Red Field was growing hungry and began to wonder about lunch when Black Rain pushed himself off of the wall.

“Fuck this.”

“We still have to be careful.” Bren said. “They’re probably just getting to us now, our guys probably put a good fight.”

“No way.” Black Rain said with a shake of his head. “Fuckin’ UAT should have dropped down on us or taken the hill some other way by now.”

“They’d have let us know if the game was over.” Said Bren. Black Rain sighed and wiped some mud from his leg.

“How much longer do we have?” He asked.

“Six, eight hours?” Said Bren. “This one’s the short one right?”

“Hey I still have my cards if you guys want to do some poker or something.” Siplinski said.

“Good shit.” Black Rain said. Black Rain and Siplinski were in the process of deciding what game they should play, and Bren was still leaned into his corner.

The very green and very camouflaged head and shoulders of somepony oozed over the side of the trench directly above Bren. The pony clutched a knife in his mouth and was slowly sliding over the ledge and toward Bren.

“HEY!” Red Field cried. His shout startled everypony, and the cards went flying as Siplinski jumped. He looked to Red Field, but Black Rain looked to where the small pony pointed.

“Down Bren!” Shouted Black Rain as he dashed at the attacker. Bren, who was already startled by Red Field, dove into the muddy water. The aspiring assassin, seeing his quarry escape, lunged downward in an attempt to catch him with a swinging blow. Black Rain covered the distance between himself and the pony in a quarter of a second. With a swift blow, Black Rain grabbed the pony by the mane and shoved his face deep into the mud. He hacked a swipe of red paint across the pony’s neck while slapping away his enemy’s weapon. Another pony leaped from the garlic mustard and tackled Black Rain from behind. Red Field saw him stab his knife into the unicorn’s neck. Siplinski caught this next attacker by the throat and flipped him into the water. He dispatched this foe with a single slash across the belly.

The ponies poured into the trench like lemmings. Two stallions tackled Siplinski simultaneously and all three sank under the water. Bren shouted for Full Wing to run, then was slashed by another attacker. At least seven more ponies were now in the trench. Red Field watched in horror as his squad was immediately killed off.

Their attackers were coated in smeared camouflaged paint. The ponies of Team One were nearly all Gale Force Soldiers, although Red Field made out a couple cadets. One of the attackers shouted for somepony to get the runner, and a Pegasus shot out of the trench and after Full Wing.

“Hey, are we clear?” Asked one of the soldiers. One of them spotted the little black and white unicorn huddled in the corner. Red Field nearly fainted as all seven of the attackers turned on him.

“Hang on! Let me get this one!” Said somepony behind them. Red Field saw a smallish cadet, one with the grin of a colt with far too much testosterone, step out in front of them. He lifted his knife and displayed the blade with a sadistic twirl.

“All right, you got him.” Red Field saw Agent Orange standing behind the cadet. His instructor noticed him and gave the cowering pony a flick of the head. “’Sup Jesus pony.” He said with a similar grin. Red Field’s heart raced as the other cadet braced himself.

Red Field’s teammates had risen from the water and watched him.

“Come on Red! Get this motherfucker!” Shouted Bren. Red Field nearly gagged on the piercing fear that overtook him as the stallions shouted orders and advice to him and his opponent. The other pony lurched toward him.

“I surrender!” Red Field cried.

Everypony stopped. Agent Orange laughed. Then everypony from Team One laughed.

“Ha! I knew that would happen!” Said Agent Orange. He gave his protégé a pat on the shoulder. “You got an easy one this time, next one will be harder.” The other cadet, who Red Field saw was a black Pegasus, paused, then looked up to Agent Orange.

“Can I still clean him?” He asked eagerly. Agent Orange looked back to Red Field, then gave an approving shrug.

“Sure!” Red Field was shaking as the other cadet approached him.

“Easy now, it’ll all be over soon. Promise you won’t feel a thing.” Said the cadet. With all of the other ponies watching, he ran the end of his knife along Red Field’s neck, leaving a thin line of paint. He made a sweeping gesture around Red Field’s neck, as if he were collecting the unicorn’s dog tags as a trophy.

“Now let’s take that hill!” Shouted Agent Orange. The other squad erupted into cheers and they splashed out of the trench, leaving their fallen enemies behind. The water splashed back and forth, further soaking the ponies.

A few of Siplinksi’s cards floated over the muddy waves.

Team One won.

Full Wing had been caught and dispatched by the other Pegasus before he’d managed to alert the outpost atop hill eight. The team who had attacked Barracks Six had been a raiding party from Barracks Thirteen, and they had taken the hill. They’d received quite a bit of congratulation, from both commanders, on the victory.

Red Field had spoken to Flashpoint, and was finishing out the next day of training, then quitting Gale Force. After quite a bit of arguing, Blue Streak had won his bet: most accounts of Red Field’s death involved the phrase “crying like a bitch”.

However the alleged “crying like a bitch” had not been verified by all present witnesses and despite the character witnesses (including Black Rain) who had testified that Red Field was in fact, a bitch, the case fell through.
Red Field had finally stopped caring about what his parents would think.

Rockvale was better than Gale Force.

The morning of his last day dawned brightly. Red Field awoke early, he wasn’t sleeping well anymore, and walked to the mess hall. Another pony, coming from the section of the base near the chariots, was heading to the hall as well. Red Field recognized Site, the weapons pony. The tan unicorn entered after Red Field.

Flashpoint was waiting inside of the hall. He and Red Field had grown accustomed to seeing each other in the early hours, and they passed one another without acknowledgement. Site and Flashpoint greeted one another, then departed, leaving Red Field by himself in the quiet dining area.

Red Field tried to go back to sleep. The illness had intensified since the previous day and he felt utterly spent. His body was finally breaking, on his last day. He didn’t care if he was sick for a month when he got home, he would be away from Gale Force.

At breakfast, Agent Orange, who appeared to be very happy to have won the war game, informed the cadets that they’d be following him to the weapons orientation directly after breakfast. Blue Streak and his friends alternated between conversing over the game, and the anticipated weapons they’d be handling. Nopony said anything to Red Field, which suited him fine.

The morning was already uncomfortably hot, and no wind blew as the excited cadets exited the mess hall. Agent Orange led them not into the forest per norm, but instead to the mass of parked chariots sitting inside the fenced enclosure beside the mechanic shop.

“Pile into one of these, no more than eight of you fatasses to a chariot.” Agent Orange said. “You don’t want to drop out of the sky!” Agent Orange had never joked without insulting anypony. He was truly pleased to have won the war game.

The cadets jumped and mounted the chariots in just a few seconds. Red Field, who had been walking sluggishly, found himself standing alone in the field of filled vehicles. A few cadets jeered down to him.

“Cadet! Over here! We’re not waiting for anypony!” Agent Orange called from a chariot several meters away. Red Field clopped over and thoughtlessly shuffled aboard.

“Take a seat cadet.” Red Field looked up and saw Flashpoint seated inside the chariot. With him was Flashpoint, Site, an old brown pony who Red Field had never seen before, and Agent White. The old pony sat against the side of the chariot, beside Agent White.

“We’re good to go!” Called Agent Orange. The chariot lurched off of the ground and the cadets took to the sky. They flew for about ten minutes and in that time, Agent White turned to talk with the brown pony. The pair conversed about the weather, the fitting of horseshoes, and other old pony things. Red Field was glad Agent Orange was piloting, as he would have no doubt made some comment about the battle. Flashpoint stood mutely beside Agent Orange and Red Field tried to get some rest as they flew.

They touched down somewhere warm, very warm.
Red Field, who had managed to build a little drowsiness, felt a hot breeze blow against his face and rouse him. The chariot sank a little as it landed, and Red Field poked his head over the side of the vehicle.

All around them lay sand. Red Field felt the breeze hit his face again and bring a soft sprinkle of sand along with it. They had landed in the desert surrounding Neighara Falls. Red Field saw the other chariots touching down around them, and the equally confused cadets peering over the sides. Agent Orange pushed Red Field aside and jumped down into the desert.

“Cadets! Follow me.” He said. “You don’t want to get left behind.” He began to march in a direction leading to nowhere. Agent White, Site, and the brown pony all disembarked past Red Field. The brown pony looked up at Red Field.

“Coming son?” He asked. Red Field nodded.

They marched for a quarter of an hour, just long enough to make everypony sweaty and empty their canteens. Red Field trudged behind the brown pony, who didn’t seem to notice the heat at all. The excitement of the cadets was starting to die off as they came to a concrete bunker amidst the waves of sand. Site walked ahead and unlocked the bunker. The group stopped and waited. In a minute, Site poked his head out and told Agent Orange they were ready. Agent Orange then turned to face the group.

“Cadets! From here on out, you will not touch, manipulate, or otherwise dick with anything you see unless given orders to. These are the most advanced weapons in all of Equestria and can kill anything instantly no matter what pony is using them. Do you understand?” The cadets shouted they did and followed him into the bunker. Red Field felt his sweaty skin crawl as he passed into the shadowy cave of the building.
The bunker was filled with crates and boxes, but the lighting was so dim that Red Field couldn’t make out any of the markings. He followed the group to another door, from which bright sunlight poured. Red Field stepped through the door onto an odd patio of sorts. The concrete floor continued to some odd tables that sat under a concrete overhang. Past the tables lay a long stretch of flattened desert. Wooden stands holding papers printed with bulls-eyes stood at intervals along the stretch. Red Field blinked, something seemed very familiar about the layout of the demonstration area.

“Cadets, attention!” Shouted Agent Orange. Red Field tensed along with the rest of the group. They heard hoofsteps behind them, and Agent Orange walked through them and towards the benches. He carried a thick plastic case about a meter long. “You are no doubt wondering what Gale Force Company carries as their weapons, being that we are the finest military unit in all of Equestria.” He unclicked the case and swung open the top. The frozen ponies peered at what appeared to just be a block of black foam, then Agent Orange lifted it from its case.

A part of Red Field was confused, a part of him was intrigued, and much of him was afraid of how the weapon had come to Gale Force. Agent Orange pulled the rifle from the case and set it atop the table.

“Cadets, this is the ST-49c. The finest rifle in all of Equestria.” Everypony except Red Field stared stupidly at what looked like a black polymer stick with several places to grip. With all of the pleasure that came from wielding such a powerful firearm, Agent Orange racked back the charging handle and opened the action. The metallic click-clack inexplicably delighted all of the cadets and Agent Orange carefully held the weapon up for the ponies to see.

“This is our main battle rifle.” He looked down at the rifle. “Shorter barrel so it’s easier to pack.” He looked up at the cadets. “We call her Kitty Kat, or KKAT for short.” He set the rifle on its stock atop the table. “And you guys get to learn all about her.”

Red Field sat through an hour and a half of repetitive and simplified learning on firearms.

Though Red Field had never actually seen the ST-49c, he could tell by the design that it was an offshoot of the first of the “Storm Rifle” series. The barrel was much shorter than the original Storm Rifle and nearly every part of the rifle was made of polymer; the ST-49c was certainly a modern weapon.

According to Agent Orange, KKAT was bulky, tedious, and a lot longer than it needed to be. He complained of her many areas of fault, and made certain to tell the cadets of her “god awful mag release that didn’t even drop mags free”. However the cadets experienced love at first sight with the rifle. The beguiling right angles and sharp edges of Kitty Kat enticed them and they were fighting one another to hold the first rifles.

At first, Agent Orange seemed to near the end of his patience as he handed out training rifles. Despite constant warnings and anecdotes about guys who got fucked up, nearly every cadet felt the need to peer down the muzzle of KKAT at least once. Another instructor named Ludus joined Agent Orange, and together they combated the inherent stupidity of the cadets.

Finally, Red Field reached the front of the line and Agent Orange shoved a dummy rifle at him.

“Clear it, safe it.” Said Agent Orange tiredly. Red Field, having studied the diagrams of proper manipulation for all of five minutes, knocked free the magazine with a bat from his hoof, racked back the bolt, twisted the safety and displayed it to Agent Orange. Agent Orange blinked as if he weren’t sure he’d just seen the demonstration. He nodded to continue and Red Field clicked in a new magazine, dropped the bolt via the release(which had yet to be explained or even mentioned) and disengaged the safety. He waited as Agent Orange looked over the rifle.

He caught a faint “sonofabitch” from Agent Orange.

“Well, okay, yeah, that’s it.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field nodded and walked back to the benches that jutted from the wall of the bunker. He watched in quiet amusement as a large cadet caught his hoof in the path of the bolt and yelped in pain.

In time, all of the cadets managed to demonstrate the basic manipulations of the ST-49c, and recite the basic rules of safe firearms handling, as well as Agent Orange’s personal axiom of “dumbasses are the most dangerous enemy we face”.

Finally, it was time to "make the range hot." Donning earmuffs that were did not appear to have been properly sanitized at any point in their existence, as well as scratched and instantly fogged safety glasses, the cadets all crowded around one of the benches as Agent Orange prepared to fire. The range grew deadly quiet as the cadets watched Agent Orange press a few rounds into the magazine and insert it into the firearm. Despite his knowledge of the rifle, Red Field felt goose bumps along his neck as Agent Orange shouldered the weapon and set it to fire. Everypony, even Red Field, was spellbound by the impending gunshot.

The rifle gave a loud thump that reverberated through the porous concrete and fleshy bodies of the ponies around it. The clink of the casing falling to the ground surprised the enraptured cadets. After a moment, Agent Orange fired again. This time the shot was met with a few shouts, and somepony professed to a boner. Without warning anypony, Agent Orange silently clicked the weapon to automatic and drew up for a burst. Red Field noticed this and braced himself. The rifle sent out an outraged string of roaring thumps and a few sparks shot from the flash hider. Most of the cadets jumped back or cowered away to this. Red Field felt a secret sense of pride to stand his ground.
Agent Orange turned to the cadets.

“This ain’t no tickle spell!” He said with a grin.

Weapons orientation turned out to be everypony’s favorite day.

After reviewing the safety rules once more, and taking a look at a few gel blocks which had been ripped apart by the rounds of Kitty Kat, Agent Orange, Ludus, and Site set up each table with a rifle. The crowd of cadets murmured with fright and excitement. Both everypony and nopony wanted to be first. Finally, Agent Orange turned the waiting shooters.

“Those of you who demonstrated the best knowledge of this weapon go first.” He pointed to a few random ponies, and then Red Field. “Get up here and some ‘em how it’s done.”

Red Field rose and walked toward an open table. He was strangely terrified of the carbine before him. Seating himself beside it, Red Field waited for the order to fire.

“Okay, loaded up and aim for those one hundred meter targets.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field heard the other cadets eagerly click their magazines into place and cycle their actions. Red Field fumbled a little locking his magazine into place. With trembling hooves he set the weapon to fire and curled his foreleg so his hoof pressed against around the trigger.

Drawing the stock to his shoulder, Red Field felt the oiled surface of the comb against his cheek. He squinted down the tube of the sight. The red dot bobbed and twitched as he tried to steady it on the miniscule bulls-eye. He looked away from the rifle and up at Site, who was standing beside him.

“What’s the weight of the trigger?” Red Field asked. Site raised an eyebrow.

“Five and a half pounds, single stage.” He said, sounding impressed at the question. Red Field nodded and again looked down the sight. One of the other cadets fired and Red Field jerked at the resounding thump. A few ponies cheered. Agent Orange looked down a long monocular.

“Uhh, hit, five inches low, three to the right.” He called. Red Field wiped some perspiration from his forehead. The next pony fired and Red Field flinched again. Agent Orange called out the hit. Red Field thought of something else.

“Is this zeroed for a hundred?” He asked Site.

“Yeah” Site answered, becoming impatient with Red Field. “Now fire.” Red Field swallowed and turned back to the rifle. He looked down the sight. The thick red dot was unspeakably irritating as it jumped and jittered inside the metal tube of the sight. Red Field tried in vain to freeze the dot, but it seemed determined to leap playfully around the target.

“Cadet! You’re holding everypony up! Take your damn shot!” Shouted Agent Orange. Red Field gave up trying to take a well-aimed shot and began to squeeze the trigger. Red Field had read in one of the books of the proper way to fire a firearm, and now he attempted to put each of the fundamentals of marksmanship to practice.
The rifle thumped. The stock popped out of his shoulder and the entire rifle jumped backward. The sight snapped into Red Field’s snout, sending a sharp sting through his head.
Red Field dropped the rifle and instinctively stood up from the table, clutching his injured snout. The rifle, unattended and unsteadied, tipped off the table and fell to the concrete with a clatter. He heard several boos and angry cries from the cadets. Red Field was still reeling from the blow to his snout and he was too dizzy to react.
Site knelt and recovered the fallen weapon.

“Sorry sir.” Red Field said dazedly. Site shrugged.

“Eh, it’s fine.” Site said. The hit had disoriented Red Field and he walked back to the benches to take a seat. A few ponies told him his nose was bleeding and he saw that he’d left a little trail of rich blood along the dusty grey concrete. Not knowing what else to do, he pinched his nose and took his seat.

“Hit.” Said Agent Orange. “Two inches low.” He said in a low voice, as if he had trouble believing the fairly accurate shot to have been made by the bleeding little unicorn. “All right! Next three come on up!” Red Field, thoroughly uninterested in his result, tried to remember if he held his head back or forward for a bloody nose. Thankfully, Agent White brought him a first aid kit and helped him stifle the bleeding.

The instructors took about fifteen minutes to cycle all of the cadets through their first round. As the stun from being struck in the snout wore off, Red Field began to take more interest in how close his shot had been to the bulls-eye. He had been two inches low? In the first round of shooting, Red Field was the closest to the target. Some small part of him felt proud of this. This pride was compounded by the surprised looks and exclamations of his fellow cadets; for once he was the best at something.

However things went downhill quickly on his next turn. Agent Orange ordered all seven ponies on the line to fire an entire magazine into the target. Red Field tightened up for his first shot, making certain that he’d secured the rifle this time. The rifle thumped, but he muscled it down and kept his snout safe.
“Hit.” Called Agent Orange. “Five inches low, six to the right.” Red Field’s heart dropped. How had he missed? He tightened up for another shot. This time he missed the target entirely. His momentary elation crumbling, Red Field did everything in his power to bring the tiny dot onto the dead center of the target. The rifle thumped back into his shoulder and once more the scope stuck him in the face. His already broken nose throbbed and Red Field whimpered aloud. He stood again and Site made sure to grab the rifle.

The gunsmith asked for some paper towels, and Red Field saw that a few drops of blood from his reinjured snout had gotten onto the stock and were trickling down the lower receiver. He stammered his apologies to the armorer as Agent White told him to hold his head back. Red Field’s eyes were watering as he heard Agent Orange call out. “Hit, five low, eight right.”

Red Field never came closer than five inches to the target that day. He tried several more times, but grew progressively worse. The other cadets soon acclimated to the weapons and were soon grouping five to six inch circles around the bulls-eye. Red Field sat miserably though a demonstration of burst and automatic fire from Ludus and unhappily took his turn emptying a magazine at a target. At least on automatic he averaged like everypony else. But before long, everypony knew that Jesus pony was the worst shot in the entire company. Though at this point nopony, least of all Red Field, felt any great surprise at this.

“Final shot.” Called Agent Orange. “You guys are going out to the two hundred meter targets.” He held up his clipboard.

“Don’t forget that today is still a test, so some of you guys are going to get sent home if you don’t make this shot.” Red Field waited until it was his turn to fire. Stepping up to the table,, he slumped down and pulled the rifle toward him. On his turn, Red Field aimed, fired, then set the rifle down.

“Miss.” Called Agent Orange. “Oh actually,” he counted under his breath for a second, “seven inches low and eight to the right. Just barely nicked the page.”

“Hey, it’s okay dude.” Red Field hadn’t noticed the pony next to him. It was the same pony who had mock-killed him in the game. “Not everypony is good at this.” He said. He turned to his rifle and steadied for his shot.

Thump.

Miss.

The Pegasus left his seat without a word. Red Field stood and followed after him.

Nopony hit the two hundred meter target. Red Field had technically come the closest, but still failed. Agent Orange shook his head and said it was normal. Red Field’s entire face ached and his nose was clogged with blood. He was flaking with sweat from the scorching desert wind and his body was stiff from trying to hold the rifle still. Flashpoint now took center stage and read from a clipboard.

“Anypony on this list, get your things when you get back to base and follow me to the transport.” Flashpoint called. “Patriot Missile, Enfield, Orlite, and Red Field. Now everypony head back to base.” Red Field stood up and shuffled back through the bunker with the other ponies. As they passed through the bunker, a door on their right opened. Somepony clomped down a flight of stairs and out of the doorway. They passed through the crowd and a few ponies tried to make out who it was. Flashpoint called for everypony to halt. They stopped. Flashpoint and somepony were talking in low tones. Everypony waited.

“Last shooter. Lane six.” Said Flashpoint. “Cadet Red Field!” Said Flashpoint. “Please assist gunnery sergeant Belligerence in cleaning the range.” Red Field sighed and stepped out of the group. His eyes had adjusted a little and he saw Flashpoint point back toward the entrance to the shooting range.

Red Field’s eyes were once more burned by the bright sands of the Neigheran Desert. The sun had fallen partially and the dunes were beginning to molt golden. Site and Ludus were collecting and casing the rifles as they conversed. Red Field looked for the gunnery sergeant.

“Hello there.” The sergeant was the same old, brown pony who Red Field had flown with. He was sitting on one of the shooting benches. He wore a faded green army cap and rose to his hooves with a grunt. “Hope you don’t mind giving me a hoof with taking down the targets.” He said with the geniality of an old pony who didn’t know what ponies did and didn’t mind.

“Yes sir.” Red Field said. The brown pony led him past the tables and out from under the enclosure. The warm fluid of the sand drew up to Red Field’s fetlocks and he felt the heat soak into his hooves as he followed behind Belligerence. They reached the one hundred meter line, and Belligerence motioned for Red Field to start on the left side.

Red Field pulled down the first target. It had a series of six millimeter holes scattered in a large circle pattern around the bulls-eye. He reached the next one and saw that its circle was substantially smaller.

This pony could shoot very well, despite not knowing anything about guns.

The patterns varied, but all were substantially better than what Red Field had produced. The heat had already coated Red Field in another uncomfortable layer of sweat and as he took down each reminder of how much better every other stallion was than him, Red Field despaired more and more. Belligerence had only taken down one target and was standing at the second target from the right. He had clearly been waiting for Red Field to arrive.

Belligerence wore a sort of smug smile and pointed to Red Field’s target.

“This yours?” He asked. Red Field nodded. “Looks like the scope got you good.” Said Belligerence with a chuckle. “I imagine you must have been flinching pretty good after that.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field said, trying to keep from crying. Belligerence pointed to the first hole two inches below the target.

“That’s a nice one.” He said. They waited as Belligerence looked at the target and Red Field looked at his hooves as he tried to blink away the tears. Belligerence pulled the target down. “Let’s get those last ones.” He said, starting for the two hundred meter line. Red Field followed after him. Once at the two hundred yard line, Belligerence started to laugh. His laugh was quiet, shaking and sardonic.

“Not a single hit.” He grinned and turned to Red Field. “I imagine we can reuse these.” Red Field nodded and began to take down the unharmed papers. Belligerence was once more standing at Red Field’s target. This time he pointed to the single hole at the bottom of the page. “That wouldn’t do much to ‘em.” He said. “Maybe pop their hooves.” Red Field nodded, he was looking away now, because his eyes were beginning to blur.

Belligerence cleared his throat.

“How’d you get your mark son?” He asked. A tear ran down Red Field’s face as he spoke.

“Chess sir.” Belligerence “hmm’d” in thought.

“What do you weigh?”

“A hundred and twenty two kilograms.”

“That’s about what I guessed. I bet you fit well in tight spaces. Guys ever use you to sneak into the PX?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Red Field’s throat closed and he shook his head. Belligerence noticed this and took Red Field by the shoulder.

“Son, it’s not professional to-”

“I’m sorry!” Red Field said. He sobbed. The tears were running down his cheeks and face and his snout was bleeding again. “I know I’m bad at everything and I’m weak and small and I’m not a soldier.” The last of last resolve broke and he didn’t care what the old pony thought of him. “I know I messed this up and I’m quitting today and this was my last fail so who gives a shit?”

This did not appear to be the response that Belligerence expected. The old pony looked over Red Field, who was both crying and trying to swallow down the mucus and blood that filled his throat.

Finally, Belligerence spoke.

“So why are you here son?” He asked, pursing his lips and squinting at Red Field.

“Because my parents don’t think I can do anything but read and think about things. I joined this stupid academy to try and prove them wrong.” Red Field said, his voice shaking with despair and anger. Belligerence took no note of Red Field’s distraught state. “Guess I was wrong.”

“So you’re a bit of a thinker then?” He asked. Red Field nodded. Belligerence let out a long breath from pursed lips and adjusted his hat.

“Well son, I’m not very good about disguising my intent, so I’ll come out and say it: Agent White sent me your records and I want to offer you a job.”

Red Field wiped some blood from his nose.

“What?”

“Sniper.”

Of all of the books on firearms that Red Field had read, only one had mentioned snipers. A passage describing various longer barreled iterations of the Storm Rifles had mentioned snipers making use of the more accurate and longer barreled rifles. Red Field hadn’t bothered to look up what a sniper was and just assumed the definition was something along the lines of a marksman. Marksmen were just ponies with better aim that tended to win shooting competitions; Red Field hadn’t thought enough about it to wonder about the distinction between the two terms.

Belligerence flew Red Field back to base. The sun was beginning to set, and the dunes became a beautiful ochre. Belligerence had given Red Field a small handkerchief to wipe his nose with.

“Lotta guys have funny definitions of just what a sniper is.” Belligerence said as they started to fly over Macmillan forest. “Nearest I can say is that a sniper, well, a real sniper- is a little more careful, a little quieter, a lot more focused than the guys he’s fighting.” He turned and looked over to Red Field. “You ever play hide and seek?”

“No sir.”

“You like quiet places?” Red Field said he did and Belligerence nodded approvingly. “Lotta ponies have the wrong idea of what a sniper’s job is: it’s about seventy percent crawling and maps, twenty percent numbers, five percent miscellaneous and five percent shot.” He was quiet for a few moments. “It’s always hard finding candidates for this job. Most of ‘em just want to go out blasting.” They traveled the rest of the distance in silence, as Red Field tried to clean his tearstained and puffy face.

They touched down beside the rest of the chariots and Belligerence helped Red Field out of the chariot.

“How about you eat dinner with me?” Asked Belligerence. “Got a pot of mashed potatoes and some fresh greens burning a hole in my crisper.” Fresh food sounded wonderful and Red Field didn’t want to eat at the mess hall and let the other cadets see that he’d been crying.
He trailed closely behind Belligerence.

“What’s your family like?” Asked Belligerence as he led Red Field through the base.

“I’m an only child, my parents are farmers, in a little town called Rockvale.”

“Oh I know Rockvale. An old friend of mine delivers mail to there and a couple other towns nearby. Would you happen to know a pony by the name of Westinghouse?” Asked Belligerence. Red Field had no idea who delivered Rockvale’s mail.

“No, sorry.”

“Well that’s all right.” Said Belligerence. They came up to another small house, this one was much smaller and sat behind the mechanical shop; Red Field hadn’t even noticed it before. The walls were a light shade of blue and a small flowerbed sat below one of the windows. The house looked like the sort of place that an old and lackadaisical pony would enjoy whittling in.

Red Field followed Belligerence up the stairs of the small porch and into the house. The house had only two rooms on the first floor and a small staircase lead up to a minuscule bedroom.
Before Red Field was a living room with a single rocking chair, some squat bookcases stuffed full of nameless books lining the walls, and a chess set atop a small coffee table in the middle of the room. On the other side of the living room was a little kitchen. The house smelled like wood varnish and newspaper.

Belligerence told Red Field to wipe his hooves and help him set the table.

“Plates are in there.” Belligerence pointed to a cupboard. “So are cups.” He said, setting a pot on the stove.

Red Field was still confused about exactly what was going on as he sat across from Belligerence. But despite his uncertainty about the nature of the meeting, Red Field, and particularly his stomach, found the steaming mound of mashed potatoes and washed greens to resonate with him. He tried to be polite, but after weeks of reconstituted swill from Beast, he was wolfing down the meal on ravenous instinct.

Belligerence said nothing about this.

“Looking at your training performance, I can see you’re not one for heavy lifting.” Belligerence said. “But you crawled through that trench in the Long Crawl just fine.” Red Field nodded as he gulped down his water and refocused on his plate. “And you’re squared away as far as the bookwork is concerned.” That was an understatement, but Red Field was too focused on his food to take serious note. Belligerence saw that the conversation was not going to go anywhere, and he waited for Red Field to finish.

Red Field’s undersized belly was stuffed, and he felt a satisfied sleepiness coming over him. Belligerence cleaned up the kitchen while Red Field watched the last rays of the sunset sink down the window above the sink. The older pony finished putting the last dish away and sat back down at the table with a groaning sigh. They sat in silence. Then Belligerence looked up at Red Field.

“What do you like to do most?”

“Study I suppose, I like to read, think on things.” The meal had ingratiated Red Field to the odd old pony and he felt comfortable with being honest.

“What do you think of Equestria?” Belligerence asked.

Red Field had no idea how to answer.

“Uh, it’s a great country. I like the diversity of our environments.”

“You know we border two countries, and have a third beneath us?” Asked Belligerence. Red Field knew of the Crystal Kingdom, as well as the scattered Gryphon provinces off the coast, but he wasn’t certain of the third. “Diamond dogs.” Said Belligerence. “Under the mountains about a hundred miles from here.”

“Oh yes, I think I’ve read something about that.” Red Field said quickly. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he hated looking ignorant.

“Uh huh.” Belligerence said slowly Red Field grew very uncomfortable as the slouched old stallion watched him. Belligerence seemed to break out of his concentration. “Almost forgot, got one more thing to show you.” He leaned over to a light switch that sat above his sink and flicked it. A bright storm light shone through the window and Belligerence brought Red Field to a sliding glass door that led into the backyard of the home.

The sky was growing dark and a cool breeze blew over the gravel, stirring some dust. A cellar door was built into the side of the house and Belligerence requested help opening it. The two heaved the wooden doors open.

“Watch your head.” Belligerence said as he descended into the darkness. Red Field felt his skin begin to crawl as he stepped into the yawning black stairwell. The old stallion muttered to himself as he fumbled for a light. Belligerence tugged the dangling cord of a light and the room lit up before Red Field.

A wooden table covered in nicks and scratches stood in the center of the room. Shelves covered in tools and various pieces of machinery hung from the walls, along with a few cabinets. A grey locker sat in a corner, and Belligerence was squatting under the table and tugging at a long rectangular case.

Red Field’s heart missed a beat; a shapeless furry hide hung from the wall to his right. Arms and legs dangled limply down from a mass of brown and green. Red Field saw that the object was not animate, but his unease continued as he tried to identify what he looked at.
Belligerence grunted as the case scraped over the concrete.

“Gimme a hoof son.” He said, struggling to lift the case. Red Field, still wary of the unsettling skin on the wall, knelt on the other side of the case and lifted. It didn’t weigh very much and they set it atop the table. Belligerence let out a long sigh and adjusted his hat, which he had donned again. He turned to Red Field.

“Official job description of a sniper is a pony with a CAT score of at least 33, smaller build, can’t be over a hundred and sixty kilos and has to be a unicorn. Job requires training in stalking, camouflage, and extensive observation. Needs to be able to work alone and for long periods of time.” Belligerence produced a worn steel key and unlocked the case. “Official duties include reconnaissance, information gathering, mostly scouting.” He eased open the case. “And when things go south: elimination of high value targets, convoy protection, and occasionally taking out a lot of hamburgers in a short period of time.”

He lifted an old rifle from the case.

The gun looked nothing like a Storm Rifle, and to Red Field it looked like an antique. The rifle had no sharp edges or lines, only a few gradual curves and swells. The stock was a worn wood plank that had been smoothly carved and finished into a bed for a small receiver with worn bluing. The barrel had no aggressive muzzle brake or even threading. The rifle was a smooth and graceful contrast to the vicious and black image of the ST-49c. Sitting atop the rifle was the only part of the gun that Red Field recognized: the long black tube of a scope.

“Usually use something like this to do the job.” Belligerence said, opening the action and looking inside. “This was mine.” He said, holding the rifle out to Red Field. Red Field took the gun. It felt smooth in his hooves and he brought it to his shoulder. The rifle molded to him. The wood of the comb pressed into his cheek and the checkered wood locked into his forelegs. It felt a thousand times more comfortable than Kitty Kat. Red Field saw the thin lines of a basic crosshair within the scope.

“Most cadets think our best weapon is the belt-fed forty millimeter.” Said Belligerence. “But when you’re going up against someone with one of these, in the woods, in the city, anywhere. When he knows everything about his gun, and the land, and you. Well, there aren’t many things scarier than that.” Belligerence took a breath, then let it out. “Soldiers pull triggers, snipers take shots.” Red Field lowered the rifle. “Son, you look like a sniper. I was watching your little shootout down there.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, it was the edge of Red Field’s two hundred yard target. He pointed to the small nick. “You were compensating for a hundred meter zero, but you’ve never shot a gun before.” He tossed the paper onto the table. “I heard you ask our gunsmith about trigger pull. How does a pony who’s never shot a gun know about pull weight?”

“I read some books sir, back in my hometown.” Red Field said. Belligerence chuckled.

“Heck of a memory.” He looked at the rifle in Red Field’s grip. “Snipers are the deadliest ponies we have.” He said quietly. “And it’s far too dangerous to consider giving the job to some joker who’ll lose his head when bullets start coming his way.” Belligerence looked up at Red Field. “A sniper needs to be somepony with a good head, a good focus, and who isn’t going to get into any head-butting matches." He lowered his voice. "Those ponies are always in short supply.”

“Sergeant Belligerence!” Called Flashpoint. Both ponies in the cellar looked up the stairs and saw Flashpoint’s hooves in the gravel atop the stairs. “Give me your recommendation please. It’s getting late.” Belligerence looked to Red Field.

“What do you want me to tell him?” He asked.

For the first time since he’d arrived at the little base atop Neighara Falls, Red Field thought he might very well be a soldier.

“Yes sir.” He said. Belligerence grinned again.

“Think I have who I’m looking for.” Belligerence called up to Flashpoint.

Flashpoint led Red Field back to his barracks. The grey officer had gone over the rules of his probation once, but he repeated himself, as if he himself weren’t sure of the validity of the conditions.

“No violations whatsoever of the code of conduct, no broken curfews. You will complete the entirety of Beast before attending sniper school, at no point will you receive any additional training prior to the completion of Beast.” He turned looked down at Red Field and Red Field saw that the prim officer was as close to visibly angry as possible. “You have been rescheduled for another basic rifle qualification which you must pass to continue. I will see to it that your resignation is rescinded and you are not barred from any more tests or exercises.” They were almost at Barracks Six and Flashpoint stopped Red Field.

“But be wary cadet, you are treading on very thin ice and I am prepared to fail you for any more suggestions of quitting.” Red Field looked up at the icy stallion; he couldn’t tell if Flashpoint were personally displeased with him or if he was simply annoyed with having to disobey protocol.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Red Field said. “I will not be of any further disruption.”

Flashpoint left Red Field before his barracks.

Red Field waited outside of his barracks for a few minutes, mulling over his options. Should he enter triumphantly and proclaim his newfound position? He quickly disregarded this notion as he wasn’t certain that he’d even become a sniper, and that it would very likely upset Barracks Six to hear of his new appointment. He could just say nothing and rejoin them; but they would naturally be suspicious and curious of how he had returned. Red Field considered many explanations, but none seemed passable.
Finally he decided to just enter, say he’d been reaccepted, and take any further questions as they came. He knew it was a dangerous proposition, as Black Rain would no doubt interrogate him on the specifics of his return; however Red Field had no idea how to explain and it was growing late.

He entered the barracks and his eyes adjusted to the dim light that hung from the ceiling. Bren appeared to be laying in his bed, Siplinski was sitting up in his, cleaning a knife. Black Rain was writing into a black notebook, and Red Field assumed Full Wing to be in his bed. Siplinski looked up as Red Field entered.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” He asked, not rising from the bed.

“Uh reinstated- just, talked with the officers and they said I could come back.” Red Field said. Siplinski squinted his eyes and stuck out his lower lip as if he were absolutely uncertain of this.

“Cool.” He said in this countenance. He turned back to his knife. Red Field looked over at Black Rain. The unicorn was still writing. He finished his paragraph and dropped the pencil atop the page. He looked up at Red Field with his usual look of disapproval.

“Congratufuckinglations.” He said. “Are you going to go to bed so I can turn the lights out?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Red Field said, jumping into his bed. Black Rain switched out the light and rolled over. Red Field waited for a few minutes to see if anypony would say anything. But Barracks Six was tired of Red Field, and nopony cared to ask why he’d returned. Red Field was both relieved, and once more disappointed. However he had returned to smiling before he fell asleep.

The next day was more shooting and the cadets were excited. The mess hall was abuzz with inquiries of what they’d be using, but none of the older ponies would give any hint or indication as the armament of the day, which built the anticipation.

Blue Streak had noticed that Red Field was still amidst them, and accordingly seated himself beside Red Field.

“Dude, what are you doing here? You failed out I thought.” Red Field still hadn’t thought of a particularly good explanation for this.

“I was reinstated, they thought I had potential here so they let me come back.” Blue Streak laughed and nudged him.

“Dude that’s crazy.” He moved closer to Red Field. “Who was it? Like who let you back in?”

“Flashpoint, I-”

“Ahhhh!” Said Blue Streak. “Yeah I get it now.” He looked to the stony-faced officer sitting by himself. “Dude like, I was just talking to some of the guys from Barracks Four and like, we were talking about how he’s really just a big nerd. That’s so like him to let the other nerd back in.” Red Field anxiously saw a problem arising and attempted to correct it.

“No, he- it was more of a technical thing, I had a really good score in improvised shelter so I qualified for an extension.” He said. Blue Streak shook his head.

“No seriously, like, a couple of the guys were saying that he’s just like a desk jockey who acts all tough during training. I gotta tell the guys this.” He said. “What a prick.”

“No, it wasn’t him.” Red Field said.

Blue Streak was already across the room and with his cohorts, whispering and pointing to first Red Field, then Flashpoint. Red Field watched as the story permeated the group and they all nodded and agreed on just what kind of pony Flashpoint was. Red Field’s mouth went dry as he saw a very large problem arising, a problem which would lead back to him.

After a few minutes, Agent Orange rose and told everypony to pack their shit and get to the chariots. The cadets, eager to see their new weapons, bolted and stampeded out of the doors. Red Field rose and walked to the exit only after everypony had left.
Somepony thumped him on the shoulder.

“Looks like you’ll be riding with us again.” Agent Orange said. “Also, didn’t you fail?” He asked with a little laugh.

“Reinstated after corporal Belligerence expressed an interest in his skillset.” Flashpoint stood to Red Field’s left and the two officers flanked him.

“Really.” Said Agent Orange. “That’s, great.” He gave a little shrug. “What the fuck ever I guess.”

“Captain Orange, I will ask you to retain your professionalism at all times. Your personal evaluations regarding personnel postings are not relevant to the training you conduct.” Said Flashpoint. The orange pony bowed his head a little and apologized. Red Field began to sweat as he realized that Flashpoint would defend the decision to reinstate him- the decision which Belligerence had made for him.

The trip to the range was quiet. The sun blazed down on the chariots and all three ponies were soaked in sweat before they even landed in the sand. That day had no breeze, and the cadets had emptied their warm canteens before they’d reached the bunker. Red Field looked from one cadet to another, most of them seemed excited for the day of shooting. None took note that he was still around. He hoped he’d remain invisible for the rest of the day.

They reached the cool safety of the bunker and Agent Orange even gave them a few minutes off to refill their canteens from a rusty spigot that sat in a dank corner of the bunker. Red Field held his canteen under the water. Voices whispered behind him.

“Guys you know he’s a total pussy right?” Red Field heard Blue Streak say. Red Field’s eyes had yet to adjust to the clammy darkness of the bunker and he only detected voices amidst the group.

“Psh, anypony could see that,” Full Wing said, “he’s been nothing but like a total pussy the whole time.”

“God what an asshole.” Red Field realized that Fit Finish, the other pony on his misadventure of a land nav test, was talking. “You know he’s failed like a ton of guys just for looking at him wrong and he’s not even as real as Agent Orange.” A few scoffs of disgust rose from the group. “We’ve kissed his fuckin’ ass this whole time and he goes and lets that little faggot back in cause he feels like it.”

“That’s not even the worst part, I heard from a couple of the guys at Maremont that he doesn’t even know how to shoot a gun.” The water overflowed from Red Field’s canteen and somepony behind him pushed him to get out of line. He walked back toward the center of the room, where a small pool of light collected from a hatch in the ceiling. Flashpoint and Agent Orange were standing together under the light, conversing over something. The last thing Red Field heard from the tiny clique was Fit Finish lambasting the hypocrisy of a pony who couldn’t shoot a gun, passing judgment on and failing cadets who at least tried their best.

“Cadets! You have another minute to refill your canteens and then report to the firing line for the weapons demonstration.” Called Flashpoint from the darkness.

“Yeah okay!” Called Fit Finish. Red Field swallowed. Nopony was supposed to answer an order. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked to see what Flashpoint’s response would be. Flashpoint ignored the comment and Red Field began to sweat again.

Light machine guns were the topic of the second day. The books that Red Field had read had referenced light machine guns, but the library at Rockvale was missing the particular volumes and Red Field reluctantly entered the demonstration with no more knowledge than the other cadets.
Despite the shade, the small enclosure trapped the heat around the sweltering cadets. Ludus brought out a very heavy-looking chunk of gun which he termed “The Towel Maker”. He grinned and said he’d let the cadets figure out the name on their own.

Nopony laughed.

Under the festering desert heat, the cadets’ only thought was their newfound distaste for the biased, silent officer that had removed many of their friends from training.

Ludus proceeded to demonstrate the basic operation and manipulation of the weapon. Red Field, having mapped out how the gun worked already, kept his ears up for any whisperings or messages rippling down the rows of cadets. However the grumblings had ceased, at least for the demonstration. Eventually Ludus was joined by Site, who was draped in several long belts of ammunition clipped together via small metal links.

“So, uh, the PMG-47, er, ‘Towel Maker’ feeds from disintegrating belts and not mags.” Site seemed like the kind of pony who enjoyed the solitude of his workshop, and kept his eyes on the weapon instead of looking out to the cadets. “These are your basic belts of ammo, fifty, hundred, and one fifty for extended fire.” He lifted the top cover of the Towel Maker and carefully set a strip of rounds onto the firearm. “You want to make sure this side is facing up.” He realized the cadets couldn’t see and he awkwardly lifted the machine gun to show them. The barrel pointed up toward the sky and Ludus came to Site’s aid and held the weapon. Site wiped some sweat from his brow and pointed to the belts. “If you look at both sides of the belt, the one that shows more of the brass is the one you want facing down when you load.”

“Brass to the grass.” Said Agent Orange. Site nodded.

“Yeah that’s right. Why don’t we have everypony come up and run through it once or twice?” Said Site.

Half an hour passed while the officers instructed each of the cadets on the Towel Maker. Unlike KKAT, the Towel Maker was not a particularly user-friendly firearm, and several ponies smashed or pinched hooves as they swung the top cover of the LMG into firing position. They never shot anything, and though the correct orientation of the links in relation was a simple affair, many cadets took two or three tries to master it. Red Field found the tiny links difficult to settle into the feed tray and the weapon was soon shining with the sweat of the frustrated and fumbling cadets.

Finally, as the last cadet returned to their seat, Agent Orange approached machine gun with a strip of fifty rounds to demonstrate.

“Let’s see if you can figure out why we call her the Towel Maker!” He said, attempting to reawaken the wonder of the now-haggard group. He was aligning the first of the cartridges when Flashpoint spoke.

“Captain Orange, hold off for now. I would like for the cadets to run through this one more time, as I believe there to be a substantial degree of ineptitude remaining with this weapon.” Flashpoint had usually spoken only to dismiss failed cadets.

Why Flashpoint would choose that day to repeat such a maddening exercise seemed too perfect to be a coincidence of simple anal retentive desires. Red Field looked to Flashpoint; did he know how many of them hated him? Flashpoint showed no signs of emotion, though sweat ran down his neck and forehead in the choking heat. Was Flashpoint trying to agitate them?

Agent Orange hesitated, then rose from his seat.

“Uh, yes sir.” He nodded to Ludus, who called for somepony to come up.

“No aids please.” Flashpoint called to Ludus. The repetition was no coincidence. “I would like for the cadets to have the capacity to load their weapons without assistance.” Both Site and Ludus hesitated, as Agent Orange had, to this new instruction. Then Site nodded.

“Roger that.” He said. “All right, first one up.”

The next hour crawled by miserably. Almost everypony failed to load the recalcitrant machine gun on their own. Neutered by their commanding officer, both Site and Ludus stood by and merely informed the cadets of their incorrect actions and sent them to the back of the line. Red Field slipped and crushed his hoof under the top cover during his turn and spent the rest of the hour cradling his injury.

After three cycles, the cadets had all demonstrated their competence with the gun.
Sweat ran from Agent Orange and his panting breath was audible as he returned to the firing line with his strip of ammo. Red Field craned his sore neck to watch as the captain loaded the machine gun.
Recoiling like agonized metal animal, the light machine gun sounded like somepony ripping a cloth apart to make towels. The empty casings cascaded from the table and onto the floor in a bouncing and clinking wash as the haze of gun smoke rose from the muzzle of the Towel Maker.

Nopony cared anymore. The ardent enjoyment of learning a new weapon had long since been erased. Agent Orange cleared the weapon, then looked back to the cadets.

“Who’s first?” He asked. Nopony volunteered to fire the unruly weapon and the entire group waited awkwardly for something to happen. Agent Orange started to say something about having balls when Flashpoint stepped in front of him.

“Cadets!” He said, the telltale volume of frustration coursing through his voice. “You have been instructed to learn this weapon per your participation in Beast. Anypony not wishing to do so is, and has always been, capable of resignation at any point. However those of you planning on retaining yourselves are still under obligation to learn this weapon,” he pointed to the smoking Towel Maker, “and that is an order.”

The cadets looked at one another, then somepony held their hoof up to be the first shooter. The day of rambunctious gunfire and relative ease that everypony had planned was replaced by a day that mirrored the uncomfortable exertion and dullness of any other day of Beast. Red Field’s hoof hurt and he walked to the end of the line of cadets. He reached the Towel Maker and his hoof still stung. Ludus told him to ready up and reached into the box of ammo for another belt of cartridges. Slinging the long slug of the belt onto the table before Red Field, he grunted and pointed to the weapon.
Red Field opened the cover, making entirely certain that it had no opportunity to drop back down on his hooves. He laid the first of the rounds onto the Towel Maker and lowered the cover. Racking back the charging handle, Red Field shouldered the weapon and squinted down the narrow tube of the scope clamped to the feed tray cover. Flipping the safety off, he shouldered the LMG to fire.

The scope atop the Towel Maker was magnified, unlike the red dot atop the Kitty Kat, and Red Field found it much easier to align the thin black plus-sign onto the paper downrange. He squeezed the trigger, trying to remember how to shoot.
The crosshairs leapt up the target as a burst of bullets exited the gun. Red Field tried to pull the sights back down. The stock slipped out from under his shoulder and the scope shot back into his face. Glancing off of his nose, the left edge of the rubberized scope struck his eye. Red Field fell back from the bench, blood running from his reinjured nose. The chain of events occurred too quickly for him to process anything, and he was just beginning to reach up to his bloodied snout when Ludus and Agent Orange picked him up. He’d fallen across the floor of the shooting bay.

“Fuck.” Agent Orange said. “You went down like a sack of bricks, you all right?”

“Ah shit.” Said Ludus, wiping some of Red Field’s blood from his hooves. “I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

“I-I think I’m all right.” Red Field said, the numbness of the blow still clinging to his nose. “I want to sit down though.” Agent Orange led him back to the shooting table and Red Field sat down shakily. His nose felt hot, and even smelled hot, if that were possible. Red Field was covered in sweat and he kept trying to swallow and refresh his mouth. Agent Orange laughed and called in to Ludus. Agent Orange’s voice sounded miles away. Red Field swallowed again, then fell from his seat. Agent Orange caught him and shouted for Ludus to get some water. Red Field was shaking harder now, and Agent Orange sat him down on the concrete. Red Field looked up at the cadets. They were all looking at him. His heart seemed to be fluttering in his chest and he felt like he needed to stand, or lie down, or do something.

Ludus returned with a canteen and a first aid kit. He shoved the mouth of the canteen into Red Field’s lips. The warm water ran down Red Field’s throat and Red Field feared he would throw up. Ludus took the canteen and began to tend to Red Field’s trickling nose.

Red Field sat for a few minutes, with Agent Orange propping him up like a ragdoll. The dizziness and shaking receded, but Red Field’s heart still galloped in his chest. Finally, Site and Ludus helped him to his hooves.

“Cadet Red Field, please finish your fire string.” Everypony had forgotten about Flashpoint. The lieutenant pointed to the Towel Maker. Red Field looked up at him. “Cadet you are on a provisional continuance, are you attempting to tender your resignation?” Asked Flashpoint. Red Field instinctively started back toward the table.

“Uh.” Said Ludus. He began to speak further, then stopped.

“Sir I’m not sure-” Said Agent Orange. Flashpoint looked to both of them and neither said any more.

“Are you kidding me?” Somepony shouted. The officers and instructors looked to the group of cadets to see which one had shouted. Blue Streak stepped forward.

“He’s gonna hurt himself.” He said, though it was clear that he was not the pony who had first shouted. Flashpoint walked toward the orange pony. “It’s- it’s not a good idea to send him back up there.” Blue Streak’s voice fell as Flashpoint reached him.

“What would qualify you to-”

“Dude, nopony thinks it’s a good idea.” Shouted somepony else. Ludus shouted that the next pony to say anything was being kicked the hell out. Agent Orange began to tell the group exactly how fucking immature it was to question orders and how not a single fucking clopper would ever pull a stunt like that again.

“Please, continue.” Said Flashpoint over Agent Orange. “Evidently there is some discord in the group.”

“Sir, I have this covered.” Said Agent Orange. “Now the next fucking asshole who mouths off-”

“Captain Orange, you are relieved of weapons training, please return to base.” Said Flashpoint.

“Er, what?” Asked Agent Orange. Flashpoint looked over to him.

“Agent Orange, that was a direct command.” Said Flashpoint.

Agent Orange looked at him for a few moments, then started toward the door. Flashpoint turned and faced the group of cadets, save Red Field, who was still slumped at the shooting table.

“It would appear that some of you have doubts about my oversight.” He waited for a response. “Is that right?” Nopony spoke. “Agent Orange is no longer in command of this exercise. Unlike him, I welcome feedback.”

“All right then.” Called the first pony to have shouted. Fit Finish stood, but kept inside the safety of the group. “If you’re really big into comments or concerns, I have a few.” He said in a tone that qualified as disparaging.

“Sergeant Ludus, Specialist Site, please inform Belligerence that we have halted our fire, I believe you will find him on the observation deck.” Said Flashpoint, seemingly interested in Fit Finish. Both stallions departed wordlessly. “Proceed.”

“You’re making a ton of bad calls, and everypony here thinks so.” Said Fit Finish. “Even Orange and that other guy were questioning you. You failed like five guys for being like three seconds off their runs and then you let that asshole,” he pointed to Red Field, “back in! How is that fair?”

“I see.” Said Flashpoint. “It would-”

“Hey I’m not the only one.” Said Fit Finish over him. “The rest of us feel that way too.” Somepony stepped forward. Then somepony else, then three more. All but about six of the cadets now stood beside Fit Finish. Bolstered by his comrades, Fit Finish lost his fear. “See? Everypony has a problem with how you run things.”

Flashpoint looked along the line of cadets; most still couldn’t meet his gaze. He took a deep breath, then cleared his throat.

“It looks like the other cadets don’t believe your evaluation unfounded. I would like to propose a challenge to you then.”

“Yeah?” Fit Finish asked.

“First pony to hit the ground loses. If you lose, I will remove you from Beast-”

“And if I win?”

“I will abdicate my role to Corporal Nagant and resign from overseeing your basic training.” Said Flashpoint. The wind picked up again, tossing some sand into the shooting bay. “You’ll receive immunity from any repercussions, I will see to it that you are not punished for winning.” The sand blew against Red Field’s cheek as a gust whipped the small granules into the air. “Hell, I’ll even quit Gale Force.” The wind died down again and they were plunged into silence.

“Yeah okay.” Said Fit Finish. He looked up at Flashpoint. Very quietly, so quietly he was nearly whispering, Flashpoint spoke.

“Try me.”

The pair met. In the second it took Red Field to comprehend the slighting command of Flashpoint, Fit Finish closed the gap between himself and the officer. He threw his hooves onto Flashpoint’s shoulders and dove forward. Flashpoint had been standing with his hooves staggered and receded from the charging unicorn. Red Field blinked and only managed to see Flashpoint’s right fore-hoof lift. A metallic clunk sounded in the shooting deck and Fit Finish stumbled past the grey unicorn. Red Field saw a gash sliced across his cheek and up his snout. Fit Finish fell into the concrete shooting table next to Red Field. He hit the table head first and crumpled to the ground.

“Cadets!” Flashpoint spoke in the loudest voice anypony had ever heard him use. “I have spent seven years with Gale Force and two overseeing Beast.” Blood ran in a thin thread down his cheek. “You are untrained, mostly uneducated stallions with very little in the way of critical thinking or judgment.” His quiescent frown bent into a scowl. “To convince you of my sincerity in ensuring that you receive the best training possible, I will dispense some advice for your military careers.” He pointed to Fit Finish, who hadn’t risen. “Never attack a pony who asks you to attack him. Build rapport with your superiors and get to know their duties.” Flashpoint pointed back at Red Field without looking at him. “And finally, understand that this is not your hometown, this is Gale Force Company and in this company, I choose who passes training.” Ludus and Site were standing in the doorway. They looked at Flashpoint, with nearly the same expression as everypony else. “My determinations on who has failed and who is retained are not your concern.” Fit Finish began to stir and the lieutenant pointed to him. “Bandage his face, send him home.” He looked back to the other cadets. “Accuracy requirements are doubled for passing today.”

Site and Ludus decided to take a break. Ludus took Fit Finish back to base and Flashpoint assisted Site in pulling out a few crates of ammo for the impending test. Red Field sat in the darkness of the bunker, trying to stop himself from shaking. Whispers of terror and awe rippled through the remaining cadets. Everypony who’d stepped forward feared the next instance of Flashpoint’s lurking wrath.

Somepony took Red Field by the shoulder. Red Field’s heart jumped and Belligerence smiled.

“Sorry, gotta minute?” He asked. Red Field nodded and Belligerence pulled him aside. “Heard there was a little event out there.” He said with a chuckle. “Something about doubling the standards for accuracy today?”

“Yes sir.” Red Field hadn’t considered the ramifications of Flashpoint’s decree. He had been too frightened of the officer himself to note the now-exemplary standards.

“Well, you’re here on probation and I think it would be wise to make sure you put at least a couple bullets on paper.” Said Belligerence. “Let me give you a few tips for firing that thing.”

“Cadets! Three minutes until assembly back on the firing line.” Called Flashpoint from outside.

“Right, quick, where’d the thing get you?” Asked Belligerence. Red Field pointed to his snout, which had scabbed over. “All right, that’s a bad grip. Make sure you curl your hoof over the trigger and keep the stock tucked up right here.” He jabbed his hoof into Red Field’s shoulder. “The trigger is seven pounds unless Site messed with it. Apply constant pressure, like you’re squeezing a lemon, take about three seconds to let out your breath, wait till you feel your lungs to come to rest; the window is only a couple of seconds so you’ll need to fire quickly, but don’t forget constant pressure or you’ll pull it.” The other cadets were beginning to preemptively shuffle out of the darkness and Belligerence pushed Red Field toward the door. “Remember, if it comes down to it, let it clock your face and make the shot.” He was still speaking as Red Field reentered the shooting bay.

Flashpoint stood beside a single PMG-47. The small pool of blood from Fit Finish had been wiped up, but a faint red stain remained on the dry concrete.

“Cadets, I will call your name, you will take a firing position and engage your target. If you pass you are done for the day, if you miss, you will have another attempt to pass the qualification. Two fails and you are kicked from Beast.”

A normal pony might have been discombobulated by the barrage of advice from Belligerence, but Red Field was not a normal pony. He knew how to assimilate information and began to plan his firing sequence. Red Field stared at his hooves and drew into a comatose state of thought. For the first time, none of the ponies around him made fun of or even noticed his introversion, everypony was much too nervous about their own test to care much about how Jesus pony looked.
Red Field knew he could complete the test, he had already decided to allow the scope to crush his nose entirely if doing so aided his aim. Three deep breaths, enter the respiratory pause, then constant pressure. The PMG was an open bolt weapon; he needed to remain steady for much longer after pulling the trigger.

“Dude go!” Somepony nearly shoved him from the bench. Red Field realized everypony was waiting on him. He looked up and saw Flashpoint standing beside the smoking machinegun.

“Cadet, please make ready to fire.” Said Flashpoint. Red Field rushed to the table. He loaded the Towel Maker and slapped down the cover without a thought to the safety of his hooves. The stock was slick with the sweat of the other cadets.
His heart, understanding only the gravity of the situation and not the need for calmness, began to race again and bounced the tiny black cross around inside the scope. Red Field closed his eyes and tried desperately to take some deep breaths. “Whenever you are ready cadet.” Said Flashpoint coolly. “Target six, twenty meters. You must maintain a six inch group.” Red Field opened his eyes and stared at the distant paper. The edges fluttered in a desert breeze and the miniscule cross slowly jittered around the dot at the center.

The cross came to rest on the center of the paper. Red Field had only taken two breaths when he let out the remaining air in his lungs. He squeezed the trigger, which bent with a mushy tension. The Towel Maker ripped off a string of fire that shook the weapon backward. The scope drove toward him but was halted this time; Red Field had solidly anchored the stock into his shoulder.

Red Field was covered in icy sweat as the casings spun around his hooves. He hadn’t meant to fire a burst.
He peered back down the scope. A line of bullet holes, extending from the very center of the target, ran up the paper and stopped a few inches from the top.

“Inadequate performance cadet, please take your seat and wait to be recalled.” Said Flashpoint. Red Field walked back to his seat in a daze. His shoulder stung a little from the unexpected fire and he was covered in a fresh layer of sweat.

How had he forgotten that he was firing a machine gun?

Nopony passed on their first try.

“Only those that make a concerted effort will join our ranks. It lies well within your abilities to pass this test.” Said Flashpoint. Red Field clamped his hooves over his ears and pressed his chin to his chest.

In the scant period before he was again called to fire, Red Field found only one plan, which he immediately discarded. Unfortunately he was still in the early stages of his next idea when he was recalled for his final attempt. Red Field was still thinking as he took his seat. Flashpoint reinstructed him and Red Field shouldered the Towel Maker.

Out of options and thoroughly desperate, Red Field tried the only thing he could imagine and loosened the stock from his shoulder as he squeezed the trigger. The weapon slammed back and the scope bit into his eyebrow. Red Field shook off the pain and looked downrange. A single hole sat about an inch from the center of the paper. He drew up again and repeated the punishing process.

“Cadet, please fire a burst of at least four rounds.” Said Flashpoint.

“You didn’t specify that at the beginning of the test.” Red Field said. “I was only instructed to-”

“I am well aware of your instructions.” Said Flashpoint. “However continuing to fire the weapon in that manner will wear the sear and damage the firearm, violating your conditional continuance.”

“Sears are getting replaced after this exercise anyway.” Both ponies looked to Site, who stood in the doorway of the bunker. The tan pony wiped some sweat from his brow. “Part of planned maintenance.” Flashpoint watched the gunsmith for a few seconds, then turned back to Red Field.

“Please continue your fire.” He said.

Eighteen more times the scope bit into his forehead and threatened to knock him unconscious as he attempted to squeeze off each round without firing a burst. Finally, as the last tiny hole appeared two inches from the bulls-eye, Flashpoint nodded.

“You have passed cadet, please return to your seat for the duration of the exercise.” He swayed as he walked back to his seat. Full Wing, who sat in the front row, offered up his hoof in congratulations and without a thought Red Field gave him a brohoof.

“Nice dude!” Whispered the Pegasus.

“Cadet Full Wing!” Called Flashpoint. Full Wing bit his lip.

“Shit.” He said to himself as he rose out of his seat. Red Field saw him shake his head.

“Hey.” Whispered Red Field. Full Wing looked back. “Just squeeze off each shot, let it hit your shoulder a little. Just press the trigger and let it go once it fires.” Full Wing nodded, then turned back to the table.

Red Field found himself rooting for Full Wing. He was probably just excited that he’d passed. However Red Field hunched forward and strained to hear each shot. The gun gave a single thump, and then another. A smile crept over Red Field’s face as Full Wing fired each round by itself. After just a few minutes of interspersed fire, Full Wing had passed.

“Thanks dude!” Whispered Full Wing as he sat down. A few of the Pegasus’ friends whispered to and poked at Red Field.

They wanted to know how to pass.

Fit Finish was the only pony to fail that day. Flashpoint watched as cadet after cadet reached the firing line and fired only single shots.

The sun was beginning to set and the air was beginning to cool just slightly. Flashpoint was illuminated by a golden beam that fell through the pillars of the enclosure.

“Cadets, you all have passed support fire basic, even under heightened demands.” He paused and looked over that cadets as if he were still unsure of this. “I can only attribute this to a propensity for adaptation and improvisation.” He looked directly at Red Field as he said this and Red Field feared that perhaps Flashpoint was outraged at him for telling everypony how to fire the machine gun like a semiautomatic. “Nevertheless those are both outstanding traits for soldiers, and it is heartening to see such qualities manifest in a group such as yours. Head to the chariots, we’ll be out to take you back to base in a few minutes.”

The cadets shuffled tiredly from the firing line and through the bunker. Red Field looked over his shoulder and out of the door. Site had opened the Towel Maker and was pointing inside while Flashpoint observed. Site mentioned a sear.

Flashpoint’s brow was furrowed and he pointed to something inside of the gun and asked Site about it.

Everypony wanted Jesus Pony to sit with them during dinner. They arrived late and the stars were already appearing in the sky when they clomped into the mess hall. One of the cooks, irritated about having to keep the hay warm for an extra hour, inquired as to where the fuck they had been. The few soldiers hanging around the mess hall infiltrated the group and began demanding what had happened. Word had reached the base of Flashpoint’s about face and everypony recognized the gravity of his dismissal of Agent Orange.

The dinner conversation centered on Flashpoint and what the hell was up with him. However Blue Streak, who had captured Red Field and bade him to sit at his table, made a congratulatory toast of bottled water to “Jesus Pony, the worker of miracles”. The toast was taken up by the other tables, and soon Jesus Pony found himself among friends.
That night, everypony in Barracks Six, even Black Rain, listened closely to Full Wing relate the events of the day.

“Oh damn, he’s gotta be pissed.” Said Bren.

“Oh more than that dude, he’s probably gonna try and get Flashpoint court-martialed.” Said Siplinski.

“Nope, not at all.” Said Black Rain. “Flash outranks Orange, only thing they could get him on is hitting a cadet; did he really punch that colt from Barracks Eleven?”

“Yeah!” Said Full Wing. “Like just blasted him across the face! Then he just looks back at us like he’s Nightmare Moon and says we have to be twice as accurate if we want to pass the test.” He pointed to Red Field. “Then Red figured out how to do it and he told everypony and that’s how we all passed.” Black Rain looked up to Red Field. He raised a single eyebrow and studied Red Field.

“What was your group size?” He asked. Red Field, who had been sitting with his hooves tucked under his body, shrugged.

“Uh, I don’t know.” Said Red Field.

“It was probably like three or four inches.” Said Full Wing.

“Bullshit.” Said Black Rain.

“Well it had to be under six- that was the requirement.” Said Full Wing.

“Oh!” Bren laughed and pointed down to the black unicorn. “What now? That’s better than you can do! Back when we were in Beast, Rain got something like ten or eleven.”

“Seven point six two inches.” Said Black Rain. “And that was a full belt of fifty. Whatever, it’s great you can shoot. Might as well be able to do something right.”

Red Field almost replied that he’d been asked to be a sniper, but caught himself. He still had a long way to go before he ought to make any claims.

Red Field passed Beast, on what Bren called the skin of his teeth and Black Rain termed “a bunch of total bullshit”.

Twenty-four cadets stood at attention while Bombs Away delivered a speech regarding the proud traditions and honorable conduct which everypony was planning on disregarding on their week of leave. Red Field graduated second from the last in terms of aggregated combat performance predictions, and after he’d passed the last test, Agent Orange had made certain to tell him that he was in for a hell of a career. And also a hell that was his career.

A change had come over Red Field though.

At the gym, a small mantra had been scribbled onto one of the weight racks.

It read: “Pain is just weakness leaving the body”-Red Field began to wonder if that was the sickness that he’d been feeling.

Trite as many of Gale Force’s mantras were, he’d started to take a few of them to heart.

In his last days of Beast, Red Field had started to talk more. He offered suggestions during group efforts, and once had even interrupted somepony proposing a particularly bad plan involving matches and a rope bridge. He had learned to pass through McMillan forest with ease, or at least without falling. He was still an abysmal CQC fighter, and the remaining weapon training sessions he’d only just passed. He allowed any and all firearms to hurt him with their recoil. But for every physical deficiency he held, Red Field had passed a written test with a perfect score.

The offer of becoming a sniper kept him at Gale Force. The odd description of the apparently atypical soldier given by Belligerence had stuck with Red Field. He hadn’t learned any more about being sniper, and hadn’t even seen Belligerence since the incident with the Towel Maker. Despite this, Red Field continued to feel an odd attraction to the mysterious post.

Of course he hadn’t forgotten about the promise of a full scholarship to any school of his choosing after four years. Red Field had already made plans to read every book on magic he could before he attended the Academy of Advanced Magic for a degree in alchemy.

Equestria had no wars to fight and Red Field imagined he’d complete sniper training, then barricade himself within the barracks and do some reading. Red Field told himself he was only at Gale Force for the free scholarship and that being a sniper was just a way for him to avoid going insane while amidst the company. But despite his rationale, Red Field derived a little satisfaction from his impending post.

Red Field stood beside Full Wing. The group had been divided by barracks, and each little formation stood at attention in the humid gym. The cadets had been given their fatigues and the lines and creases stood out on the new cloth, which was speckled and flecked with the muted tones and shades of Equestrian Defense Pattern- Forest. Bombs Away stood at the head of the little gathering. Behind him was the rest of the Gale Force Company.

“Cadets, you’ve learned the basics of Gale Force Company. You have swam, shot, climbed and grown. I am proud to see you in my ranks, and prouder still that you showed the dedication to both yourselves and your country to remain in this program when so many other ponies chose not to. You have taken your first steps to becoming Equestria’s best defense.” Bombs Away chuckled. “There are no diplomas we give out, and I’ll try to wrap this up.” He surveyed the ponies. “From this point forward, each of you has entered into a commitment to defend our nation from all enemies, foreign or domestic. We are in a time of uncertainty, though a capable Queen presides over our country, the loss of Celestia is felt even still. And if you are called upon to protect our nation, I have no doubt that you will execute your duties with all of the honor and courage of the thousands of Gale Force members that have gone before you.” Bombs Away smiled. “Class of Five Five Six, welcome to the company.”

The cadets erupted into a cheer, which the rest of Gale Force took up. Red Field shouted louder than he had ever shouted. Full Wing turned to him and Red Field slammed into him with a coltish hug.

“We did it dude!” Shouted Full Wing. “We fricken did it!”

“Hell yeah!” Red Field shouted back. The rest of Squad Six came to the pair. Bren was grinning and gave each of them a proud brohoof. Siplinski carried a pair of worn patches, which identified the two as members of Squad Six.

“Here.” He slapped them onto their shoulders then stuck out his hoof. “It’s good to meet you guys, like as teammates.” Red Field slapped the red unicorn’s hoof.

“Great meeting you too.” Full Wing declined Siplinski’s offer to brohoof and instead tackled him. The pair fell to the mat and began to wrestle. Bren laughed and gave Red Field a pat on the shoulder.

“Heh, been a long time coming Red.” He looked over at Red Field. “I know Full’s pretty much made for the Airborne, but you put in the most work of anypony here. I mean it, you stuck with this place and I can tell you don’t really like this kinda thing. You have a lot of guts to stay here, so congrats.” He gave Red Field another pat on the shoulder and for a few seconds they watched their comrades writhing at their hooves. “Hey, do you have any more of an idea about what you want to do?”

“Undeclared clopper” was an acceptable designation for cadets at Gale Force. Red Field had spent his remaining time in Beast telling everypony he was undeclared and had no real preference for what he wanted to do. He didn’t dare run the risk of exposing Belligerence’s offer, only to fail out.

But he had finished Beast. And Red Field felt good. Red Field felt very good. Of the three senior members of Barracks Six, Bren was the pony who Red Field had come to like the most.

“Belligerence offered me the position of sniper.” He said after a moment. Bren raised his eyebrows and looked down at Red Field like he thought Red Field might be mistaken.

“What?”

“He said I had some potential back on the first day of firearms training.”

“Wow, that’s, amazing. Have you told anypony else?”

“No, I wasn’t sure I’d pass everything.”

“I see.” Bren thought for a moment, then looked down to Siplinski and Full Wing. Full Wing had his hind leg over Siplinski’s spread-eagled body, though this appeared to be more of an incidental position than a planned maneuver. Siplinski was trying to throw him off. “Hey!” Bren gave them a kick. “You idiots planning on coming?”

“Hell yeah! Wouldn’t miss it for anything!” Said Full Wing.

“We need to pick up Rain, he said to meet him twenty minutes after the ceremony.” Said Siplinski, straightening his mane, which had been tousled in the impromptu wrestling match.

“Let’s grab what we need from the barracks and then go meet him at Maremont.” Bren said. The three followed him out of the gym and into the warm, midsummer evening.

All throughout the base, ponies were shuttling bags from their barracks to the fleet of waiting chariots. Everypony had plans for their short leave of freedom and wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Squad Six was looking to travel to Las Pegasus. Of course Red Field didn’t have any particular desire to journey to the neon-lit sands of the most sinful city in Equestria. However one of the changes that had come over him was finding himself almost stupidly willing to join his barracks-mates in anything. Full Wing had called the feeling “being up for anything”. Red Field was a little worried about that term.

Red Field looked forward to vacation. Rest and good food somewhere that wasn’t suffocating in humidity and sweat appealed to him. Las Pegasus would have at least a small library somewhere. They reached the barracks and the other ponies began immediately throwing belongings pertinent to the trip into their packs. Red Field awkwardly climbed into his bunk and waited for them.
As he sat down, Red Field felt something like paper bending underneath him. He looked down and saw a few letters had been placed on his bed.

He opened the first letter and pulled out the page. He recognized his mother’s writing.

“Dear Red Field,
Are you all right? Your father and I have been very concerned for you. We hope very much that you are safe and hope you know that we love you very much. Please reply to us as soon as you can.
Love,
Mom.”

Red Field looked to Bren, who was stuffing cologne into his pack.

“Hey Bren, are we still good to stop at my parents’ place after we get done in Las Pegasus?” Red Field asked.

“Yeah, we’re still stopping to visit everypony’s parents though.” Said Bren.

“That’s fine.” Red Field was going wear his uniform when he got home. The first thing he’d say to his father was that he was a sniper. Red Field opened the next three letters. They held mostly the same sentiments as the first. He was going to tell him that he was going to the Academy of Advanced Magic too.

Barracks Six packed in under eighty seconds. Under Siplinski’s hurrying command, they walked to the larger machine shop that sat between Site’s workshop and the chariots. Maremont was an unsightly structure, even for a military building. The walls were a stained concrete grey, emblazoned with an old metal sign bearing the shop’s name and nothing else.
The interior of the building was a mess of workbenches, bins full of parts, and stallions who looked too large to be well-suited to any sort of precise manufacturing. Red Field had learned that Maremont built most of the weapons for Gale Force, along with some vehicle parts.

Site was retained as a gunsmith tasked with exclusively arming UATs and only did repairs on the pedestrian firearms of the rest of Gale Force.

Red Field saw row after row of KKATs and Towel Makers sitting against a wall, tags dangled from a few and some were missing parts. He also saw the tan frames of Tau-23s, the hoofguns of Gale Force(Red Field was a particularly bad shot with hoofguns).

“Oh man this place is sick.” Said Full Wing. “They have everything in here.”

“You should see Site’s place, he does custom ones for UAT, they’re sick; I got to hold one last year.” Siplinski said, poking a hoofgun that lay on a table near him. Red Field found himself surprised that Gale Force had the capacity to manufacture firearms. He wondered where they’d found the tooling, or even plans for the prohibited weapons.

“Hey, just let me grab my shit from the barracks and we can go.” Black Rain was stained with grease and seemed glad to leave. He was carrying a keycard which he deposited in a slot by the door. He nodded to Full Wing. “What’s up? You finally pass?”

“Fuck yeah I did.” Said Full Wing. “All that’s left to do is become the best flyer in Airborne!”

Black Rain saw Red Field.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

The two were getting better. Black Rain still disliked Red Field, and Red Field still very much disliked Black Rain. However the black pony had grown to accept the tiny two-tone unicorn as a fact of his life, perhaps as a tumorous fact, but a fact nonetheless. He had started shrugging off and disregarding Red Field’s presence and rarely spoke in any regard to Red Field. Red Field reciprocated the courtesy.

“We’re taking chariot seven, I couldn’t get six.” Said Siplinski as they walked back to their barracks.

“Course not. Thirteen is taking most of them, they’ve got three more members than the next biggest squad.” Said Black Rain. “Flashpoint needs to reinstitute the barracks cap.”

“How much money has everypony got for the trip?” Asked Bren.

“I got a hundred and twenty from my folks.” Said Full Wing.

“Eighty five for me.” Said Siplinski.

“I got two hundred I’m taking to the craps table, plus twenty for whatever.” Said Black Rain as they reached the barracks.

“Plus my seventy five.” Said Bren. He looked to Red Field. “Red, what are you bringing? We usually bring at least fifty each.”

Red Field blushed. The last bits he’d gotten were for his birthday.

“Uh, I don’t have any money.” He said. Black Rain entered the building and began rummaging through his things. The rest of Barracks Six stood quietly outside and Red Field became intensely uncomfortable. He hadn’t even considered how much it might cost to visit Las Pegasus.

“I’ll drop fifteen for his room.” Said Siplinski.

“No no!” Said Red Field quickly. He’d never been put in a position of accepting charity before, and his instincts immediately informed him that he was not that kind of pony. “I can stay with somepony.” A pause came. Red Field realized it wasn’t much better to take up space in somepony’s room. He bit his lip. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah man, you can stay with me.” Bren said giving him a gentle knock on the shoulder. “I get the bed though.” Red Field felt terrible and thanked Bren.

“Guess this means you won’t be paying for food or anything else.” Siplinski said slowly. Red Field squirmed once more.

“Hey, I got him covered, food, whatever.” Full Wing said. “You saved my ass back at that shooting thing, least I can do is pay you back.”

“Uh, thanks Full.” Said Red Field.

Black Rain reemerged from the barracks, a burlap pack slung over his shoulder. He’d wiped off some of the sweat and took a swig from his canteen. He pointed to the chariots.

“The hell are we waiting for? Let’s head out.”

The trip to Las Pegasus took about five hours. The chariot was designed for four ponies and additional gear. In this case, Red Field was the additional gear and he sat at the back of the vehicle in an opened storage compartment.

Black Rain flew, and Bren sat beside him. They rose out of the muggy canopy of McMillan woods and into the sunny sky. At first Red Field had sweated in the brutal sun, and was soon slipping around in the tiny compartment. Then they had climbed into the sky. An icy wind whipped over them and Red Field began shivering in the chilly metal crevice. The first hour crawled by miserably.

Full Wing and Siplinski chatted about Gale Force, and then moved to weapons, then machinery. Red Field’s head barely protruded from the compartment, but he heard every word of the conversation, and since he had no evasion whatsoever, he was forced to concentrate on what he heard.

Soon his head was slumped downward and he found himself categorizing their speech patterns. Then Siplinski said something about the kinds of mares he found attractive, then Full Wing replied with a similar response. Then Black Rain heard them.

“Jesus, you two are like a couple of schoolcolts.” He said, shaking his head. “Are we going to have to have ‘the talk’ when we get to the Halter?” Siplinski called a playful obscenity up to him.

“Hey, that reminds me though.” Bren said. Red Field saw him look back at Full Wing and Siplinski. “We should figure out some ground rules before we get there. We are not having a repeat of last year.” Red Field listened as Full Wing inquired eagerly about last year.

“Rain almost got busted for soliciting foal prostitution.” Siplinski said.

“Hey shut the fuck up!” Said Black Rain. “Seriously, don’t you say that again!”

“Sip, let me explain.” Bren said. “What happened was, Rain met some mare at a bar and they went back to his place.

“Like to have sex?” Asked Full Wing. Red Field heard Black Rain mutter “oh my God”.

“Uh, yeah something like that.” Bren said. “Anyway, she didn’t have a Cutie Mark, and-”

“Then that shitbag Barnhooves called the cops on me ‘cause he thought it’d be funny.” Black Rain snarled. “Fucking glad his ass got canned.”

“Yeah, and so,” Bren said after a pause, “he was cleared of everything, she was old enough you know. I mean, Rain knew that when they met and so it was okay but...” Through the thin metal partition, Red Field felt Siplinski shaking with silent laughter. “Anyway, we’re just going to make sure that sort of thing doesn’t happen again.”

“So, what does that mean?” Asked Full Wing.

“I’m still planning on getting laid, I hope you don’t think that’ll change.” Said Black Rain.

“Yeah me too.” Said Siplinski.

“Yeah, uh, that wasn’t what I was going to say. I just mean, never mind. No stories told to anypony until we get back to base, how about that?” The four agreed. For a few minutes the chariot was quiet. Then Full Wing asked about how they got mares back to their rooms, and that question morphed into a general inquiry regarding the proper procedure for solicitation of (non-foal) sexual partners, specifically females. Both Siplinski and Black Rain began a long and unabashed training session on how to “get plot”.

Rockvale did not have sex.

None of the fearfully frail or socially stunted students of the scant school had considered soliciting sexual activity from one another. Red Field had probably been the only normal pony with a chance of a frolic in the hay, even if it was with Affirmative Action. The Apples, he imagined, fucked one another or something of the sort, and only one time had Red Field awakened to a dreadful noise coming from the mattress next to his while at home.

Thinking back to his colthood, Red Field realized that Rockvale had been a surprisingly chaste town. Of course he knew how sex worked, the laminated diagrams that Mrs. Wormwood had personally displayed to the students had been fairly well explained; as a young stallion, who had just spent six long weeks sweating and working alongside similar stallions; Red Field concluded that he ought to either come out as gay, or look forward to “hitting the Halter”.

Yet neither fitted him.

All the talk of seduction and correct methods of soliciting prostitutes, with sexual tips and faux pas interspersed, only made the wedged little pony highly uncomfortable. Red Field began to wonder if something was wrong with him.
The air grew warm after about three hours, and though Red Field couldn’t see anything but the sky above him, he could tell they were above a desert. Black Rain told everypony to look off the left side and they could see the city. The chariot rolled a little as everypony shifted over to the left side.

“Oh man, this place really grew.” Said Siplinski.

“Oh damn, it really did, wonder if we’ll even be able to find anything.” Bren said as the chariot began to descend.

“We will, just stick with me and we’ll find everything we need.” Said Black Rain.

They arrived in Las Pegasus just as the sun was setting. Red Field, having spent the entirety of the trip cramped inside of a storage compartment designed for ammunition and explosives, stumbled and fell face first into the soft sand as he disembarked.
The other members of Barracks Six had a good laugh as he staggered about, attempting to rouse his legs.

They had landed in a fenced area about two hundred meters from the edge of the city. An attendant, who looked like he would fit in very well at Gale Force, took fifty bits from them and promised to fuck up anypony who tried to steal their ride. As a first impression of Las Pegasus, their valet was not very inviting to Red Field. However Black Rain informed them that this guy was “the best” and “nothing he guarded ever got jacked.”

The city seemed turned inward. A few dilapidated apartment complexes and duplex stables lay outside the main body of Las Pegasus like a strange ghost town. The majority of the buildings looked one-sided, almost like the entire city was a billboard facing away from them. The walls of the buildings facing out into the desert were drab blacks and browns and had no windows and only a few had doors. However Red Field saw that the neon orgy of lights and signs spilling over into the desert.

“Damn, looks better than last year.” Said Bren as they trudged toward the asphalt road leading into the city. “They did a shit-ton of remodeling, maybe that means we can get a better place this year.”

They continued to discuss their accommodations until they reached the city. They stopped after the first few blocks and looked about them.

Red Field had never been to a city, and perhaps it would have been better to visit a more prototypical municipality. Everywhere he looked ended in the wall of another building. Only a few alleyways existed and were packed with dumpsters and drifters. He saw grocers, hotels, health clinics and countless apartment buildings. Everything a pony civilization needed had somehow been compacted into a concrete maze within the listless desert.

“Pretty weird right?” Siplinski nudged him. “Must be pretty weird for a country colt.” Red Field was looking at two grocery stores that sat across the street from each other- how did they both stay in business? Who had opened the second one?

Why?

“Hey, we need to stop in here.” Said Black Rain as they stopped before one of the two grocers. Red Field was curious to see how this grocer differed from his hometown’s own general store.

Inside the grocer was a brightly wrapped maze of various prepackaged candies and hays, swarming Red Field’s mind with endless advertising. He tried to pick out a single item to study.

“Hey Red, over here.” Called Bren. They were already checking out? The attendant was a thin brown pony who sat behind a window of unusually thick Plexiglas. Siplinski was pushing some bits under a tiny slit in the glass.

“Gimme a pack of eight.” He said, pointing to something in the secure room where the attendant sat.

“I’ll take the sixteen pack.” Said Black Rain, craning his neck over Siplinski. Red Field, having no money and certainly no desire to buy anything, waited for them to finish. He saw Full Wing squeeze himself between the two stallions and poke his head up to the window. His breath fogged the surface.

“Uhhh, can I get the four pack?” He asked. He looked up to Siplinski. “Is that going to be enough?”

“Yeah that’s fine for your first time.” Said Siplinski with a nod. The attendant returned, carrying some small, brightly colored cardboard boxes.

“This what you wanted?” He asked in an accent that Red Field would have enjoyed tracing. The ponies looked over their purchases.

“Hey Bren.” Black Rain looked back to Bren, who was sitting in a small bench by the door. “Are you not getting anything?” Bren shook his head and went back to perusing the magazines. Black Rain looked back to the shelf of whatever he’d just bought. “Do you have something in really small?” He asked. The attendant sighed and walked back to the shelf. Both Siplinski and Full Wing snickered.

In a moment the attendant returned. He set a squat black box beside the others.

“This what you wanted?” He said again. Black Rain was confident this time.

“Heh, yep.” He said, sliding his payment under the window.

As they left the store, Black Rain reached into the grey plastic bag and tossed something to Red Field. The small black cube was shrink-wrapped. He’d never heard of the item and asked aloud what a condom was.

Amidst the laughter of his squadmates, Red Field was told by Bren what they were for. Bren saw the deep red blush on Red Field’s face and took the box and shoved it inside his backpack. Red Field stopped paying attention to everypony for the rest of the walk.

Their motel had unfortunately not been renovated in the apparent economic boom of Las Pegasus. A basic sign, leprous with graffiti, informed visitors that they had arrived at the Lotus Oasis Motel; Red Field wondered if the proprietors knew what lotuses were.

The building’s interior did not improve Red Field’s opinion of their lodging. A narrow lobby, with ragged and stained carpet that enshrouded their hooves, greeted them. A meaty and equally stained stallion sat in a tiny office ahead of them. The check-in was built with the same resilient partition of Plexiglas.

“Hey, I called about a week ago. Four rooms for Rain.” Said Black Rain through the tiny slot. The concierge, if he could rationally be referred to as such, had yellowed eyes, and a soaking toothpick jutted from his lips.

“Money.” His voice was auditory sandpaper and Red Field’s neck prickled at the sound. Everypony besides Red Field dug in their wallets for their payment. Black Rain collected the bits and slid them to the pony. Taking the small stack, the attendant turned an eye at the money. He counted them under his breath, and since no other noise filled the empty lobby, everypony heard his wheezing “twenty, forty, sixty”. He looked up at Black Rain after finishing and Red Field was certain he was going to ask for more.

“Rules. Nothing underage.” Siplinski gave Black Rain a small kick. “No more than six in a room at a time or I’ll call the cops. The towels haven’t been washed in a week so it’s not a good idea to steal them. Don’t shit on the curtains or I’ll break your Goddamn neck.” Red Field was unnerved this was a consideration. “And you can’t pay me anything to not tell the cops which room you’re in.” More silence filled the room as the “rules” sank into Barracks Six. “But for wives it’s fifty bits. Eighty to say to look somewhere else.” He added, taking his seat again.

“That it?” Asked Black Rain. The attendant nodded and reached into a cabinet beside him.

“Checkout is at eleven, and if you’re selling yellow then get the hell out of here.” He said, taking four rusted keys from the cabinet. He slid them under the partition. “Enjoy your stay.” Siplinski thanked him and they collected the keys. Red Field had never stayed in a hotel before, and was preparing to make a vow to never repeat the experience. They were starting down the hall when the attendant shouted for them to stop.

“You, kid, over here.” Called the hotelier. Red Field returned to the desk. He was just tall enough to peek over the top. The pony scowled down at him. “No minors allowed.”

“But, I am an adult.” Red Field said.

“Fuck off kid, I ain’t in the mood.”

“Sir, I am an adult.” Red Field said again. The attendant rose out of his chair, an act which Red Field had thought impossible.

“I said nopony underage, you can have your group thing somewhere else, but not at my place.” The attendant pointed to Black Rain. “Take your appetizer,” he pointed to Red Field, “and get out.”

“Excuse me?!” Asked Black Rain in a tone that showed he was not prepared to improve the situation.

“He just graduated from basic training.” Said Bren. The attendant looked to Bren.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Here’s his ID, he doesn’t have a bag so I was carrying it.” Bren tugged a laminated card from a pocket of his backpack. He slid it to the attendant. Red Field saw it was his Gale Force ID, but oddly, it designated him as part of the normal Equestrian Army. The attendant was equally puzzled and he studied the card for some time. Finally, the paunchy pony let out a long breath and slid the card back to Bren.

“Well hell, guess he is a ‘soldier’.” He said with a shrug. The attendant appraised the rest of the group, then guffawed at Red Field. “Looks like you’re going on some hardcore maneuvers tonight.”

“Whatever, asshole.” Said Bren. Red Field followed Bren and the rest of the group back down the hall.

They shuffled through the dim corridor until they reached their rooms. Everypony promised to get settled for fifteen minutes then meet in the lobby to decide where to get dinner.

Red Field followed Bren into his room.

The room was not much bigger than his shack in Rockvale. A single recessed light illuminated the room a dingy off-white. A few steps took them to a bed that was covered in a bedspread from which a few spot-cleaned stains still faintly showed. The room had a nightstand with rusted metal lamp and a small table with a single uncapped pen and notepad. Bren sighed and hefted his backpack onto the bed, which creaked under the weight. He groaned and fell beside the pack. Red Field continued to stand, as the room had no couch, or even chair.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Bren said from the bed. He had his hoof over his face. “It’s not usually this shitty, promise.” Red Field nodded and looked around the room for any insects that might threaten him during the night. “Hey, uh, about what you said at the graduation.” Red Field looked down. Bren had sat up. “Like, were you really serious? Did Belligerence actually ask you to do sniper training?”

“Yeah, he did.” Replied Red Field curtly. Bren sighed again.

Red Field suddenly grew exhausted with everypony’s constant disbelief that he was capable of anything. This, combined with his irritation about being stuffed in the back of the chariot and being forced to listen to misogynistic banter, combined with the implication of having a small penis, combined with the implication of his being an underage gay prostitute pushed him to tell Bren how fucking tired he was of the squad’s bullshit.

“You know what-” Red Field began.

“Just don’t tell Rain okay?” Bren said. “He just got his job at Maremont and that’s been great. Just, let me tell him about your post okay.”

“Why does it matter?” Red Field asked.

“Uh, sort of a long story. I guess- oh shit, we better get going.” Bren glanced at his watch and rocked to his hooves. “We usually go to this little gryphon place that closes soon. I’ll tell you when we get back.” He grabbed his key and his wallet and Red Field followed him from the dank room into the danker hall.

The rest of Barracks Six waited in the hall.

“We good?” Asked Black Rain. Bren nodded. “All right, Sip, lead the way.” Passing down the hall and back to the lobby, they exited into the desert night.

The air was deliciously dryer than Gale Force, and though the last streams of orange and red were still trickling down the sky from the fallen sun, the night was cooling quickly. The Lotus Oasis sat near the edge of the city, with just a few stores and offices surrounding it. However the neon radiation from the central hub of the city’s entertainment district still cast a warm glow onto their street.

Full Wing had to know how they’d found a restaurant run by gryphons.

Siplinski and Black Rain told him of the time they had been too drunk to fly back to base on their last night on leave, some years ago. They’d stumbled, quite literally, into the small café while attempting to find a coffee shop. They spoke of standing outside of the window, trying to make sure they were both seeing what they were seeing: a “bird cooking shit inside”. It turned out they had seen what they were seeing, and upon solicitation, the bird told them of a spell he knew of to drastically reduce hangovers and boost sobriety. Full Wing was predictably taken aback by the thought of a gryphon knowing anything about magic. Red Field already knew the creatures possessed a rudimentary sense of enchantments, though he didn’t say anything.

The rest of the story was a tale of Squad Six sobering under the spell and thanking and paying the gryphon, whose name was Talon. They had then flown all night back to Gale Force and Black Rain claimed “it was the most fucking sober” he’d ever been. They’d later made at least one meal at the small café a tradition for their leaves in Las Pegasus, and according to Bren, Talon cooked pretty decently too.

The café was named the Nest Egg. This gave Red Field a small chuckle as they reached the tiny, one room restaurant wedged between a high-rise apartment and dry cleaner. At the door, Black Rain told Full Wing not to make fun of anything about Talon.

The Nest Egg had only two tables. Ahead stood a dingy counter with laminated menus typed in the heading style on Microsoft Word. A ceiling fan above swished the desert air languidly. A vicious and overpowering scent of rosemary commanded the air and a few stained pots gurgled atop a stove behind the counter.

Nopony worked the counter and Siplinski leaned over the counter.

“Hey, are you here feathers?” He called into the door to the kitchen.

A squawk, so stereotypical and perfectly timed that Red Field had trouble keeping from laughing, responded to Siplinski’s inquiry.

“Be right there!” Called a masculine and strangely well-vocalized voice. A gryphon emerged from the back room. His upper torso was a muddy brown, but his lower half to his yellow stalk legs, was a snowy white splashed with sauce and grease. “Sorry I was- ah fuck you!” He said as he recognized Siplinski. The deep tenor of his voice dropped and was replaced by the graveled intonation of a bird who did not like speaking like a pony. “You’re early this year!”

“Oh yeah, guess we are.” Said Siplinski. The bird reached over the counter and struck his shoulder.

“Making me think you’re one of those Cantorlot assholes, making me talk right.” The gryphon and the rest of the veterans of Barracks Six greeted each other and Red Field hung back. The giant bird didn’t scare him, but, Red Field didn’t want to get too close either.

“And now who do we have here?” The gryphon leaned over the counter and looked down at Red Field.

“Uh, just, their friend.” Red Field pointed to Bren. “I mean, I’m in their squad.” Bren explained that Red Field had just finished basic training.

The bird chuckled.

“Well you don’t seem like the raw meat and wrestling type like these three assholes.” He said to Red Field. “What’s your job?”

“Sni- uh, I-”

“He’s not sure yet.” Said Bren quickly. “There’s a couple places for him to go to you know, he’s still looking.” Before anyone could respond, Bren sought out Full Wing, who was incidentally also attempting to keep his distance from the oversize avian. “But this guy here is going straight airborne!” He thrust Full Wing to Talon. The bird was enthralled with Full Wing and the two talked for a few minutes on topics that only pertained to creatures with wings.

Finally Talon turned back to Bren.

“So are you going to order something or am I going to have to ask you to stop loitering and leave?”

“Hell yeah we’re eating, you remember what we get?” Siplinski said. Talon put a feather beside his beak.

“I was an elephant in a past life.” He bowed and turned toward his stove. “Three plates, excuse me, five plates of Ire Seed?”

“What’s that?” Asked Full Wing.

“It’s really good, it’s what we always get.” Said Black Rain. “You could get something else since we pay separately.”

Red Field again realized he had no money.

“No problem I gotcha.” Said Full Wing, nudging Red Field. Red Field felt the shame of charity again. “I’ll do a plate of Ire Seed too I guess, so make that five plates.”

“Heh, I thought I said that already.” Talon chuckled and began to measure out some black seed into a pot.

Red Field studied Talon as he cooked. The gryphon explained to both he and Full Wing that he’d come to Equestria after he “felt he was no longer welcome back home”(he did not go into further detail on this and nopony considered asking further). Talon said he’d always been a decent cook, and a lot of ponies liked the exotic look of a gryphon fixing them dinner. They did not like how a gryphon acted and he had to learn to talk and behave like a pony, which he did not like.

As he stirred in the herbs and oils into the mass of seeds in the pot, Talon cocked, bobbed and twitched his head like any other bird. Occasionally he softly squawked to himself and Red Field saw him fish a lost feather out of the pot. He chatted with Bren and Black Rain and Siplinski about how things had been at base. In turn they asked him about himself, and Red Field learned that Talon lived alone, and most of his recreational time was spent flying.

Soon, Talon slid a steaming plate of the black, beetle-like seeds to each diner. The seeds seemed completely bare and came only with a worn plastic cup of water.

“So tell me!” Talon gave Red Field a slap on the back. “What is it about blowing stuff up and shooting things that makes you want to be an idiot like these ponies?”

“I want to protect and serve my country.” Said Red Field.

“Enough to shoot somebody apparently.” Talon said.

Red Field hadn’t weighed his personal moral convictions against a necessitated murder under the auspices of defense of his country. He also did not have the time to do so at the moment.

“I guess so.” He said.

“Well, looks like it’ll be dogs you’ll be shooting if that new queen ever wises up.” Said Talon.

“What makes you say that?” Asked Black Rain, crunching into the seeds.

“They’ve been lurking a lot around the border to the Crystal Kingdom. Few of them got into a fight with the Kingdom’s border patrol.” Said Talon. Red Field looked up at this, along with everypony else at the table. “They’ve been sniffing around outside of their country a lot recently. There’s a war or something that they’re all fighting over under those mountains; nopony really knows what the hell their problem is.”

“Well there’s like a hundred different kinds of them and there’s like a ton of territories and states from what I hear.” Said Siplinski. “So you probably-”

“Only good digger is a dead digger.” Said Black Rain, who had started eating again. Talon chuckled and turned back to his dishes.

“I knew a couple that were all right.” He said quietly.

Full Wing took a bite of his seeds and coughed.

“Whoa, what the hell?” He asked as the rest of Barracks Six laughed.

“What the hell do you think they’re called Ire Seeds for?” Asked Talon with a grin. “You’re Airborne, you need to take that head on!” Full Wing smiled and tried to swallow the rest of the seeds as he took another bite. He coughed once more and the group spent the rest of dinner cheering him on as he slowly downed the seeds.

Red Field gagged after a couple bites and miserably ate his dinner. He would have discarded the meal had Full Wing not paid for it. Once dinner was finished, they bade goodbye to Talon and departed from the small café. They left at ten-thirty and the night should have been pitch black, but the ever-glowing signs and lights lit the streets up as if it were still daytime. Red Field was exhausted from his day and the brightness seared his eyes and made him squint at his hooves.

They stopped at a convenience store for Black Rain to pick up some beer and as they waited, they saw a couple burros pass by on the street. Siplinski said there were definitely more burros this time.

“Eyeah, hope that’s not the case at the club.” Said Bren, wiping his eyes sleepily. Black Rain reemerged from the store and asked what they were talking about. Upon being informed of the topic, he shook his head and spoke with the certainty of a sage.

“Nopony wants to see burro ass, that’s a fact.” He said, leading them back to their hotel. Red Field was completely spent and the day had been far too long for him to keep up; he still had about six or seven subjects to consider before he caught up to the discrimination and misogyny of the group. He didn’t even care to consider the police dragging away a unicorn suspect in the dusty street outside of the Lotus Oasis. Red Field sleepily followed Bren into their room and fell into the bed. He knew he would need to sleep somewhere else, but at the moment he just wanted to take a short rest. He heard Bren sigh and Red Field guiltily tried to pick himself up.

“Let me tell you about Rain.” Said Bren. “But you have to promise to keep it a secret.” Red Field looked up. Bren had seated himself in the peeling wood chair which stood before the desk. He slumped down in the seat like a corpse. “Can you do that?” Red Field had forgotten about the mystery of why he shouldn’t tell Black Rain about becoming a sniper and he took a second to recall what they were talking about.

Bren looked to the ceiling and twisted his mouth.

“Sip’s only been with us for a few years. Me and Rain have been with the company for like, six years.” Bren groaned and lifted his lower hooves onto the table and reclined. “Rain wanted to be UAT. He’s a pretty smart guy, I mean- he’s strong, knows how to shoot, knows like everything there is to know about Gale Force.” Bren looked back at Red Field. “But he apparently wasn’t UAT material, like, I dunno what they said was wrong with him but he didn’t make it past selection.” Bren shrugged. “Not to say that that’s an uncommon thing, it’s like sixty guys try out for UAT every time there’s selection and I think only like five get in or something. But then, most of them don’t care about it as much Rain did- does.” Bren spoke a bit softer. “Rain can be a giant asshole. Think you know that. But really, he’s a good guy, and I know he’d fight and die along with any of us. I really thought he’d make UAT, he genuinely seems like the operator type.” Bren sighed. “But he didn’t, and that kicked the shit out of him. Then Sip came along, and he got two instructor posts in his first year. Then Orange became head of Beast and you don’t know him but there’s a sergeant named West Point that got picked over Rain to do Opfor training with UAT. I know you probably can’t tell, but Rain gives Gale Force everything he’s got. So, it’s pretty sad to see him just get a job with Maremont, which is really just a shitty factory job that’s not all that different than a shitty factory job in the rest of Equestria.”

“So why doesn’t he quit?” Asked Red Field.

“You should get to know him more, the only thing he wants more than to become UAT is get killed fighting, preferably after killing a lot of the other guys and saving somepony important.” Red Field had no trouble believing that. Bren was silent for a time and though the bed was invitingly soft, Red Field was no longer drowsy.

Finally, Bren stood up and walked to the bed.

“I know he’s been a huge shit to you.” Bren stopped in front of the bed and lowered his eyes. “We all kinda have. But, you’ve seriously come a really long way and I’m really glad you stayed with us, more than Full Wing. Give Rain a chance, if nothing else, he has our backs no matter what and you're one of us.” He pointed to the bed. “If you want to take that side, I’ll take this one.” Red Field nodded and slid over to the left side of the bed. Bren switched out the light and climbed onto his side of the bed.

Red Field fell asleep after an hour. He was thinking on everything Bren had said, but he kept coming back to one statement.

“More than Full Wing.”

Red Field now found himself glad that he had stayed with Barracks Six.

Red Field arose around eight, realized he had nowhere to go, and went back to bed. At around nine-thirty, Bren stirred and rolled from bed. Red Field eyes were closed and he was concentrating on not concentrating and falling back asleep. Bren crossed the room and Red Field opened his eyes. He saw Bren standing before the mirror, combing his mane. Bren’s mane was a smushed mess, with flat sections of hair sticking out around his head. His eyes were swollen with sleep and his joints snapped and cracked.

He glanced over to Red Field.

“Not a morning pony?” Asked Red Field with a little laugh.

“Not on my vacation.” Said Bren, patting his mane back into place.

“So what are we doing today?” Red Field asked, taking a seat on the side of the bed.

“Club tonight.” Bren said. Red Field had forgotten about the “entertainment” they had been so eagerly awaiting, and the fear of not having a sexuality returned. “We’ll probably go out and get something to eat, then I think Rain had some casino or something he wanted to go to. Sip usually goes to this weird apartment and buys something. I dunno, I usually look for a tool shop or something.” He shrugged. “You could just stay here if you want.” Red Field did not want to spend the day in a windowless hotel room before attending an obscene venue later that night.

“I’ll come along and see if there’s anything to do.” Said Red Field.

After Bren had finished repairing his mane, they walked to lobby and waited for the rest of the squad. Siplinski joined them in a few minutes and together they waited another half an hour for Black Rain and Full Wing. Eventually they walked to the room and Bren knocked on the door.

“Shit, just a minute!” Called Black Rain. Black Rain poked his head out of the door. “Goddamn, is it already nine?”

“Ten actually.” Siplinski said. Black Rain cracked his neck.

“Kid’s still passed out, two beers put him down and I didn’t feel like dragging him back to his room.”

With Black Rain ruing the morning, the conversation on the way to breakfast could only be described as terse. They walked to a small diner only a few blocks away and took seats in the booth farthest away from the noise of the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ, he was like a foal last night.” Black Rain muttered.

“Watch out, you might get arrested for that.” Siplinski said. Black Rain gave him a look that qualified as a death threat.

“It was half an hour before he finally dropped off. Took me half of the case to just keep from smacking him.” He took a long sip of his coffee. “Whatever, I’m hitting the Space of Aides after this and actually doing something that might pay off.”

“Are you going to take him?” Asked Bren. Black Rain took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“If he shuts the hell up.” He said tiredly. He pointed at Red Field. “At least you know when to shut the hell up, I’ll give you that.”

“I have to pick up some stuff.” Said Siplinski.

“What is up with that?” Asked Bren, turning to Siplinski. “What are you even buying?”

“Stuff.” He said shortly. He pointed across the table to Red Field. “Hey do you want to come with me Red? I don’t think my guy would have a problem with you like he would with these two.”

“Uh, sure.” Red Field said. Black Rain looked up from his coffee.

“Really. You’re not going to tell us, but you’ll invite him.” Said Black Rain. “Fine, you know what, if it’s something you’d take him to and not tell us about, I don’t think I’d want to know anyway.”

“Like you said, he knows when to shut up.” Siplinski said with a nod toward Red Field.

Their waitress was a plump, shaggy burro. She spoke with an accent and referred to Red Field as “honey”. Red Field wondered what brought the burros to the licentious city.

“God, they better not look like that tonight.” Said Black Rain, watching her return to the kitchen.

“Weren’t you just telling us last night that they wouldn’t?” Bren asked. Black Rain sipped his coffee once more and shook his head gloomily.

“Guess I’m not so sure anymore.” Black Rain said as he looked around the diner. It wasn’t a dirty place, but then, it wasn’t the kind of place that spent a great deal on attracting new customers with anything besides the promise of affordable food. “This whole town’s all fucked up, beer was eighteen ninety yesterday.”

“Celestia’s assassination fucked everything up; even out here.” Bren said. “It’s pretty impressive to see all these new buildings and shit during a recession.”

“Gale Force was probably the only part of Equestria that got more money after the Blast.” Siplinski said.

“Yeah, at least the new queen knows where her the priorities are.” Said Black Rain, finishing his coffee.

Siplinski did not tell Red Field where they were going. This unnerved Red Field as he followed the twitchy red unicorn through the streets and side-streets of Las Pegasus in a rambling, yet somehow determined route to a place which sold “stuff”. They had left immediately after breakfast; according to Siplinski, his guy “didn’t like to be kept waiting”.
Red Field didn’t know a lot about Siplinski. He knew Siplinski talked faster than his mouth could articulate and that he was the most excitable of the senior members of Barracks Six. Red Field knew Siplinski was a competent soldier- and that was about it. Red Field had no idea what kind of secretive product a pony like Siplinski would buy, and he couldn’t help but imagine several unsavory possibilities.

Siplinski looked like a sparrow, glancing to and fro as they crossed streets and mantled curbs. He would stop for a moment to catch his bearings, then jerk back to a brisk pace. Red Field followed him, hoping they weren’t going to break any laws.

After a twenty minute walk through the heart of the Las Pegasus downtown, Siplinski stopped at a paltry brick building with smudged windows and a “space for rent” sign above the door. Red Field followed him into the inside. The short industrial carpet was old and worn, and the fluorescent lights glowed a pale white. They walked down a hall which was lined with offices. The entire place smelled musty and sour. As Red Field’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw Siplinski glossing over a directory between two of the offices.

“This way.” Red Field caught a glimpse of the directory as they walked past. A pediatrician’s office and a construction company operated in the building. What kind of a secretive backroom deal took place in affordable small-to-midsize office space?

Their door was the second to last on the left. Siplinski stopped at the door and turned to Red Field.

“Okay, you can ask questions or buy something if you want, but don’t make things weird okay?” He said, his cadence cascading onto Red Field. Red Field, not in any state of mind to mess with whatever waited on the other side of the door, nodded. As Siplinski opened the stepped inside, Red Field caught sight of the brass nameplate affixed to the door.

“Prof. Flam’s Felicitous Circuitry.” Red Field was still trying to ascertain what circuitry was “felicitous” when they entered.

They’d come to a toy store.

Red Field had never been in a toy store before, but he knew from the fiery abuse of red and blue plastic on every item on every display that he was in a toy store. The store had been a waiting room of some sort, as evidenced by chairs and credenzas now serving as displays and shelves for the toys. Siplinski ventured ahead to the receptionist’s desk-turned-checkout but Red Field paused to look at the products. Most were inside vibrant cardboard boxes, but a display model had been opened and assembled and stood on a table.

He tilted his head at it.

The toy was a tiny patchwork of metal buttons and red and blue wires all interconnected and secured to a perforated plastic board by dull grey dots of solder. It was a circuit.

A very rudimentary and obviously foal-oriented product, the toy was made to power a single dull LED light from a single-cell battery. Red Field felt confused at what brought Siplinski to a toy store. Siplinski was leaned against the desk and rang a bell.

“Be right out!” Somepony trotted out of a doorway behind the desk.

Red Field doubted very much that Professor Flam had earned his Ph.D. in electrical engineering, or that he’d even taught anywhere of note. A tall tan pony sporting an “eccentric” corduroy jacket greeted Siplinski and they began to converse. Professor Flam’s smile was strangely familiar to Red Field. He realized it bore a very close resemblance to the smile that Appleseed had worn whenever Podunk had caught him doing something felonious. Siplinski and Professor Flam seemed very well acquainted as they began to converse and Red Field turned his attention back to the toys.

All of them were basic arrangements of clearly identified electrical components. They were also garishly packaged and Red Field studied all of the models. The most complicated design was in a yellow box that proclaimed its contents built a marshmallow cannon. Red Field wasn’t sure if the store was more or less disturbing than the black market he’d been expecting.

“See anything you like?” Professor Flam was standing beside Red Field. Red Field had gotten better at not jumping whenever somepony startled him, but Flam had appeared silently and Red Field flinched a little.

“Uh, not yet.” He said. Professor Flam pointed to the yellow box.

“Now that’s a mighty complicated kit for strong-minded stallions. Say how old are you son?”

“Eighteen sir.”

“OH!” A sort of giddy smile twisted over Professor Flam’s face. “You don’t look a day over foaling.”

Red Field turned to the odd salespony.

“Where did you earn your doctorate, if I may ask?” Red Field was rarely insulted by somepony wearing a coat one size too large and whom he doubted had ever held any kind of academic position.
Siplinski cleared his throat.

Red Field glanced over at him and saw that Siplinski was glowering at him. But Professor Flam didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh Professor Flam has taught all over.” He said. “I’ve been all over this big big land and collected the finest array of fascinating electrical gizmos and whatchamacallits ever seen.” A pause fell as everypony uncomfortably absorbed the sales pitch written for younger ponies. Siplinski closed his eyes in embarrassment. “Anywho!” Professor Flam returned to Siplinski. “You were asking about something special?” His tone changed and he sounded more like a normal pony with Siplinski.
Red Field saw that both of them were conscious of the peculiarity of a pony Siplinski’s age purchasing anything from Professor Flam’s Felicitous Circuitry and he guessed they had an understanding between them.

“I’ll just grab your box,” Professor Flam said to Siplinski, “if your friend there doesn’t have any more questions.”

Red Field felt guilty for disturbing their amicable relationship as Professor Flam disappeared into what used to be the doctor’s office.

“Hey!” Siplinski whispered. “Shut the fuck up.” Red Field nodded shamefully.

In a minute, Professor Flam was back. He carried a plain black cardboard box. He dropped it onto the desk and shoved it to Siplinski.

“I don’t put this one out, kids would burn their little hooves trying to put it together.” He said with a small laugh. “Sixteen bits.” Siplinski paid for the kit and slid the box into his saddlebag.

“Thanks, I’ll be back next year.” He said. Professor Flam walked around the counter and saw the pair to the door.

“Well you are my biggest customer and not just in purchases.” Said Professor Flam. “I certainly hope you enjoy yourself.” He opened the door and Siplinski took a minute to Tetris the box through the narrow doorway. Siplinski thanked Flam again and started down the hall.

As the door closed, Red Field saw Professor Flam take a seat behind the receptionist’s desk. He looked up at Red Field and their eyes met. That same smile came to Flam.

Red Field did not like that smile.

Red Field had many questions for Siplinski as they walked back to the Lotus Oasis. He knew Siplinski knew he had those questions. Before they’d even left the building, Siplinski had calmly informed Red Field that they were not going to talk about anything until they got back to his room. Siplinski said he was going to buy something to eat and take it back to their room. Red Field agreed, hoping to make up for his blunder in the store. They stopped at a small grocery and Siplinski told Red Field to grab a bag of hay for him and whatever he wanted for himself. Red Field took a smaller, cheaper bag of hay and they checked out.
The box, though about the size of Siplinski’s body, did not appear to be very heavy, and they made it back to the hotel as the sun of high noon was cresting the sky.
Red Field followed Siplinski back to his room and for the next quarter of an hour they had a silent lunch. The box lay on the meager bed. Finally, once he had finished smacking the last of the dried straw from his lips, Siplinski poked Red Field, who was still eating.

“So I guess you’re going to ask if I’m gay.” He said. Red Field blinked; this was not one of the questions or even related questions. “Well I like electrical stuff you know?” Red Field said nothing, although his seventh question had been answered. Siplinski waited for Red Field to say something, then continued. “Like, Gale Force has this one program where you can learn stuff about that kind of thing but it’s really hard to get in to and it doesn’t pay too well.” Eighteen and twenty-two had been answered. Siplinski again waited for Red Field to say something, then he saw that his companion was still waiting on him. Siplinski frowned uncomfortably. “Do you want to like, give me a hoof with this?” Red Field nodded, slightly satiated that Siplinski was at least self-conscious about his patronage of a foal’s store, “Sweet!”

The box contained approximately 883 pieces, including several large circuit boards, a respectable length of wire and even a mini soldering iron. The instructions were a thickened pamphlet, though the first several chapters were dedicated to detailing all of the scenarios in which the manufacturer would not be held liable for damages or injury.

“I can put together the main stuff, read what this one is supposed to do and let me know.” Siplinski said, plugging in the soldering iron into the ungrounded outlet in the wall. Red Field read the pamphlet in a few minutes. The booklet was surprisingly technical in detail and even gave him something to devote his concentration to.

The kit was supposed to do five things, two functions were powering LED lights, which Red Field felt was cheap. Another function was powering an exposed heating filament which looked like it belonged in a toaster. The next appliance on the kit was a small radio which Red Field found a little impressive. And finally, the assembly of the contents of the black box would give another socket for powering a compatible kit, though Red Field hoped Siplinski wouldn’t attempt to add anything and overtax the already dilapidated outlet.

Red Field looked up from his reading and saw Siplinski delicately guiding the soldiering iron over the end of a wire. Siplinski had already clipped and attached several wires and was nearly finished with attaching the LED station and connecting it to what would be the main circuit.

“Hey, let me see the next one.” Siplinski held out his hoof for the next piece. Red Field gave it to him and prepared to read from the instructions. However Siplinski didn’t ask for any help, and Red Field sat and watched as Siplinski affixed the next few parts without so much as a glance at the instructions. Finally, Siplinski asked for some help with the heating filament. Red Field read off only the first few lines of instruction before Siplinski nodded and said he got it. The next few minutes passed by quietly, as Siplinski carefully soldered the large chip holding the filament into place.

“I only buy from that guy ‘cause his stuff is the cheapest.” Siplinski said. “I found a little ad for his place in a catalog for my little sister.” He said. Siplinski replaced the soldering iron and lifted his head from the board. He groaned and stretched his neck. “I usually get one or two of these kits whenever we come out here.” He shrugged. “I just throw them out before we leave since they break really fast.” Siplinski stood up and groaned again as he stretched out his legs. He took a seat on the bed and looked down at Red Field, who sat against the frame. “Do you think I’m gay for, you know, getting toys?”

“No. You have something you want to learn about and you’re learning about it.” Said Red Field gently.

“Like, if I told Rain or even Bren about this they’d say I’m a queer.” He said, looking down to the board again. “But I’m not super rich you know? I mean, like I want to be an electrician or something like that when I get out Gale Force. But like, I don’t know where to start learning.”

“You know I want to be an alchemist.” Red Field said. “I’m pretty poor, so I’m at Gale Force for more or less the same reason.”

“Oh I’m not poor.” Said Siplinski quickly. A pause fell between them, then he spoke again. “What’s an alchemist?”

“It’s a specialized magician and scientist who works to transmute elements and substances into other elements and substances.” Red Field said.

“I think you’d be really good at that.” Siplinski said after a very blank pause. Red Field smiled a bit.

“Thanks, you seem like you’ll be a good electrician Sip.”

They returned to work on the circuit board and this time Siplinski asked more questions on assembling the radio and socket, as he had never attempted those before. They had just finished the installing the socket and Siplinski was trying to figure out which part of the small black cube was “side A” of the radio.

“I saw you’re going to be a sniper.” He said, jabbing the radio into place. Red Field looked up.

“How do you know that?” Red Field asked. Siplinski shrugged and reoriented the radio.

“I work in Beast so I get to see the list of where everypony’s going.” Siplinski continued to shove at the radio. “So why do you want to be a sniper?”

“It just sounds like something I’d be good at. Belligerence said I’d be a good sniper so I guess I took his word for it. Oh, Belligerence is-”

“I know who he is.” Said Siplinski, running a wire to the radio. “Yeah snipers are pretty cool. But I could never be one, way too much math and stuff.” Red Field’s ears perked up to this. They used math in the military? “Plus I dunno, it’s like something everypony says they’d be good at, but I knew like two of the snipers a few years ago and they were pretty tough guys. Like you have to be a little cold to do kill somepony like they do.” Red Field, having never made the presumption that perhaps sniping was an unpleasant means of dispatching enemies, nearly asked him what he meant by “a little cold.”

He caught himself. He couldn’t risk making himself look ignorant by not knowing the basics of what he planned on making his job. Instead he nodded and looked back to the instructions. The point was moot anyway. He wasn’t going to need to kill anypony. Equestria wasn’t at war.

They finished the board in just under an hour. Siplinski had completed the entire kit with almost no guidance from Red Field. Siplinski dragged the thin cord to the outlet and plugged in the contraption. The pair of lights glowed an impotent red and the filament exuded a dirty orange heat. The radio, however, was silent.

“What the hell?” Siplinski asked in disgust. Red Field looked down at the little black box.

“Radio is a pretty broad term, there’s no adjustment dials on it so it might be a transmitter or something like that.” Red Field said.

“You want to take it apart and see?” Siplinski asked. Red Field smiled, that actually sounded like fun.

“Sure!” He said. Siplinski unplugged the kit and knelt down over the radio. Somepony clomped on their door and both looked up.

“Sip, is the tiny one with you?” Black Rain called through the door.

“Uh, yeah he is.” Siplinski said. “Why?”

“We’re going to the club now.”

Black Rain was in a surprisingly good mood.
He and Full Wing were waiting outside the door, both had small duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Before Black Rain said anything, Full Wing launched into a frantic tale of how they had almost been kicked out of the casino, but then Black Rain had “bet everything on this one table and then won”.
Full Wing had apparently been given fifty bits of his own and made twenty more over the course of four hours which was totally amazing since he didn’t even know how to play. Black Rain didn’t even tell him to shut up and he listened proudly to the Pegasus gush on about their luck.

“First damn good luck of the year, I’m looking forward to the rest of this trip.” Said Black Rain, as close to cheerful as he could be. He nodded to Red Field. “Hey kid, good to see you. Let’s go grab Bren and get something to eat, my treat.”
Even Siplinski was a little surprised at the about-face of the dark pony.

Bren, still in his room, said he wasn’t sure if he was coming, then Black Rain told him everypony was going. Bren appeared at the door of his room in a minute. He looked like he’d been napping.

“Oh, Red said he’s going?” He asked. “Yeah I’ll come.”

“Got a gay crush on him?” Asked Black Rain. “You know what, I don’t even care, fuck it, I’ll even pay your cover to the Meat Stack if that’s more your style.” He said. Bren wiped the sleep from his eyes and shoved Black Rain.

“I’m going so he doesn’t get stabbed or kidnapped.” He said.

The sun was already starting to descend and Red Field realized he and Siplinski had spent most of the afternoon working on the kit. They stopped at another grocer for something to eat. Black Rain advised Full Wing not to get a lot to eat, lest he puke his guts out upon seeing a stripper for the first time. At the checkout, Black Rain produced a crisp hundred bit bill and shoved it proudly the cashier. He then told burro to buy himself a better job with the change.

The Hoof and Halter was a “gentlepony’s club”. Nopony actually called it a strip club. The Hoof and Halter was not particularly exclusive, which was one of the main reasons for its high attendance. Red Field saw the square, single-story building with the cursive neon sign and his heart fluttered a little in his chest. A line had already formed outside of the door and Black Rain told everypony to shut up as they took their place.

The clientele seemed to break all of the stereotypes Red Field held about the kind of ponies who went to strip clubs. Many were the typical tall, tough working-types who couldn’t seem to go a single sentence without an obscenity, but amongst them were other ponies who Red Field didn’t think belonged. Several unicorns a few meters ahead of them were conversing about their studies, and Red Field caught that they were on vacation from the Cantorlot Academy of Advanced Magic. Behind Barracks Six were two young mares, well-dressed and talking about home decorating.

Carnality was apparently a commonalty for everypony in Las Pegasus.

They waited for half an hour as the line slowly filtered up to the pair of stallions standing outside the doors to the club. Red Field saw that the doorponies had declined a number of patrons and he wondered what kind of disqualifications existed for viewing nudity. Black Rain took point and led Barracks Six to the bouncer.

“Five of us, I’ll pay.” He said, motioning to the group.

“Oh hey, Rain, long time.” Said the stallion. “Uhhhh, those two have IDs?” He asked, eying Red Field and Full Wing. Black Rain nodded and told everypony to show their cards. Bren once more produced Red Field’s ID from his backpack.

“Sorry Rain, just been a little crazy here.” The bouncer said. “Had some asshole come in here and grope a couple mares, management’s not too happy about that and we’re supposed to turn away anypony who might cause trouble.” He cleared his throat and leaned in toward Black Rain. “You’re cool, but can you vouch for those two colts?”

“Yeah I dunno.” Black Rain pointed toward Red Field. “That one might be good to keep your eye on.” The stallion squinted at Red Field as if he weren’t sure if this was serious and Black Rain laughed. “I’m kidding.” Black Rain said. “They’re all fine.”

“Dammit Rain, you’re not supposed to make my job harder.” The bouncer said with a grin. “Go on in and get the hell out of my line.” He said, waving them past the velvet rope. Black Rain thanked him, then told everypony to follow him. Red Field’s heart was pounding again.

At first Red Field thought that the club might be on fire. Upon entering the building he was enshrouded by a thick fog that swirled around his legs and obscured his hooves. The pounding bass of a house song throbbed in his ears and made his heart feel arrhythmic. He couldn’t see anything in the fog. Black Rain stopped just inside the door. They were standing on what looked like a platform that stood a few steps above an open foyer.

“Okay, so here’s where we part ways.” Black Rain said over the music. “I’m just getting the lay of the land. Keep an eye on your wallets and meet back here in two hours.” The bombarding music, coupled with the fog of the club, his own adrenaline, and Black Rain’s orders made Red Field feel as if he were about to storm an enemy stronghold. Siplinski and Black Rain exchanged some dialogue which Red Field couldn’t make out. Full Wing poked Red Field’s shoulder.

“Hey dude, do you want to stick together maybe?” He looked as frightened as Red Field.

“Uh, yeah let’s do that.” Red Field said.

“Okay, see you guys later!” Said Black Rain, stepping into the swirling fog. Bren and Siplinski followed him, leaving Red Field
and Full Wing alone on the platform.

Red Field found the unmarked stairs a few steps into the mist. For a tentative second Red Field walked in grey blindness before his hoof pawed at thin air and he tumbled forward. Thankfully the stairs only had two steps and he kept his balance as he staggered into the main floor of the club. However the fall was enough to spook him.

“Whoa you okay?” Full Wing asked, steadying Red Field.

Red Field had stopped before a table. From the chair sitting aside the table protruded two thick red legs, a stallion’s legs. Atop those legs, and blocking the rest of the stallion’s body, was a mare. Her body shone with oil and her wings were outstretched like those of a rising phoenix. She squirmed atop the stallion. She faced away from the stallion and had been looking out into the mist with an odd expression of disinterest and bored concentration. But she immediately looked down Red Field as he stepped into view.

Red Field’s parents had taught him that strippers, prostitutes and sex workers in general were subservient persons. Cowed by an abusive life of what his parents had called “paid rape”, sex workers ought to be pitied as animalistic ponies who led mindless and miserable lives.

Red Field knew none of that was true as he looked at the mare.

The mare looked down at Red Field, the chair sat her much higher than him. Her eyes were clearer than those of anypony Red Field had ever met. A suggestion of liner ringed them. She smiled. In her smile, in her icy clear eyes, waited something predatory, something so richly crafted that it stood out as much as her bright white teeth.

Her gaze unnerved him and he moved his gaze from hers. As he made sure to look away, she arched her back. The light caught her bent body, showing a contour running down her slick chest and toward her navel. Red Field followed the contour; he wasn’t sure why. He knew exactly where it ended, yet his eyes still traced the contour down her body. His view came to rest for only an instant and he felt sick. He looked back up and ran straight into her eyes. She winked at him.

He hadn’t known he was playing a game until he lost.

Full Wing tugged at his shoulder.

“Hey, let’s go, this is really weird.” He whispered. Red Field nodded and quickly turned from the mare without looking back.

The club was set up like a cabaret of sorts. Round tables and booths populated the body of the room, and a large stage with a thick brass pole lorded over the tables. A bar sat along the right wall of the building and Full Wing led Red Field toward it. Red Field saw more strippers, cantering and strolling through the sea of tables, some stopped when called by seated patrons. Red Field felt hot and sick and was certain he was blushing. He took a seat at the bar beside Full Wing.

“Dude, I don’t know about this place.” Full Wing whispered. “Like-”

“What can I get for you?” The bartender stood across from them, hooves planted firmly atop the granite. He had appeared so suddenly that Red Field pulled back.

“Gin and tonic, for both of us!” Said Full Wing loudly. He produced a twenty bit bill and laid it in front of the pony. The bartender looked at the two, then turned to fix their drinks. Full Wing turned to Red Field. “Sorry, that’s the only drink I know and he’ll probably get mad if we don’t order anything.” The club smelled as if it had been bug bombed with cologne and every breath tugged in more of the biting fragrance into Red Field’s lungs. “God, I’m really nervous.” Full Wing laughed. “Maybe I’m gay or something.”

“Your drinks.” Said the bartender. The pair looked up and saw two squat glasses sitting atop napkins. Full Wing laughed nervously as he lifted his.

“Hey.” He held his glass to Red Field in a toast. “To straightness.” He said with an anxious laugh. The pair clinked their glasses.

Red Field had never consumed alcohol, but he knew what to expect. He’d seen the staggering, swooping actions of the Tartlets when they’d imbibed on their foul cider, so he expected the arid juniper. He sipped, frowned and set the glass down.

Full Wing drew a mouthful and nearly coughed it out. He gagged and hit the side of the bar before taking a deep breath.

“Damn, that’s some heavy stuff.” He said, wiping his eyes.

This was apparently going to be their evening.

Red Field planned to finish his drink, and as many as Full Wing would order for him, then switch to ice water and sit at the bar until it was time to leave. He was trying to think of some way to explain his odd behavior to the security, should they find out his relative teetotalism, when Full Wing nudged him again.

“Hey, what do you think we should do?” He asked. “’Cause I dunno, I’m kinda nervous but we are here to get mares.” Red Field took another sip of his gin and tonic and tried to think of something to say. Unfortunately, their decision had been made for them.

Two mares, both slick with oil and glitter, approached them.

“Hi.” The black one spoke first. Her voice was an audible version of the sweet-smelling cologne of fumigating the building. She was an earth pony with a fiery Cutie Mark and equally burning red eyes. She put her hooves on Full Wing’s thighs. “I’m Ember, haven’t seen you here before.” The other mare, a brilliant white Pegasus, drew close to Red Field. Her wing curled around Red Field’s seated body.

“I’m Kaya. What’s your name?”

“Red, Field.” He swallowed. “I’m Red Field, and you are?” She giggled and poked his shoulder.

“Forgot my name already?” Red Field could feel himself sweating. He hoped he wasn’t supposed to do anything. Kaya and Ember stepped back and faced the two ponies.

“You guys look new to this kinda thing.” Ember said gently. “We thought maybe we could talk for a while until you guys are more comfortable to, you know, go a little further.”

“Yeah sure!” Full Wing did not speak for Red Field. But he did anyway. The mares giggled.

“Great!” Said Kaya. “Do you wanna sit down here?” She pointed to a smattering of couches that sat on the fringe of the mass of tables.

“Uh, yeah, can we take our drinks down there? Do we need coasters?” Asked Full Wing. Ember laughed.

“It’s fine sweetie.”

Ember took Full Wing to a couch, and Kaya pulled Red Field in another direction. Red Field watched helplessly as his only acquaintance was seated in couch several meters away and promptly accosted.

Kaya sat him down in the couch. The couch was thick and cushy like a peat bog and only grew more slippery with his sweat. Kaya sat beside him and her hip rubbed on his.

“So! What’re you here for stranger?” She asked. Red Field licked his lips.

“Uh, my friends brought me here, we’re on leave from the military.” Kaya gave a demure “awh” and put a hoof on his shoulder.

“You’re a soldier! A big strong stallion fighting wars; that must be hard work.”

“You could say that.” Said Red Field. Kaya planted a peck on his cheek.

“So how long have you been in the field?”

“I’m sorry.” Red Field said. “I don’t really like, I mean, it’s not really my thing to-”

“Shhhh.” She put her glossily painted hoof over his mouth. “I get it, you’re shy.” She smiled. “That’s why we can just talk.” She held up his gin and tonic. “You better drink this before it gets warm though.” She said, giving him his cocktail. “Now tell me a little about yourself captain Red.”

Red Field told his life story to a stripper. Arriving at Gale Force at the start of the summer, he had not postulated himself giving an oral history of himself in the hopes of preventing an unwanted sexual encounter. However if Gale Force had taught him anything, it was how to adapt. In the misty and lewd cavern of the Hoof and Halter, Red Field brought his military training into action.

He told Kaya of his home, of his school, of the countless times he’d been attacked by the Tartlets, and even of his fabrication of Appleseed’s felony records. He told her everything he could think of, and when he was done, his glass was empty and the room rocked slightly.

“Oh wow!” Said Silica breathily, though she also could have been sighing. “You must be so mad at the world for putting you in such a terrible, no-good place.” She leaned over. “I could help you blow off some steam.”

“And what about you?” Asked Red Field under the haze of light drunkenness. Kaya blinked. She did not seem used to stallions conversing with her.

“Um, well, I’m pretty boring.”

“Try me.” The alcohol emboldened Red Field and he began to make a game out of avoiding her advances.

Unfortunately, Kaya noticed.

“Well.” She swung a leg over him and planted herself on his lap. Her face was millimeters from his and their snouts bumped a little. Red Field panicked and looked away from her gaze, which stampeded into his. But when he looked down he found himself staring directly between her legs.

Red in the face, Red Field looked back up at her.

“I like to take walks on weekends, I have a little art studio I do some drawings in.” Kaya shifted her weight and her open thighs rubbed on his lap. “I like ice cream.”

“T-that’s nice, what kind of art?” Asked Red Field.

“Erotica.”

“Interesting, what medium-” Red Field was silenced as the Pegasus laid herself down on top of him. Her warm chest pressed over his mouth and Red Field felt her spread her body over his. He felt feverish and began to hyperventilate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Full Wings’ legs poking awkwardly out from beneath Ember. Full Wing hadn’t taken too long to relax. Kaya breathed and her chest pressed against his.

Despite the voluptuous weight surrendering herself onto him, Red Field was not horny. Head pressed down into the cushions of the couch, Red Field wondered about his sexuality. What was stopping him from enjoying himself? He had testicles, presumably working ones, and Kaya was a sexually attractive mare. Red Field didn’t know why he didn’t have, or even want an erection, all he knew was that he was not turned on. The experience proved only uncomfortable and slightly claustrophobic. He poked her in the back with a free hoof and she lifted herself.

“Excuse me, but I’m a little cramped here.” He said.

“What’s your deal colt?” She asked with a coy smile.

“No, I just, think maybe you aren’t my type. You are very pretty and if you have a comment card I will gladly give you some positive feedback.” He said. Kaya looked him like he was a crossword puzzle that had stumped her. Then she put a hoof in her mouth and gave a whistle. Red Field looked up at her, trying to understand this.

“Well let’s find your type then.” She whispered.

Over the next three minutes, seven additional mares backed up Kaya and trapped Red Field on the couch. They were a rainbow of loose and purring pleasures, all trying to crack into the tiny black and white vault of celibacy under them.
First came the preliminary questions about his sexual preferences and dislikes, of which Red Field confessed none. Then they asked him about his parents, his siblings, how it felt to be an only child.

The crowded mares went to great lengths to infiltrate his flaccid defense and coax something out of him. Red Field was petrified. However he fended them off as best he could and shot out answers as fast as possible.

The interrogation went on for some time.

Finally, a black and blue unicorn by the name of Mystique sighed in exasperation.

“Baby please.” She laid a hoof on his head, which was the only part of him not covered in mare. “Just tell me what you want.” She stared severely into his eyes. “I will make your deepest fantasy come true.” Red Field doubted very much that she could get him a scholarship at the Academy of Advanced Magic along with a personal tutoring schedule with Queen Twilight Sparkle.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I really can’t say what I want.”

“Is it anal?” Asked Mystique. Red Field’s cheeks burnt and she patted his mane. “Baby, you look like a bunny and I doubt you’re a sicko. Just tell me, trust me, you won’t scare me.”

“Hey, would it help to hear the things I’m okay with?” Asked Licorice Whip. “You can tell me if I’m getting warmer.”

In a few minutes everything but Red Field’s physical virginity had been taken. He was cramped and uncomfortable and growing somehow more embarrassed from the barrage of fetishes and fantasies.

Like a drunken and irascible comet, Black Rain broke through the mist and approached the couch.

“Red, Goddamn it, it’s quarter till, did you forget your damn calculator watch?” He said. The mares pulled away at the sight of the unicorn who smelled of whiskey.

Red Field could have hugged him.

“I’m sorry.” Red Field said to the mares. “I’ve got to get going.” The looming black figure of Black Rain, who was still muttering curses to Red Field, pushed a few mares away. The mares looked at one another and in a moment they were trotting away from the couch. Red Field realized his body was wet with the various oils and perfumes of the mares. Kaya reached out and touched his shoulder gently.

“Red, will you be back again?” She asked breathily.

“Mmhmm, so calm down, you’ll get to suck his cock some other time.” Said Black Rain. Ignoring the crass stallion between them, Kaya gave Red Field a hug.

“You better come back.” She said kindly. “Because I’m going to milk you like a cow.” She whispered as she pulled close to him. Red Field’s blood ran cold. “G’bye!” She said as Black Rain tugged Red Field up and out of the misty depths.

The next morning everypony besides Red Field was hung over. Deep in an alcohol-induced slumber, Bren unconsciously tugged the covers away from Red Field. Red Field knew better than to attempt to recover them. The extra sleep felt like morphine and Red Field lay on his back in contentment. The room had no clock, and without any windows, the pair were suspended in an odd state of timelessness.

Bren awoke in an hour, Red Field had made about a dozen or so constellations out of the flecks of paint that dangled from the ceiling. Bren rolled out of bed and groaned that his head felt like a rotten coconut.

After briefly washing his face in the bathroom, Bren led Red Field to the rooms of the rest of Barracks Six. Siplinski looked almost as good as Red Field, while Full Wing seemed to be ruing his multiple gin and tonics. Black Rain kept them waiting, and when he finally joined the four in the lobby, Red Field saw just how much he’d been drinking the night before. Black Rain’s green eyes were bloodshot and each step he took dropped a dead hoof into the mushy carpet.

“Where we eating?” Black Rain asked. Bren suggested Talon’s again, but Black Rain shook his head. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
The group stopped at a diner. They ordered only the most bland meals and everypony besides Red Field downed tarry black coffee.

“So what are we doing today?” Asked Siplinski after they’d finished eating.

“I don’t know.” Said Black Rain. “I’ll probably catch a fight or something.”

“Oh, can I come?” Asked Full Wing. Black Rain nodded.

“Sure that’s fine.” He said weakly.

“I’ll probably just spend most of the day in my room. Just want to sleep this shit off.” Bren said with a yawn.

“Red, do you want to hang in my room?” Asked Siplinski, licking the last of his syrup off of his plate and leaving a gooey splat on his nose.

“Sure.” Said Red Field, not sure why he’d been invited. They paid their bill and Black Rain and Full Wing parted ways with them. The morning was overcast and sleepy and couldn’t have fit the sluggish mood of the group better.

Bren groaned that he wasn’t going to touch a beer again, at least for a very long time, as he slunk into his room. Red Field wondered what it was like to be drunk, and why everypony considered it worth the repercussions. Siplinski seemed equally glad to return to their room and Red Field wondered if he might sneak out once his companion fell into another stupor.

“Okay, I waited like all night for this.” Siplinski was rooting beneath his bed before the door to the room even shut. He tugged out the thin plastic board of the electrical kit. “So you said this might be a transmitter or something?” He set the board on the bed and looked at Red Field as if the past eighteen hours had just been a pause in their conversation.

“Uh, yeah, depending on what’s inside I suppose.” Red Field said after a second. Siplinski had already pried off the radio and was attempting to find a way to open it. He took all of five minutes to pry the top off of the plastic box. He held it out to Red Field. “Okay what is it?” Red Field, knowing practically nothing about radios, peeked into the cube. It was a mess of tubes and tiny circuits.

“I have no idea what I’m looking at.” He said. Siplinski gave his shoulder a shake.

“Dude come on! You’re supposed to be the genius! Look harder.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what that is?” Red Field asked. Siplinski tossed the piece back onto the board.

“Fine, whatever.” Siplinski sat down on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress dipped and board slid off of the bed. It fell to the floor with a thud and landed onto its face.

Siplinski did not move to pick it up.

Red Field didn’t enjoy being treated like an ambulatory manual, but, Siplinski had just been excited. Red Field spent a minute or two mustering his strength for an apology he didn’t think necessary.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. Maybe we could take it apart and see if we recognize any of the parts.” He said.

“You think I’m gay.” Said Siplinski.

“No.” Red Field had no idea why this was still an assumption. “I just don’t like it when ponies treat me like a book on hooves.”

“I wasn’t!” Said Siplinski. “You’re really cool and the only pony who knows anything. I just was hoping you didn't think it’s gay or stupid that I buy shit like that.”

Red Field’s anger dissipated.

“You’re out looking for an education, that’s the opposite of stupid.” Red Field said softly. He knelt down and righted the kit. “Let’s see if we can figure out what this is.”

They took apart the radio. Neither could understand what it was. Siplinski recognized a few transistors, but the main component of the radio, a thick mass of circuits, was still foreign to them. Red Field gave up after ninety minutes, but Siplinski still mulled over the black box. Red Field had never met anypony who had out-concentrated him on anything before.

“What’s so interesting about electrical stuff?” He asked. Siplinski shrugged.

“Dunno, I like figuring out all the systems of all the different types of circuits.” He said. “If I ever make it into tech school I’m going to see if I can get a job as a wiring inspector for like new buildings and apartments and stuff.”

“Is there something about tech school that’s hard?” Red Field asked, a dry mirth making him grin a bit.

“Yeah I have trouble reading sometimes.” Siplinski said, still peering at the radio.

“Oh.” Red Field never liked it when somepony got made fun of for having problems with learning and he had practically done so. Siplinski still hadn’t looked up and Red Field was glad for that.

“Yeah.” Said Siplinski with a sigh. He picked at the cube, which had been almost completely dissected. “You should do my reading for me so I can get in to college. And I’ll be your spotter while you’re a sniper.”

Red Field and he shared a laugh. Red Field wanted to ask what a spotter was and why he needed one, but thought better of it. They passed the rest of the afternoon talking and picking apart the rest of the kit, which had already started to crumble after falling off of the bed.

At around five, Bren came to their room. Red Field and Siplinski made sure to hide the kit before opening the door.

Bren looked like he’d spent the afternoon asleep.

“Hey, I checked at the front desk and it sounds like the fight’s going to go late, something about fifty guys fighting over the course of like three hours. Those guys won’t be back till late, so we can just go to the club now if you want.” He said, leaning against the doorframe. Red Field unhappily pondered his impending milking at the hooves of Kaya.

“Yeah I don’t really feel like it.” Siplinski said. Bren nodded.

“Yeah me neither, you guys want to just order some pizza and play cards or something here?” Siplinski said that sounded good idea and Bren consulted Red Field, who said it sounded like a great idea.

Red Field had a hand of two pair and cracked his neck. He’d read that the correct poker posture needed to blend visible and plausible emotions and actions with an overall sense of reservation. Siplinski was slurping the cheese from a slice of pizza and Bren sat at the foot of the bed, flicking through the burn pile.

“Sip, go.” Bren said. Siplinski nodded and swallowed his mouthful of cheese.

“Gimme five.” He said, throwing his cards face up onto the burn pile. Bren shrugged and began to count out the cards.

“So you hear Red’s gonna be a sniper?” Siplinski asked, wiping some grease from his face. Bren paused mid count, then resumed dealing.

“Uh yeah, how’d you find out?”

“Shipley.” He replied. Bren nodded and shoved him his cards.

“Oh yeah, forgot you and he are friends. Does that mean you can see everypony’s medical records too?” He asked tentatively. Siplinski, who had taken another slice of pizza and was in the process of leeching off the cheese, nodded.

“You have no idea how many of the new guys aren’t vaccinated.” He said. “Also check.”

Red Field bet seven pepperoncinis, which were the currency of the game since the pizza had arrived with a hefty bag of them.

“So uh, what do you think of that?” Asked Bren, shifting through his hand and picking out discards. Siplinski tossed the soggy slice to his plate.

“I think he’ll be good.” Said Siplinski. “He’s smart so the math won’t be hard.”

“Yeah and I bet you’re pretty good at focusing, which will be good for those long distance shots.” Bren said to Red Field. “I hear their new qualification course has like three thousand meter shots.”

Red Field stopped mid-yawn. He hadn’t imagined sniping involved shooting at particularly long range. He nervously recalled being struck in the face by the scope of KKAT.

“Uh, so, what else can you guys tell me about sniping for Gale Force?” He asked. Siplinski spoke first.
“It’s like nine-tenths crawling and hiding.” He said. “But there’s obviously a lot of shooting; you need to know math and like a ton of conversions. Most of the time you aren’t even shooting but just like scouting and stuff. It’s not about physical stuff but there’s a lot of waiting and hiding and most guys don’t have the patience for it.”

“Yeah, mostly that.” Said Bren. “The training is a lot of everything, but in practice they don’t do a ton of shooting. You’re a pretty good shot right?”

“No he’s not that good.” Said Siplinski. “He didn’t do that well in most of the live fires.” Bren looked to Red Field to verify this.

“Uh, it was just that there was too much recoil.” Red Field said. “I just have trouble with it hurting my shoulder is all.”

“Show ‘em.” Bren dropped his cards. He looked back to Red Field. “Oh, well then that’s not a problem. I think there’s like some training or maybe like a gun upgrade or something to make you less sensitive to recoil.” Everypony dropped their cards and Bren won with a full house.

“Yeah.” Said Siplinski, shoving his peppers across the carpet to Bren. “But you better not be too sensitive with that one big rifle, I heard it can break your shoulder if you don’t hold it right.”

“Uh, what is that?” Asked Red Field, trying to understand the odds of Bren obtaining a full house.

“It’s one of a bunch of rifles you guys use. Can’t remember the name.” Bren said. “For some odd reason, sniper teams get the most equipment out of everypony. But look, it’s not really anything to worry about, they’ll teach you everything. And I think they have ways of bringing down the recoil, none of the guys I know who went into the program complained about it.”

“How many ponies went into sniper training that you know of?” Asked Red Field.

“Six.” Said Siplinski. “Zeiss, Icicle Hoof, that guy who ate snow all the time, somepony, somepony, and now you.” He thought for a moment. “I think only Zeiss and that snow guy got in.” He knocked Red Field’s shoulder. “We’re about due for somepony to pass.”

Next came the question Red Field hated most of all.

“How difficult is it to be a sniper?”

Both ponies answered simultaneously.

“It’s pretty hard.” Said Bren.

“You’ll pass.” Siplinski said. “You’re a genius and the quietest pony ever. I know you’ll get in.” He said, picking up a used slice of pizza, which was gory with tomato sauce. He glanced over at Red Field. “Your deal?”

They played for another half an hour. Red Field stopped caring about perfecting his poker expression and kept replaying the question over and over in his mind.

“How difficult?”

“You’ll pass.”

The peppers had dried and the room reeked of congealing pizza grease. Siplinski was sprawled over the bed, in a light, dairy-imposed sleep. Bren lay in the carpet playing solitaire and Red Field was watching him.

“Wonder if they’re back yet.” Full Wing said through the door. The door opened and both Black Rain and Full Wing entered. They were both covered in a thin dusting of sand and encrusted in sweat.

“How was the fight?” Asked Bren from the floor. Black Rain carried the same small satchel he had brought his casino winnings back in and tossed it onto the bed, more specifically, onto Siplinski’s face. Siplinski jerked awake and swatted away the satchel.

“Heh, good. Bet on second place, made four hundred bits.” Black Rain said. Siplinski opened the satchel and pulled out a thin stack of bits.

“Whoa, money!” He said, flipping through the bills. Black Rain didn’t seem to care and looked back to Bren.

“Hey, I need to use your shower, ours is full of broken glass.” He said.

“Uh, ok, why?” Asked Bren.

“Company tonight.”

“Oh I see.” Bren seemed to know exactly what this meant.

“Uh, me too.” Said Full Wing unsteadily. Bren looked to Black Rain with a look of disapproval.

“Hey! Everypony has to grow up some time.” Black Rain said. “I mean, you don’t have to.” He shot a glance at Red Field as he said this. Siplinski stood up from the bed and tossed the satchel to Black Rain.

“Well! I’m off to bed. Please don’t make too much noise or I will make more jokes about you banging minors.” He said. “Congrats on the winnings.”

“Why don’t you go first?” Black Rain said to Full Wing, pointing to the shower. Full Wing slipped into the bathroom. Black Rain slung the satchel over his shoulder and walked over to the bed. “So how was the Halter tonight?”

“Good, it was good.” Bren had started to pick up the rows of cards. “Red got a lesbian couple to make out, he kept acting like they were just a couple of clubbers trying to act cool by pretending to be lesbians. They got so mad that he didn’t believe them that they went to town on each other.” Bren chuckled. “I’ve never seen anypony make that happen.” Black Rain didn’t believe this, but acted as if he did.

“Oh wow.” He said. “That’s pretty cool.” He gave Red Field a poke. “Nice job.” He raised an eyebrow. “What were their names?”

“Affirmative Action.”

“And?”

“Moonlit Night.” Those were the only two female names Red Field knew offhoof, and the mental image scalded his mind.

“What were their colors?”

“Purple, and light grey, like moonlight.”

“Didn’t pay a thing for it either.” Bren said. Black Rain chuckled again and began to stroke the satchel slung over his shoulder. He laid back in the bed.

“I guess he didn’t.”

Red Field knew that sex changed ponies, but only as a fact and not through personal experience. After both Black Rain and Full Wing had broken the ice and taken a pair of prostitutes back to the hotel, both Bren and Siplinski had followed suit over the next few nights.

Bren changed the least. The next morning he had eaten a bit more at breakfast, however he seemed just a little quieter than usual.

Full Wing underwent the oddest change. He seemed to oscillate between pride and self-doubt. Upon “feeling a little itchy” the morning after, he’d panicked and consulted the other ponies to see if they ought to track her down and see if she had anything. However he was also calmer. He ordered quite a bit more at breakfast and continued the conversation with next to none of his inanity. As much as Red Field disliked the stereotype of “getting laid smoothing a pony out”, he had to admit that Full Wing seemed a bit older. Or at least he acted that way.

Red Field couldn’t tell how Black Rain had changed. While most certainly not his first coitus, the romp with whomever he’d hired changed Black Rain’s demeanor the following morning. At first he had been rather tranquil, leading everypony to the diner and only making a few passing comments about what he planned to do for the rest of their trip. Then Bren proposed the question of what everypony thought of the diamond dogs, and what Gale Force might do about them. Black Rain descended upon the topic with a passion. While he had always enjoyed armchair analysis of nearly every issue related or even unrelated to Gale Force, Black Rain spoke with vibrancy.

Of course they were planning something. You’d have to be a total dumbass not to see that they’d had something to do with the Blast. If he were commander he’d already be bombing their sorry asses. Most of the diamond dogs hated Equestria and it wouldn’t be too hard for one of them with a college degree to raise up at least a small militia.

Siplinski was only too happy to join him in the intense but meaningless conversation. Siplinski hadn’t technically had sex. He’d only had a private dance back in the Halter. Red Field had read that no sex could legally take place in the strip club…but he was hard pressed to find another explanation for why he’d seen Siplinski washing something off of his chest later that night. Siplinski hadn’t spoken to Red Field any more about college afterward and he’d thrown away the electrical kit when the others were out buying more liquor.

Everypony was different after sex.

Everypony except Red Field. Because Red Field had not had sex.

He had, however, been swarmed every night by the mares of the Halter. This had given him at least a soluble excuse with which to avoid appearing virgin to the rest of Squad Six. However, as with all of his defenses disguising his atypical maleness, his Casanova facade was bound to fail.

“I dunno, we’ve been here all week.” Siplinski said as they rounded the corner that signaled they were two blocks from the club. The path had become almost routine and they were on their last night of leave. “I’d be good just to hit the club for a bit then head back to the room to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I could go for that.” Said Bren.

“I know I’m going.” Said Full Wing. “We’ve got what? Another four months before our next leave? I’m going to get full up on mares before I go back to four months of cock-filled showers.”

“You must be taking some interesting showers.” Black Rain said with a laugh.

“Aw screw you.” Said Full Wing.

The Halter was nearly at capacity. Bad Check, Black Rain’s bouncer friend, allowed them to the front of the line.

“Last night boys, live it up ‘cause you ain’t gonna see it for a while.” Said Black Rain as they entered.

“I’m going to get a drink and just hang out at the bar if anypony wants to join me.” Said Bren, starting off toward the bar.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.” Said Siplinski, trailing behind him.

“You know where to find me.” Full Wing said to Black Rain as he hopped down the stairs. He wandered into the misty crowd and was gone in a moment.

“Well Red, last night, you got a lot of heartbreaking to do.” Black Rain said before shuffling off.

Red Field looked out over the dense crowd of burros and ponies. The mist was chopped and thinned amidst all of the movement. He walked down the steps and into the floor.

Red Field didn’t mind the club so much anymore. Kaya and her ilk had grown tired of him and his unbreakable demeanor and had given up on teasing him. He’d met a dancer named Prance who he had held a rather pleasant conversation on magic with. He was looking forward to spending his evening greeting and chatting with other mares he knew.

However tonight all of the dancers seemed busy and Red Field took a solitary seat at a booth and sat staring into his water glass. For the first hour or so, he sat alone and tried to avoid calculating how many ejaculations the building had absorbed. A few mares came to his table offering a selection of dances or performances, then left once he said he had no money. Red Field looked out over the crowd. The heads and shoulders of the dancers poked up like prairie dogs as they ground their clients. He saw Kaya, she was embracing some black pony as she rode him. She caught sight of Red Field and smiled to him. He waved, which felt more than a little odd.

“Heyhey! Reddy!” Bren practically sat on Red Field as he slid into the booth. His breath smelled like a rotting evergreen and by his misuse of his outdoor voice, Red Field guessed he was drunk.

“Redwhatisupdude?” The intoxicated version of Siplinski talked so quickly that he was almost unintelligible. He slid into the booth after Bren and Red Field was shoved up against the wall.

“Uh, nothing.” He said. “What are you guys up to?”

“Psh.” Bren snorted and threw his head back like something hilarious had just taken place. “This guy!” He struck Siplinski, though Siplinski didn’t seem to mind or even feel the blow. “Fuckin’ spends like two bits on a soda, then he says ‘heyBrenwannadrinktilloneofusssspassessssoutandthenthatguypays’” He ended his impression of Siplinski with a long “pthbbbb”.

“Hey I don’t talk like that!” Said Siplinski, though he did not seem capable of taking much offense.

“Oh, great.” Red Field said with a smile, not wanting to be punched. “That’s great!” Bren jabbed a clumsy hoof into Red Field’s snout in an effort to point at him.

“Dude, what did I tell you. Like it’s totally true right?” Said Bren.

“Uh, I dunno?” Siplinski said. They held a brief intermission as both ponies attempted to recall what Bren had said. Red
Field gently eased the hoof from his snout in that time.

“So we got you a dance!” Bren said, deciding to overlook whatever he’d forgotten.

“It’s okay dude.” Said Siplinski. “We told her everything. We just figured that we owed you something for like, always having our backs and stuff.”

“Well thanks but-”

“Shhhhhh.” Bren put his hoof over Red Field’s mouth. “We’ll leave you in peace.” He whispered. “Remember, no grabby grabby.” He broke into giggles. They got up to leave and Red Field tried to extricate himself from the corner of the booth.
“Guys, thanks. I know you mean well but I’m really okay.” Both had started snickering and galloped back to the bar. Red Field scrambled out of the booth. His companions took their seats, then looked back at him. Bren started laughing once he saw Red Field.

Siplinski grinned and pointed to Red Field. He made a swirling motion with his hoof. Red Field cocked his head. Were they serious? What should he do? Had he simply been credited with one free dance redeemable at his discretion? Siplinski made the swirling motion again and Bren doubled over in laughter as he saw Red Field’s confusion. Finally, Red Field comprehended the gesture.

He turned.

“Wha’ hai shug!” He leaped back in fright. An apple green mare with a thick blond mane and an apple wedge for a Cutie Mark had apparently been stood behind him. She smiled sweetly and put her hoof atop his snout. “Easy there darlin’!” She said gently. Red Field pulled away from her pedicured hoof and she giggled. “Hang on nao!” She brushed some of her silken mane from her face. “Am ah gonna hafta sit on ya’ll?”

“N-no, that’s quite all right.”

“Ya’ll just relax, lemme do all the work.” She pulled him back to the booth and sat him back down. Then she slid herself onto his lap. She fit into the already tight gap between his lap and the table like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. She started to grind on him and Red Field tried to squirm out from under her. The mare placed her fore hooves atop his and shushed him. “Ya’ll feel tense, lemme work on ya’ll fer a bit.”

“Look, I’m sorry but I’m not into this kind of thing.” Said Red Field, trying to slide himself out.

“Nao ya’ll look skittish as a maht.” She kissed his nose. “Is this ya’lls first tahm?”

“Y-yes, and my friends are playing a joke on me. I’ll give you a great review if you’ll just let me up.”

“Nao ya’ll needt’just trust-”

“Hey get out of here.” Black Rain was again Red Field’s savior. He appeared aside the booth and flicked his head at the mare. “I need to talk to my buddy here.” He said.

“Ah’m workin’ him, ya’ll kin just wait till aftir or jus’ talk around me.” She said, locking her hips over Red Field’s. Black Rain reached into his wallet.

“Here’s forty five bits, go get that guy up there.” He pointed to Siplinski. “The one who talks fast.” The mare paused, looked at the money, then slid off Red Field without saying another word.

“Hey, thanks.” Red Field said. “I apprecia-”

“Yeah whatever, it’s fine.” Black Rain leaned over the table. “So I got a surprise for you.” Red Field smelled the foul odor of liquor on his breath. “Scoot!” Shouted Black Rain over his shoulder.

A small mare, even smaller than Red Field, strode up to the table. Her body was a rich orange, and a long purple mane ran down her shoulders and into her face.

She had no Cutie Mark.

Red Field turned to Black Rain in horror.

“Yeah, I looked for somepony small. I didn’t want to be an asshole and get you a beefer for your first time.” He said in a strange tone of consideration. “She’s all paid up for tonight, don’t even need to tip her. Oh and don’t worry, she’s legal.” He said, winking to Red Field. Red Field looked in silent horror at “Scoot”. His blood pounded in his ears and he felt as if he might crumple and vomit.

“I-”

“Get outta here, those two jackasses are just going to keep sending bitches at you all night.” Said Black Rain. He produced a key and set it before Red Field. “Here, use the kid’s bed if you plan on making a mess.” He said, chuckling and shaking Red Field by the shoulder. “You’ve been flirting with these sluts all week, better actually put some time in.” Black Rain said proudly, before his tone darkened. “Unless you weren’t really flirting and this is just a big misunderstanding on all of our parts.” Red Field looked up. Black Rain’s eyes were bloodshot and twitched about, like a pair of misbalanced tops. The tops waited for Red Field’s response. Red Field glanced to Scoot, who was cracking her neck. She looked to Red Field, then raised her eyebrows in impatience.

“Okay.” Red Field said softly. He slid the key off of the table and Black Rain stood aside as he exited the booth.
Red Field stopped at the door to look back. He saw Black Rain had seated himself in the booth and had ordered another drink. He glanced up and saw Red Field. He waved. Then Red Field turned and left the club.

Scoot was standing outside. A cold desert breeze rolled down the street and she looked back as Red Field exited.

“Ready?” She had a hard, distantly unimpressed voice.

“Y-yes, sorry to keep you waiting.” He said. The signs and lights of the city still blinded him a bit, which, coupled with his already rising nausea, nearly made him dizzier. Scoot started away from the long line of patrons, some of whom were eying her, and toward the Lotus Garden.

She knew where they were going.

“You know my name’s Scootaloo actually.” She said presently. They were walking down the last stretch of road leading up to the dilapidated hotel. “You can call me whatever but I really hate Scoot.”

“Oh okay.” Red Field nodded. “Scootaloo, that’s an interesting name.”

“Yeah I guess.”

That was the end of their conversation until they reached Black Rain’s room. Red Field was trembling so much that he had difficulty shoving the worn key into the mouth of the lock. The room smelled foul and Scootaloo rolled her eyes.

“You should tell your buddy he smells like cow apples.” She sniffed Red Field. “At least you smell okay.” Scootaloo led Red Field into the room. Red Field saw a pair of beds and judging by the accumulation of feather conditioner atop one, Red Field guessed that was Full Wing’s.

“God, it smells bad in here.” Scootaloo said.

“Maybe we should open a window.” Red Field said.

“There aren’t any windows at this place. Perverts keep peeping into the windows of all the ground floor rooms here and they remodeled it.” Red Field looked up at the fan that housed the lights. He looked around for a switch.

“Do you know if that fan-” Scootaloo was standing in front of him as he turned. Red Field wondered why sex workers were astoundingly quiet. He swallowed.

“Dude, it’s okay.” Said Scootaloo with a flick of her mane. “It’s not the worst smell in the world.” She poked his chest. “Now, how’d you like to start?”

“See, um. What.” Red Field took a step back and half-fell half-sat on the bed. “How does this work?” He asked anxiously. Scootaloo smiled; it was the first time she’d smiled. Instead of a typical sugary flash of teeth, Scootaloo’s smile was amused and just a little condescending. She tossed her mane out of her eyes.

“Well, your buddy gave me two hundred bits, sooooo,” She shrugged. “Anything you want is pretty much up for grabs.” She paused. “Except watersports, I don’t do that.”

“I, see.” Red Field said. Red Field was more uncomfortable in that single moment than he’d ever been in his entire life.

Unfortunately, Scootaloo was trained for such a situation.

“Hey, buddy.” She clapped her hooves and he looked up. “What’s your favorite spell?”

“Uh, I.”

“Your favorite trick or summon; look at the ceiling and tell me your favorite spell.”

“I, don’t know any spells. I wasn’t taught any spells.”

“Okay okay. What’s your favorite-” She saw his Cutie Mark, “chess piece, that is chess right?”

“Yes.” Red Field paused. “The queen, she’s the most valuable piece and aside from the knight and a castling rook can perform all of the actions of the other-” He felt something touch him between his legs and he jerked up. Scootaloo pulled her snout back. “I’m sorry.” He said quickly.

“Lay back down. And tell me more about the queen.” Brain frozen and escape nullified, Red Field laid back down in despairing obedience.

“Sh-she’s the most valuable piece.” He started. He felt something warm and moist kiss against his body and his voice cracked. “From a point standpoint you know.” The warmth spread. “She’s also a very ornate piece.” Scootaloo bit down gently and his entire body quivered.

“Mmhmm.” She said.

“The, I. She’s the most valuable piece, did I say that already?”

“I dunno.” Scootaloo said dreamily. “Why don’t you go over it again?”

Red Field had grown sweaty, so sweaty that it began to soak into the greyed white linen. His heart thumped and pounded in his chest and he felt as if he might faint.

“She’s- I’m sorry!” He cried as he sat up. She pulled away. He was panting and beginning to shake. “I-” He stopped, as he had no idea what to say. Scootaloo looked at him with a frown that said she was losing patience.

“Look buddy, I’m not going to bite your dick off.”

“It’s not that.”

“Okay.” She rose to her hooves and shook her mane. “How about a looksee at my parts, maybe that’ll flip your switch.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Red Field said wiping his brow.

“Are you a switch hitter or something?” She asked in irritation.

“I don’t know.” Scootaloo closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Yeah.” Red Field said shakily. Scootaloo hopped onto the bed and he flinched back.

“God, I’m not going to rape you.” She said, crawling up to the headboard and propping herself up. “The owner’ll think it’s a deal if I leave in five minutes so I’ll just hang here for a bit.” She said, making herself comfortable.

“Okay.” Red Field didn’t care what she did, so long as it had nothing to do with his body.

The pair sat for a time. Red Field was so close to the edge of the bed that after a bit he began to cramp from keeping himself from falling. He tentatively shifted closer to her and took a better seat. Scootaloo, who had been sitting back with her eyes closed, looked over at him and giggled.

“You’re kinda adorable.” She said. He thanked her and they sat for a little longer.

“You know your cock isn’t that small.” Red Field blushed. “What is it? Virgin jitters? Your mom going to get pissed if she finds out you banged a hooker instead of saving your juice for your wedding night?”

“I don’t know.” Red Field said. “I just don’t feel anything.”

“What do you think of when you masturbate?” Red Field had never masturbated and he admitted this. She looked at him.

“Really.” She said, then she cocked her head as if it didn’t seem so implausible after all. “Where do you do for a living?”

“Equestrian Army, my friends and I are on leave.” She snorted.

“You’re a soldier?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?” Red Field hesitated, then imagined no harm could come from telling a prostitute.

“I’m a sniper.” He asked. Scootaloo cocked her head.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a job that requires a lot of concentration and focus.” She blinked, as if the description were in some way nonspecific.

“It’s a job for a smart pony.”

“They have smart ponies in the army?”

“I imagine so.” Said Red Field. Scootaloo shrugged, then swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Well, I’m outta here.” She said. Red Field got up to see her to the door. Scootaloo saw this, shook her head and laughed once more.

“You really are the cutest thing.” She walked to the small minibar that sat beside the empty table and pulled it open. “Most of you virgin types have the sickest fantasies, but you’re just a cute little foal.” She pulled out two of the small bottles of clear liquor and walked to the door. She looked back at him as she left Red Field was still a little intimidated by the compact little harlot and he shrank back.

She giggled.

“You have a free fuck from me if you ever come back here and start getting frisky.” She said good-naturedly. “Oh and I’ll tell your friend you fucked my brains out- that should shut him up, he seemed like an asshole.” She added with a wink. She lunged out and stole a quick kiss from him. Red Field flinched harder from that kiss than he had from all of his time in Beast.

Scootaloo was still laughing to herself as she strolled down the hallway.

The next morning was quiet.
Both Bren and Siplinski were impaired by throbbing headaches, and neither could recall sending an apple dancer to Red Field’s table. Black Rain had gotten into a scuffle with another stallion at the Halter and ended up getting kicked out shortly after he’d seen Red Field off on his date. He’d bumped into Scootaloo in the lobby and she’d related the Red Field’s sexual tenacity and prowess, and at long last, Black Rain accepted that Red Field really was a womanizing grandmaster.

Full Wing had apparently had too much to drink, or too much on his lap, and had thrown up during a private dance. He’d joined Black Rain on a quiet walk home.

Siplinski was the first to speak as they flew out of Las Pegasus..

“So did any of you guys see those five burros being hauled off by the cops last night?” He asked, his quiet, hungover voice barely audible above the gentle trickle of the wind. The chariot was silent from the failure of the group’s last hurrah.

“No, I only remember that bouncer dragging us out.” Bren said, stretching out his legs.

“Which bouncer?” Asked Black Rain.

“Uh, yellow one. Don’t remember his Cutie Mark.” Said Bren.

“Stalwart.” Said Black Rain. “Asshole shouldn’t have had the job in the first place. He threw me out too.” Bren and Siplinski laughed a little to this.

“Heh, me too.” Said Full Wing. “Wonder if he knew we were together.”

“Ehh, I don’t think so.” Said Bren. “I mean, me and Sip were pretty shitfaced by that point. And puking on hookers is a no-no with most places. So is picking fights.”

“Okay.” Said Black Rain, taking the bait. “I didn’t start a fight.” He spat over the side of the chariot. “I ran into that guy from basic, the one who talked all that shit then failed out like two weeks in. I guess I was a bit buzzed at that point and I asked him how things were going, not being a soldier and all. Fuckwit was just lucky I didn’t beat his ass in Beast, where nopony would have given a shit. I wouldn’t have done anything serious, just wanted to rough that little shit up and get back to the show. Then Stalwart busted me, but he already hated me so who gives a shit?”

“Well at least you got him now.” Siplinski said.

“Yeah and I smacked Stalwart pretty good too.” Add Black Rain. Red Field didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling.

“Oh damn, really?” Asked Bren.

“Hell yeah, clocked him in the nose after he grabbed me. Nopony comes up behind me, grabs me and then says I need to take it easy; you have something to tell me, you tell my face.”

“Are they gonna let you back there ever again?” Asked Full Wing.

“Of course.” Black Rain went on to describe how he had nearly become vice manager of the Hoof and Halter and how everypony there practically treated him as if he was. Except for that fuck Stalwart, and of course the current manager.
A small conversation built in the chariot, and soon the group was laughing and joking like normal, only much quieter.

Red Field lay in the back of the chariot. His legs extended out before him like a pair of thin white twigs that had gnarled together. His shoulders were pinched together and his head bent forward.

Siplinski poked his head over the side of the storage compartment.

“Hey! How’s it going?” He asked.

“Fine.” Said Red Field. Siplinski looked over the little chasm.

“I’m coming in.” In a moment Red Field was pulling his legs to his chest and shifting his body as Siplinski’s lanky body slid into the compartment. After a few seconds of cramped weight and limb redistribution, Siplinski was settled. His lower hooves slid out and pushed against Red Field’s. The compartment was now uncomfortably warm, and with each breath Siplinski pushed putrid alcohol odor into Red Field’s face.

“Hey!” Siplinski said with a smile.

“Uh, hey.”

“So what’s up?” Asked Siplinski.

“Not much?” Said Red Field. Siplinski was still smiling.

“So what’s your family like?” Siplinski asked.

“It’s just me and my parents.” Red Field said. “Why do you ask?”

“Dunno. I just wondered who you lived with. I’ve got three sisters, and God it’s horrible. I’ve always wondered what it’s like not to have to go to dance recitals every damn weekend.” Siplinski waited to make sure the others were conversing before speaking again. “You didn’t tell anyone about, you know, the kit right?” He asked in a low voice.

“No.” Red Field said. Siplinski nodded.

“Thanks dude. We should hang out some time. Like on our next leave you should come to my place, if you’re up for it.”

“Sure.” Red Field said.

In about half an hour, Black Rain shouted that they were coming up to Full Wing’s house. Siplinski invited Red Field to share his seat and the pair painstakingly extricated themselves from the compartment.

They were almost in Manehatten. Red Field’s heart jumped at the sight of the city, which dwarfed Las Pegasus with ease. The city sat amidst what looked like an infinite expanse of grasslands and patches of forest. On the far side of the city, Red Field could barely make out the rich blue of the ocean. They had gone from one end of Equestria to the other in a single day. He looked down and saw that they were landing not in the city itself, but in a little outgrowth of a town about twenty or so kilometers from the city.

The floor of the chariot vibrated and clunked; Full Wing was tapping his hooves. He took a seat beside Black Rain and he looked back at the rest of his squad.

“Heh, so, this is gonna be awkward.” He said.

“Only as awkward as you make it.” Said Black Rain disinterestedly. Full Wing looked over the side of the chariot and pointed to a house that sat nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac amidst the trees. They landed in the center of the cul-de-sac. Full Wing jumped over the side and walked quickly toward the door. He paused midway and looked back.

“Heh, uh, I’ll just see who’s home.” He said. Everypony was still looking at the house.

“Damn.” Whispered Bren. “What do you think his dad does?”

“Stockbroker, bet you anything.” Said Black Rain.

“Bet he’s got an indoor pool.” Said Siplinski.

The house stood three entire stories, four if a loft larger than Red Field’s shack was to be counted. The building was painted a fading white, but a three chariot garage, lawn that was lush and green despite being shaded by the forest, and well-groomed shrubbery indicated the immense value of the property. Full Wing jogged to the door and was momentarily obscured by the thick oak tree that stood surrounded by decorative rocks in the midst of the lawn.
He knocked, and Barracks Six waited to see Full Wing’s family.

Three minutes passed before anypony answered. The cicadas had grown fiercely annoying and the air was congested with cottonseeds. When the door opened, a grey stallion greeted Full Wing. The two hugged, spoke for a bit, then Full Wing pointed to the chariot. Full Wing and the grey stallion walked out to them.

“Hello colts!” Called the stallion. “My son says you’re his bunkmates!” He and Full Wing reached the chariot. The stallion’s Cutie Mark was a calculator and pen.

“Uh, yes sir.” Replied Bren.

“Well I’m this colt’s father.” Said the stallion, mussing Full Wing’s mane. “I’m Slickwater, nice to meet all of you.” He said, holding out his hoof to shake. Slickwater looked back to Full Wing. “You know, your mother isn’t going to be home for another hour, she’s getting her mane done.”

“Oh, okay that’s fine. Just tell her we stopped by.” Said Full Wing. Slickwater smiled, and gave a nod to the group once more.

“I sure will, you colts take care now!” He said, starting away from the chariot.

“Bye dad!” Called Full Wing, climbing into the chariot. “Okay we can go now.” He said, taking his seat. Black Rain chuckled as they lifted off.

“At least somepony knows how to keep it short.” He said. “Those two clowns,” he pointed to Siplinski and Bren, “usually have to call a family reunion whenever we stop by.”

Bren lived in a dry, dusty town not all that far from Rockvale. The main industry of the town of Sedimentary was even rock flipping, and Red Field had heard Cargill mention the town as one of his main sources of limestone. However the similarities between the two towns ended there.

They landed in a minor cloud of thin, white dust outside of a long, log cabin home. The house sat a few blocks outside of town and a wooden fence enclosed the back yard. A single tree, from which hung the dry thread of a rope swing, stood in the dust of the front yard. Bren jumped out of the chariot and ambled through the dust to the door. Red Field felt that he would have preferred white rock dust to the grey tone of Rockvale.

Short, muscular, and a deep brown tan, Bren’s father did not resemble his slick blue offspring in any way. Red Field and the others watched as they hugged at the door. His father looked to the chariot, gave a halfhearted wave, then turned back to Bren. He talked loudly, and excitedly. In a moment Bren followed him into the house, leaving Squad Six in the warm chariot.

“His dad looks way different than what I would have thought.” Said Full Wing, peering at the house.

“Yeah he does. Bren doesn’t want to look like his dad, that’s why he’s always got that short mane and keeps it cut like he’s gay or something.” Black Rain said.

“His dad owns a tool store or something like that.” Siplinski said. “And Bren works at the mechanic place in Gale Force.” He looked at the house. “Bet you fifty bits he’s in there helping his dad put some wire cutting machine together or something.”

The door opened again. And a blue mare, looking a little more like Bren and carrying a tray on which stood a pitcher of lemonade and a few cups, walked out toward them.

“I thought I saw that old chariot landing in yard.” She called to them. She reached the chariot and hoisted up the lemonade. “Here, something to keep you cool. Solid Wall got a new wire cutting machine and can’t help showing it off to the only one of his children who can appreciate it.” Siplinski and Black Rain chuckled at this. The mare craned her neck and looked up into the chariot. “Well now let me see. I see Siplinski, is that Black Rain?” She noticed Red Field and Full Wing. “Oh! I see you have some new comrades, or teammates.” She gave a middle-aged mare’s laugh. “I don’t know what you guys call yourselves.” She smiled to Red Field. “I’m Mache, Bren’s mother.”

“Red Field.”

“What kind of soldier are you?”

“Not sure yet.” He laughed a little and she laughed in response.

“Well that’s okay! Don’t have to know everything right away!” She looked to Full Wing. “And now you must be a flyer!”

“Yes ma’am!” He said. “Name’s Full Wing, I’m Airborne!”

Mache smiled at the group.

“Well now, this looks like a good group of stallions to go fight a war with, I’m sure Bren’s loving being in a place where not everypony is a sister or mother.”

“Yeah, it’s been good.” Said Siplinski.

“Now have you colts done anything this year, or is it still training?” She asked, sounding a little concerned.

“Nope, just training like always.” Black Rain said, chewing on the edge of his cup, which he’d already drained.

“Well good, I’m glad the academy worked out for Bren, but I don’t want my little pony going out and having to fight.”

“No worries about that happening.” Said Black Rain with a sigh.

The door banged shut once more and Bren and his father walked down the few steps and into the dusty yard toward the chariot.

“Oh, so I guess you guys met my mom.” Said Bren as they came to the chariot.

“They did, and your new teammates seem nice.”

Bren’s father, who had a serious looking mustache, squinted up at the group.

“All of them A grade?” He asked suspiciously, the mustache twitching with each syllable. Bren chuckled.

“Yes dad, they are.” His father looked at the side of the chariot.

“What’s this run? Forty-two hundred?” He asked, pushing against the side of the vehicle. Red Field was a little disturbed that he was capable of rocking the vehicle.

“Yeah, it’s two and a half tons and you better stop rocking it before the alarm goes off.” Said Bren.

“It has an alarm? What, are they afraid somepony is going to come into a base full of soldiers and fly off with the thing?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Said Bren. Solid Wall laughed.

“An alarm on an army chariot; that’s wild.” He said, shaking his head.

“I gotta go, we have like two more places to go before we report back to base.” Said Bren. Both his mother and father once more expressed their love for him before giving him a group hug.

“Be sure to keep writing, your little sister lives for your letters!” Called Mache as they rose into the air.

“Uh yeah, okay!” He called back. He looked back to the rest of Squad Six. “Don’t tell me your parents don’t say embarrassing shit.”

Siplinski lived on the other side of Sedimentary and the flight was only twenty minutes. He seemed nervous, like Full Wing had been, and spent the flight standing and looking off of the side of the chariot. Black Rain and Bren were still arguing about how writing letters to one’s sister wasn’t a gay thing to do when they touched down before Siplinski’s house. Red Field was sweaty, tired and ready to go back to Gale Force. He slouched back in his seat.

“Hey.” Siplinski knocked his leg. “I want you to come with me.” Red Field looked up.

“Uh, okay?”

Red Field didn’t feel uncomfortable exactly. But at the same time, he did feel strange following Siplinski up the walk toward the front door of the home. The house itself was strange. Four stories in total but only a few rooms across, it rose out of the white dust like a tower and sat surrounded by an oddly diverse garden. Sunflowers, roses and even a few lilies peeking out of shallow ponds surrounded the house like a short wall of green.

“Yeah, my mom likes to garden.” Said Siplinski as they reached the door. Siplinski knocked on the thick wooden door and just a few seconds passed before it was answered.

A mare, not much older than Red Field answered. She was a dark grey, but her resemblance to Siplinski was unmistakable.

“Sip?” She was frozen a moment, then cried out. “Sippy! You’re home! I thought it was going to be next week but here you are!” Siplinski, giving her a light embrace, nodded.

“Yeah, yeah!” He said, making a poor attempt at matching her enthusiasm. “Good to see you too Ampere!” He patted her shoulders then pulled away. “Is uh, mom or dad here?” The filly jumped up and clapped her hooves.

“Yeah! Mom is, dad’s at work though. Let me grab mom!” He squealed again, hugged him, then bolted off. Siplinski waited for her to bound up the stairs, then turned to Red Field.

“Hehe, so that’s my sister, Ampere. She can be kinda psycho at times.” Siplinski said. In a minute, a white mare appeared at the top of the stairs and bounded down almost as fast as Ampere. She too squealed and clutched Siplinski.

“Oh Siplinski!” She held him as if he had returned from a war. “It’s so glad to see you!” She said, cradling his head and swaying both of them as she hugged him. “How have you been?”

“Uh, good.” Siplinski, who stood a head taller than his mother, had his mouth blocked by her tightly drawn mane. “We can only stop for a minute.” She released him. She looked at him, sighed sadly, then hugged him again.

“There’s so much to tell you, if only your father had known you were coming.” She said.

Ampere, who had since noticed the unicorn beside her brother, pointed to Red Field.

“Who’re you?” She asked. Siplinski pulled away from his mother.

“Mom, this is Red Field.” He said, displaying Red Field to his mother and sister. “He’s my friend and I need his help with something.”

“Well what do you do at Gale Force Mr. Red Field?” Asked Siplinski’s mother.

“He’s a mechanic like me.” Siplinski said. “We actually have to head out real quick here so I just need Red Field to help me with something in my room and we have to go.”

“Oh! Well by all means then!” His mother stepped aside and Siplinski bounded inside, Red Field awkwardly trailing after him.

The house was not richly decorated. A small table that Red Field assumed served a decorative purpose stood just to the right of the doorway. The table was covered in elementary school books and the tablecloth was tugged and canted. The floor under Red Field’s hooves was soft, grapefruit-colored fuzz, and the room smelled like almonds. Red Field had barely looked around when Siplinski called to him from the top of the stairs which stood to Red Field’s left.

“He’s always like that.” Said Siplinski’s mother with a laugh. “There isn’t a medication in the world that’ll cure that kind of excitement. Looks like you’ve already found that out though.”

Red Field climbed to the top of the stairs. The next floor of the house held all of the bedrooms and Red Field looked around to see which room Siplinski had disappeared into.

“Hey, come on.” Siplinski poked his head out of a bedroom door. “We don’t have a lot of time. My dad might be home soon.”

Siplinski’s room was a mess of ideas. A poster of “Tool and Die” an industrial-themed metal band hung above the headboard of his bed. By his window was a small desk, on which sat a dusty set of watercolors and some papers. An electric guitar and a small amplifier were propped up near his closet. Beside Siplinski’s bed was a larger, more realistic and academic desk, on which sat a lamp, a can of pencils, and an overstuffed file folder.

“Hang on for a second.” Siplinski was half-buried under the draping folds of his blanket as he rooted around under the bed. A flyer for a technical college peeked out of the folder atop the desk and Red Field started to read it. “Okay come here come here.” Said Siplinski, pulling his head out from under the bed.

He set a shoebox atop the bedspread and pulled off the cover. He pulled out a few notes, then a notebook, then three porn magazines, then he came to what looked like the bottom of the box. Siplinski held the box up, inverted it, and out dropped a thick beige book.

“Can you read this?” Asked Siplinski, holding the tome up to Red Field. Red Field, already dazed from the barrage of peculiarity, tried to focus on the title, which was written in gold letters that had grown brassy with age.

“Applied Electrical Engineering: An Introduction.” Said Red Field. “Yeah, I can read this?”

“And like, teach me it?” Red Field looked around the book and at Siplinski. “I could pay you.”

“Why?”

“Look, can you at least read and understand this?” Asked Siplinski impatiently. Red Field nodded. “Perfect, let’s go.” He said, stuffing the book into his saddlebag. Red Field followed him back down the stairs.

Siplinski’s mother had prepared a sandwich for him.

“I know you probably will stop for something on the way back but it’s important to keep your blood sugar up.” She said.

Siplinski took the sandwich and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Thanks mom, sorry we couldn’t stay long.” He said, hurrying out of the door. Ampere galloped around Red Field and gave Siplinski one more hug.

“Stay safe big brother.” She said, clinging to him.

“Mmhmm.” He said, giving her a brief hug.

“Heh, did your mom make you drink a cleanse before she let you go?” Asked Black Rain as Red Field and Siplinksi climbed back into the chariot.

“No, nothing like that.” Siplinski said.

“Or better, did she give you hot stone therapy and offer you a two for one on her candles?” Asked Bren. Full Wing laughed, then asked what Bren meant. “Siplinski’s mom is into holistic stuff and she’s big into crystals, herbs and all that bullshit.”

“I dunno.” Said Black Rain. “My money is still on Red for having the weirdest family.” Red Field didn’t know why but he was suddenly very nervous. “Also, get up here Jesus pony, I need you to help me find your town.”

Viewed from the air, Rockvale was still uninteresting. The town was a tiny smattering of buildings connected by thin insinuations of road cutting through the dust.

“Got damn-” Black Rain trailed off. They had landed atop the hill overlooking the field behind Red Field’s home. Everypony looked down the incline, across the field of bald cabbage and at the dull grey shack.

Nopony wanted to say anything about how Red Field’s poverty.

“I’ll be right back.” Red Field said, his cheeks growing red. He clumsily hoisted himself over the side of the chariot, so as not to ask Black Rain, who was still staring at his shack, to open a door. Red Field’s hooves landed in the soft earth, prompting a small puff of dust to spawn around his legs. He started toward his home.

He didn’t know what to expect.

He’d arrived at five, and the sun was ripening into a gold orb, ready to drop to the horizon. Red Field walked through the soft, tilled earth and around the cabbages until he came to the shack. Without thinking, he walked inside.
His mother was slicing cabbages by the sink and saw his shadow on the wall.

“Dear, we are out of the-” She turned. “Oh my God.” She dropped the knife, splattering cabbage juice onto the floor.

She stared at Red Field.

“Hi mom.” He said gently. She took a few steps forward before rushing into him and embracing him. The pair stood for a long time. Moonlit Night hung against Red Field, saying nothing. Finally she looked up at him.

“You’re different, Red.”

“What?” He asked. She pulled away and searched for her small vanity mirror. She held it up to him.

Red Field saw a strange version of himself. His legs and shoulders were heavier, and his neck had grown thicker. His black mane hung down his back. He saw that with each breath his entire torso rose and fell, instead of just his narrow and jutting ribcage. He swallowed.

“I guess so.”

“Your father thought you’d never make it at the Academy.” Red Field nodded. Moonlit Night seated herself at the table. “I didn’t know when you’ve be visiting.” She looked up and smiled shakily at him. “My little pony is all grown up and I don’t even have a dinner for him.” She said. “I suppose you didn’t have time to write many letters.”

Red Field seated himself beside her.

“I’m sorry for dropping in so unexpectedly. I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to see you.” He took her hoof. “I’m sorry for how I left.”

“Your father, he’s, out with Mr. Pie and the others hauling a rock.” She said. “I don’t think he’ll be home until-”

“I don’t want to see him.”

Moonlit Night set her other hoof atop Red Field’s.

“What are you doing out there?” She asked.

“Just training for now.” Red Field laughed a bit. “Training is all we do really.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” He said. Moonlit night smiled and looked as if she might cry.

“Red, we were so worried you wouldn’t take to it.”

“I think it just took me finding my place there.” Red Field felt a little bit like crying, though he wasn’t sure why. Moonlit night rubbed his hoof. “They have this program that might get me to a school for magic.”

“Did you make any friends?” Red Field thought about Siplinski, about his book.

“Yeah.” Moonlit Night began to sniffle and Red Field moved his chair closer to embrace her.

“I knew you could do anything any of these stupid colts in this stupid town could do.” She whispered. “You’re an extraordinary pony Red.” She laid her head on his shoulder and Red Field held her close. “So you are going to be able to go to the Cantorlot Academy?”

“Yes.” She began to cry and Red Field held her closer. “After four years they said I can go wherever I want and they’ll pay all of my costs.” She laughed and a few warm tears ran down his shoulder. “Assuming I pass the entrance exams.” He added. Moonlit Night looked up.

The tears had stained her face a dark grey.

“I knew you’d end up at the academy.” She laughed, loudly. “And I knew you wouldn’t have anything to do with flipping rocks.”

“Thanks mom.” Red Field laid his head against hers. Red Field saw the shadows outside growing longer and he forced himself to stand.

“I need to go, my friends are waiting.” Moonlit Night stood and clutched him. A few tears broke from his eyes and Red Field tried not to sniffle. “I’ll come back for a longer visit once I’m completely done with my training. I’ll make sure to write you letters. I promise I’ll make time.” His mother nodded and gave him a parting squeeze.

“You are a good pony Red Field, and I will always love you more than anything in the world. Don’t worry about making me proud; you’ve already made me proud.”

“Thank you mom, I love you too.”

Red Field exited the shack and walked back toward the hill. The sunset colored the dust around him a warm yellow. The tears on his face dried in the fading warmth of the day. Red Field looked at the rock that he’d tried to help his father and the other stallions flip.

Cyrus deserved something. His father had gotten him to Gale Force, and no matter what, he deserved thanks. Red Field tried to think of what he could give to his father to show his gratitude.

The other members of Barracks Six said nothing as Red Field reached them. They seemed to see the gravity of Red Field’s visitation. He thanked them for waiting and they took off as the sun slipped below the horizon. Red Field looked back at Rockvale. The little town faded into the darkening landscape as they took to the sky.

At around 2300 they stopped at Black Rain’s apartment in the town of Breck. Red Field reclined in the small cargo compartment, his hooves sticking out of the opening. He was still thinking about his parents.

Siplinski poked his head into the chasm. He grunted and his breath expelled directly into Red Field’s mouth.

“Hey!” He whispered. “About that book, like, I didn’t want to act all weird back there.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just-”

“I’d be happy to teach you.” Red Field reached up and offered him a brohoof. Siplinski looked at him in curiosity, then he grinned.

“All right dude!”

“God damn.” Black Rain slammed the chariot door shut. So loud and sudden was the outburst that Siplinski frantically pulled himself out and Red Field peeked up with him.

“Whoa, what’s up?” Bren asked as Black Rain gave the steering wheel a sharp punch.

“Cocksucking roommate stole all of my shit then moved.” Black Rain stopped to take a few seething breaths.

“Oh damn.” Said Full Wing.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Bren said. “That really sucks.” Even Red Field couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. They sat for a few seconds as Black Rain clutched at the steering wheel.

“No, you know what? This is okay.” He started the engine and the chariot began to putter. “Gale Force is supposed to be my life, and now it really is. Fuck Breck. I’m a soldier and I’m going to put my money where my mouth is.” He shook his head and they lifted off. “I’m all in now.”

They reached the compound at midnight. They were much, much later than they were supposed to be, and Black Rain vividly described the punishment meted out to any late arrivals as they stealthily touched down in the fenced landing area. Squad Six quietly disembarked and Black Rain whispered for them to wait until he arrived at the barracks.

“If they get me, wait for them to take me away, then in ten minutes run for the barracks. I’ll say I was out by myself.” He said.

Black Rain swung open the gate and bolted for the tiny row of huts. The rest of Squad Six watched as he tore for the barracks. He hit the door with a thump that was audible from where they stood, then yanked open the door and disappeared inside.

The rest of the squad had made only a few steps when somepony shouted.

“Fuck!” Whispered Bren.

“Squad Six, halt!” Shouted Lewerc as the group cantered to a stop.

“S-sorry for our lateness sir.” Bren said in terror as he saw the commander materialize from the darkness.

“Private Red Field, you are half an hour late.” Lewerc marched over to Red Field. “This reflects very poorly on your current application. Do you wish to explain to me why you are so late?”

“We were just visiting our families sir.” Red Field said, not sure why he was being singled out.

“Private, I assume you understand the seriousness of your post, surely you understand that a few minutes with your family is not worth ruining an already delicate relationship with your potential squadmates.”

“Sir?” Red Field asked.

“Private come with me.” Said Lewerc, turning and marching away from where they stood. Red Field followed after him. He looked back to Bren and Siplinski for guidance on what to do, but both looked as confused as he.

“S-sir, what about-” Bren began.

“Go to bed.” Said Lewerc.

Lewerc led Red Field toward the gym, then took a left toward the mess hall. Red Field had to jog to keep pace with the commander.

“Private, you need to take this post more seriously than the other ponies take theirs. Belligerence informed me that he’d recommended you as a sniper candidate. I trust his judgment. However ultimately it’s not my favor that counts, it’s that of your squadmates.”

Squad Six favored him, at least somewhat; what did he have to fear?

They reached the door of the mess hall and Red Field saw that light shone through the screened windows. He heard voices, lots of voices, on the other side of the door.

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand.” Said Red Field.

“UAT isn’t like the rest of the company, private.”

Lewerc opened the doors to the mess hall.

What caught Red Field the most was not that nearly everypony in the giant hall was a member of UAT. Nor was it that he saw Bombs Away or several other ponies who outranked him by several decades of military service. He wasn’t even perturbed that out of all of the ponies in the room, he was the only one not wearing a uniform.

Everypony he saw stood on two hooves.

“Private- um, are you a private?” A card table had been set up by the door, and a seated officer motioned for him to approach. “You are out of uniform- are you a potential candidate for UAT?” Asked the pony, looking over a sheet of names.

“Yes, Red Field, sniper candidate.” Said Lewerc. Red Field nearly jumped as he saw that Lewerc, who was standing beside him, had also assumed the strange two-hoofed stance and now stood at about double his height.

“All right then.” The seated officer found Red Field’s name on the list and ran his hoof along the line until it reached another name. “Your interview is with Specialist Midlothian.” He pointed with his ballpoint pen to a table across the room. “Have a seat over there and I’ll dig up the specialist and send him over.” Lewerc thanked the officer, than pulled Red Field away from the table.

“Private, just remember your answers and stick to them. He doesn’t have a problem with nervousness, but if you say something stupid or crazy he’ll notice.” Lewerc said quietly. “Just stick to your plan and take time to think over your answers if you need to.”

“Sir, I don’t know-”

“Go.” Lewerc shoved him toward an empty table. “Just remember what this is all for.”

Red Field walked through the crowd of towering stallions and toward the empty table. He took a seat at the table, and fearfully considered what would happen next. He glanced around the room and saw a few other privates standing and talking with the UAT members. Red Field looked for anypony he knew.

“Hello there- seems you're a little late.” The table shook a bit as Midlothian seated himself. Red Field was facing away from the table and spun himself back. Midlothian looked like a horse. His shoulders and neck glided together into a softly edged pyramid of muscle. His body was the color of a coyote, and his mane was a dark brown. A well-polished horn poked from his short mane. A small cancer of fuzzy facial hair surrounded his mouth and spread down his neck. His smallish eyes were green and his white teeth shone through his beard as he smiled at Red Field.

“I’m Specialist Midlothian.” He extended his hoof to Red Field.

“Red Field.” Red Field said. “Private.”

“Red Field?” Asked Midlothian, noticing the disparity of name and color. “Well it’s good to meet ya’ll Red Field.”

“Thank you sir.” Said Red Field. Midlothian set a clipboard and pen on the table.

“So tell me why you want to be a sniper.” Asked Midlothian.

Red Field had never considered that he’d have an interview for his post. He hadn’t even considered that a sniper was part of the Urban Assault Teams. Red Field grasped at the first statement that came to mind.

“Well, I like to do math. What I mean is sir, I am very good at analytical thinking.” He took a deep breath, which gave him time to think. Midlothian seemed rather friendly for a Gale Force interviewer, but he never broke his gaze at Red Field. “I tend to make analytical calculations in my everyday thinking, and-”

“Give me an example of one, in this room, right now.”

“What do you mean?” Red Field asked. Midlothian shrugged.

“You tell me.” Red Field looked around at the room full of ponies. What was there to analyze?

“The age of the officers in this room-”

“What about it?” Said Midlothian.

“If you tabulated the list and ordered by age in ascending order.” Red Field swallowed. “Then you could make a function based on the average progression of years to rank and create a relatively simple equation to determine the most economical use of your career in terms of pay. For example if you were at a certain rank and deemed-”

“Well all right then, moving on.” Said Midlothian. “What’s your temperament like? Is there anything that sets you off?”

“Uh, no. I’m usually a very rational person.”

“And if I asked your friends outside of Gale Force if this is true, would I get the same answer?”

“I don’t have any friends outside of Gale Force.”

“You mean to tell me that prior to Beast, you had no friends in the world?”

“Yes sir.” He said. Midlothian looked at Red Field for a couple seconds.

“Private, there are about thirty more questions here- but I’m going to skip those for now.” Red Field knew he’d made a big mistake. Midlothian removed the sheet of questions from the clipboard. He pushed the clipboard, with a sheet of paper, and a pen to Red Field. “Write me an essay about yourself, about why you would be a good sniper.” He set the pen atop the paper and Red Field knew Midlothian was trying to locate a damning flaw in him. “Fifteen minutes.”

Red Field returned the essay in fourteen minutes and seventeen seconds. Midlothian spent eight reading it. He stopped once to ask what pulchritudinous meant. The other ponies finished their conversations and the mess hall began to empty.

By the time Midlothian set the clipboard back down, only the two remained.

“Belligerence was right about your skillset.” Said Midlothian. “But neither of us know what kind of pony you are.”

“I’m not sure what you mean sir.” Said Red Field.

“Private, UATs are the toughest and deadliest soldiers Equestria has ever fielded. We train year round and our basic training washes out eighty percent of candidates on physical reasons alone. I need to know if you have enough control of your mind to be able to make it through something like that. Most ponies crash and burn because they can’t put up with the constant stress and demands. Everypony in the UAT needs complete and total focus no matter what the circumstances.”

If he controlled one thing, Red Field controlled his mind.

“Sir, I think-”

“Private, let me stop you there. There isn’t room in a UAT for ponies who think they can do something.” Midlothian leaned back on his bench. “Tell me right at this instant if you can or cannot pass this training and add a hoof to the team.”

“I am mostly-”

“Cadet, mostly doesn’t pass in UAT. I can save you some time right now and tell you that if you’re not one hundred percent certain you can do this job, you won’t.”

“I know I can.” Red Field said.

The crickets were singing outside of the window, and Red Field could hear the crunching hoofsteps of the perimeter patrol outside of the window. Midlothian was still looking at him. The burly pony raised a hoof to his mouth and rubbed at his scruff.

“You were half an hour late tonight, and out of uniform.” He said. “I understand you graduated Beast with subpar performance. Private, UAT training isn’t going to be easy, especially not for somepony like you. However Belligerence believes that you have potential as a sniper and I would agree with him.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Sign this please.” Midlothian pushed the clipboard back at Red Field. He’d affixed a contract to the board and pointed to a small line that sat beneath a thicket of fine print. Red Field read the headers of a few paragraphs.

“Agreement to maintain military readiness at all times for up to ten years. The applicant agrees to remain in a state of combat readiness for at least a decade. At any point during this period the applicant agrees to transition out of any and all civilian obligations and return to active duty at Gale Force.”

Red Field signed his name, though his writing shook a bit. Even in a time of peace, such a commitment scared him. Yet Red Field felt unnaturally calm. His short time at Gale Force had brought a steadiness to him.

Midlothian grunted and took the paper.

“You’ve taken your first step toward becoming a sniper. Basic starts at nine tomorrow, meet outside of the mess hall.” He pointed at Red Field. “Don’t be late and wear the proper uniform. I’ll see you tomorrow private.” He walked to the door and exited.

Red Field sat alone in the mess hall, thinking about what he’d agreed to. A patrol passed by the window. He recognized a few from Beast.

Next to nopony could claim to have been educated at the Alchemy from the Academy of Advanced Magic. Even fewer ponies could claim to be among the most elite soldiers in the Equestrian Army. Nopony had ever been both.

Red Field straightened as he left the mess hall.

The next morning, the other new members of Gale Force Company were integrating themselves into shops, posts and all manner of military positions.

However Red Field stood with a group of ponies who were returning to training. He stood with ponies who, in the words of the commander of UAT, were going to “test their balls, brains and brawn”. The ponies, who’d been cadets just two weeks prior, stood unflinching throughout the short introduction of hell that awaited them. Red Field recognized all of them, he noted that quite a few of the Apple clan cadets were applying for UAT.

All of them were at least twice his size. All of them were unicorns.

Red Field wasn’t sure who intimidated him more: the other cadets, or the instructors.

The instructors were subtle in their intimidation. Nopony in the formation of applicants whispered or joked, and Red Field was able to study each of the officers that stood across from him. Many were strangely svelte, and a few were just a bit larger than Red Field himself. However, each looked to be at least in their thirties, and Red Field quickly recognized their impending indifference to the plight of the applicants.

The pony who stood across from Red Field wore a faded blue shirt that adhered tightly to his body. Red Field could see the clear implications of taut muscle, dormant beneath the shirt. The instructor looked over Red Field’s head and stared out into Macmillan forest. He blinked every five seconds, in an almost perfect rhythm. Their commander began their introduction by berating the group of trainees for their arrogance for wantonly applying for UAT. Agent Orange occasionally gave such speeches during Beast and Red Field had learned quickly that they were just a scare tactic. But on that morning, he was scared anew.

“Cadet! Did you miss your medication or are you just incredibly dense?!” Red Field flinched. The commander was standing directly beside him. Each breath he took rattled into Red Field’s ear.

“No sir! Sorry sir!” Red Field said. He glanced ever so slightly to the right and nearly jumped in terror. Bombs Away personally taught the UATs. What if Bombs Away recognized him? However Bombs Away seemed more interested in Red Field’s philosophical rationale than his past deeds.

“Private! Why in the hell would you try out for a program that has induced two instances of cardiac arrest, countless broken bones and a burst testicle? Are you a deviant who enjoys suffering?” His voice nearly deafened Red Field.

“No sir, I want to be a sniper. I be- know I have what it takes to become a sniper.”

“Do you think defending your country might work itself in there somewhere?” Asked Bombs Away.

“Uh, yes sir!”

“Great! Hope you enjoy your stay with us!” He walked to the next pony in line. Red Field looked back at the instructor that stood across from him.

One blink, every five seconds.

The first week of UAT training was called “Scorch”. The first day the applicants, hereafter known as Suburbs or Suburbanites, were taught combat readiness posture, or standing on two hooves.

Most everypony could stand on two hooves for some period of time. After describing the rules of conduct for UAT training, Bombs Away ordered everypony on two hooves. Anypony who fell more than twice, or voluntarily stepped down once was dismissed.

The class shrank by ten in the first half an hour of the training.

“There are no warnings, just explanations for why you’re dismissed.” Said Bombs Away.

UAT training began at 0500 every day. After the second day, when two more applicants were dismissed for arriving late, the remaining ponies formed a pact in which they awoke one another at 0545 and traveled as a group to the mess hall.

The training was hell. After dismissal on the first day, Red Field had dropped down to four hooves in agony. His back, unused to spending excessive time in the awkward stance, felt as if it were tugging itself back together and he could scarcely extend his legs without overexerting himself. Every day started with a ten kilometer run through Macmillan forest. Dew, and sometimes even fog still lingered in the wet foliage as the ponies galloped by.
They also sang. The first cadence that the UAT applicants learned was called “What I need to kill”

“I could use some CAS
String of fire makes a mess,
But if my support don’t show its face
I’ll lay on charges, bomb their place
But if my bomb req. don’t make it through
Cordite and lead is tried and true
But if mags are spent and rounds are few
I’ll still kill them with my knife
But even without, I’ll still take a life
Rocks, hooves, wetwork skill
UAT needs nothing to kill.”

They learned other songs.
All of them were about killing.

The run was followed by a breakfast of old rations that were somehow worse than what the mess hall served. Upon reconstitution, the already mediocre hay and greens often flaked apart and disintegrated into a pasty mush that would trickle off the edges of their plate. Red Field overheard a rumor that UATs were responsible for eating expired rations.
The training wasn’t even training. UAT basic consisted almost entirely of long stretches of painful workouts. Running, swimming, all day long, with four or five segments of crawling through thorny undergrowth. That was apparently what made UAT strong.

Red Field knew it would be awful. Red Field shut himself off from the pain. He took to running best. Red Field ran toward the front of the pack most days. Thankfully, all of the heavy lifting that occurred in UAT basic was a team exercise. Red Field and the other applicants usually hauled logs throughout the woods. In a lot of ways, UAT basic was nothing more than an intense version of Beast.

Then one day the instructors started talking.

Red Field sat cross-legged, spooning mush into his mouth. He sat in a pile of rotted leaves, which sat atop mud. He could feel at least one bug crawling around under him. The branches of the trees above him dripped raindrops into his mane and shoulders. However he continued to spoon what had once been dried clover into his mouth. His legs were slowly falling asleep and his back curled into a “C” as he ate. They had jogged a few hundred meters on two hooves after their run.

“Ya’ll got any salt?” Apple Core asked. Apple Core had made it into UAT training. He’d recognized Red Field and the pair had dragged one another during the teammate-down exercise.

“This is clover, it’s supposed to be sweet.” He said, tossing the packet to Apple Core. Apple Core sprinkled his mush.

“Eyeah, but this shit’s not anything nomoar. Salt’s the best way t’make it stomachable.” Red Field chuckled and added some salt to his meal.

“All right.” Blackwater walked into the center of the group. “Today is sandbag day, so listen up.” Blackwater was the lead instructor for UAT basic. Unlike Agent Orange, he didn’t laugh, swear, or order anypony. He just said what the group was going to do, and they did it.

Blackwater pointed to a chariot parked nearby. The group saw that a few of the other instructors were unloading a mass of sandbags from the vehicle.

“In a battle just outside of what would become a little town called Ponyville, an Urban Assault Team was pinned by enemy fire coming from some ruins. There was a hundred and fifty meter stretch of open field between them and their target, which was an MG nest. The team dug a trench through the field and used it to bring a series of sandbags and building materials to construct a firing position overnight. The next morning they opened fire from the safety of their newly constructed bunker and took out the nest.” He now pointed to a trench that Red Field recognized as the Long Crawl trench. “We’ve done you guys a favor and already built the trench. Your job today will be to make that crawl, carrying the supplies necessary to build up a bunker. Five minutes and plates are down and you’re over by the start line.”

They gathered at the start line in four minutes and thirty seconds, and Red Field saw that seven other trenches had been dug parallel to the first. He sighed inwardly. His “illness” from the strain of Beast was back, but in the intensity of UAT it often flared up to the point where it seemed like each breath he took only gave a fraction of the air it ought.

“Gentleponies.” Blackwater held up a burlap sack. “You can carry as many or as few sandbags as you prefer, but you’ll all be building the same structure.” He held up a sheet of names. “Everypony who’s continuing their UAT training after today is completing their bunker in less than two hours. Load up for your first trip.” Red Field knelt down before the small pile of sandbags that stood aside his trench. He lifted one, it weighed about two kilograms. He had no idea how big the bunker would be and he knew much better than to ask. He placed just five sandbags in the sack and decided to scout on his first crawl. He’d calculate his plan once he got an idea of what he needed.

“All right, get to it Suburbanites.” Said Blackwater before the ponies could ready themselves further. Red Field slung the bag over his shoulder and went to prone.

The first half hour dragged by painfully. Red Field calculated that he needed to bring at least eight sandbags each trek through the trench to finish on time. The dry trench trapped dead air and stifled his labored breathing. The unruly sack jerked and caught on nearly everything in the trench and more than once Red Field pulled too hard and the mass of sandbags fell on his hind legs. He was soon slick with the mud formed when the crumbling dirt met his sweat.

On his seventh arrival, one of the instructors began to walk alongside the trench. Red Field dumped the sandbags into the chalk circle and turned back to the trench; thankfully the instructors would build the bunker.

At first the instructor said nothing, and Red Field crawled back to the pile in silence.

“Looks like you’re having trouble there.” The light blue pony said as the bag momentarily wedged itself between a narrow section in the trench and Red Field was forced to roll onto his back to look over the issue. Red Field said nothing as he kicked the bag loose. “This is your slowest crawl yet.” The instructor said as Red Field paused to catch his breath. Red Field knew not to take the bait.
Without acknowledging him, Red Field began to wriggle past the pony. He reached the other side and threw the bag over the side. As he tiredly rose out of the chasm, the instructor stood in his way. Red Field paused, then, when the instructor didn’t move, he climbed out of the side.

The instructor talked on every subsequent trip.

“You’re taking six this time, looks like you’re wearing out.”

“You’ve gotten stuck there four times in a row now. This is an exercise, not a comedy about a pony who can’t
troubleshoot.”

“Why are you stopping to kill all of those bugs? They shouldn’t be more important than finishing on time, and they aren’t going to hurt anypony.”

Red Field was annoyed with the instructor. He was exhausted and the pony was too jesting for him not to be annoyed. However he was still easily within the bounds of his temper. As he climbed up out of the trench and pulled the bag toward the marking, he glanced to his right and saw that there were instructors following the other applicants and dispensing the same unhelpful comments. Some of the other Suburbanites were visibly incensed, but none said anything.

“Feeling insecure?” Asked the instructor as he saw Red Field look over at the other bunkers, which were more or less at the same stages of completion as Red Field’s.

Red Field tossed the sandbags onto the pile and turned back to the trench. The instructor said no more.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, every movement Red Field made grew shorter. He was exerting the same degree of force, yet the bag seemed to move less and less with each tug. The walls of the trench were eroding with Red Field’s continual passage and the tight sections had widened and slowed him up less. But each trip exposed more rocks and roots. As Red Field gave the bag another impatient yank, he slipped and a rock protruding from the wall of the trench dug into his shoulder.

A thin white line of scratched skin gave way to a thin red line of blood. Red Field growled at the rock and struck it with his hoof.

“That the most productive use of your time?” Midlothian squatted beside the barbed wire. He was chewing a toothpick. Red Field turned back to pulling the bag. Midlothian walked beside him for the rest of the trip. When Red Field finally slung the bag out of the trench, Midlothian kicked the bag back.

The bag slammed onto Red Field as he was hoisting himself out. He fell heavily, the corpse-like sack crushing his chest. He snarled in pain and threw off the bag.

“Heavy fire from the MGs, somepony had their movement blocked by your bag and they had to get it out of the way.” Said Midlothian, the toothpick jiggling in his mouth. Red Field panted for breath and tried to recover his senses. He looked up at Midlothian.

Midlothian had a peculiar way of looking at the Suburbanites. At first Red Field had thought he was trying to read them, since Midlothian spent quite a bit of his time just staring at them. However it occurred to Red Field, laying on his back in the trench and staring up at the complacent unicorn that Midlothian was waiting for a response.

He wouldn’t get one.

Red Field picked up the bag. He tossed the bag up on the side opposite Midlothian, then climbed up himself.

“Cadet, come here.” Midlothian caught Red Field by the shoulder as he started back to the trench. The tan unicorn pointed to the bunker. “You mind explaining why this load has two less sandbags than the last? And one less than the one before that? What the hell kind of a system is that?”

Red Field said nothing and Midlothian faced him.

“You aren’t leaving until I get an answer.” Midlothian said.

“It’s a variable plan: I work for a standard of eight bags each time, but certain trips can be more exhausting than others so I carry less so as not to overstrain myself.” Midlothian interrupted Red Field before he could explain the plan for carrying additional bags on the earlier trips.

“Private, UAT doesn’t consider physical strain in any regard.” Midlothian said. “Do you think we alter our missions based on how everypony is feeling?”

“I’m at the same completion as everypony else.” Blood churned in Red Field’s ears and his aching chest made his temper build to a simmer. Midlothian nodded, then walked over to Red Field’s bunker. He kicked the corner of the bunker and the side of the structure toppled. He looked back to Red Field.

“While you were changing the plan, the enemy put fire on the weaker sections of the structure and set us back.” He walked back to Red Field and gazed down at him. “Still think that was such a good idea?”

Red Field was looking at the pile and Midlothian looked back at it as well.

“Did you factor that in?” Asked Midlothian.

Red Field wriggled a bit faster through the trench. He’d started coughing after being crushed by the bag. He reached the other side of the trench and jumped out and ran for the sandbags. Midlothian was standing by the pile. Red Field waited for Midlothian to irk him further. However Midlothian was silent and allowed Red Field to collect his materials.

“Are you afraid of bugs?” Midlothian asked as Red Field crushed a fleeting beetle under his hoof. “If you are we need to know, we can’t accept somepony who’ll freeze up during an operation because there’s an infestation of Boxelders.” Red Field ignored him and crawled a bit faster. “What is it about bugs that scares you?” Their horribly crunchy exoskeleton and their alien appearance. “Is it the thought of being covered in them?” Asked Midlothian, though he was actually growing further from anything that might upset Red Field. After a moment of nonresponse, Midlothian saw he wasn’t unsettling Red Field.

The bunker should have been almost complete, but Red Field was almost back to where he was before the “enemy fire” took its toll. Midlothian looked at the bunker as if it had been hit by something other than his hoof.

“Damn, they really did a number.” He said as Red Field dumped out the sandbags. “Do you feel bad about exposing your teammates to that fire?”

Red Field did not feel bad because his instructor had kicked out the side of his pretend bunker.

He had only three more trips and Midlothian had been quiet for some time.

“You’re a tough pony you know that private?” He said as Red Field pulled the pack of ten sandbags through the trench. “Here you are, pulling all of that weight after you mess up your ‘variable’ plan as you call it. Have to give it to you, you at least learn from your mistakes.” He spat the toothpick out and it landed a next to Red Field’s hoof. “It’s not a bug, don’t worry.”

Red Field didn’t answer. Though he wanted to.

On his second to last trip, Midlothian started to talk more. Red Field was reaching the point where his body was giving out. His muscles began to lose their ability to constrict. Every few minutes the bag grew too heavy to pull and he had to rest for a moment before continuing. He was covered in mud and the trench was now wide enough that he didn’t get stuck anywhere. He reached the end and realized he didn’t have enough strength to lift the bag. He was stacking the sandbags up one by one when Midlothian kicked a few back down.

“If you leave them out one by one then they can just shoot them and destroy them.” He said. “Be glad I’m letting you do it over.” Red Field stared up at him. Midlothian stared back.

Red Field took almost a minute to press the bag to the lip of the trench. He ground his teeth as he tugged the bag to the nearly finished bunker. He glanced to his right and saw that all of the other Suburbanites were delivering their last loads.

He still had ten bags more.

“There’s your variable plan in action.” Said Midlothian, pointing to the other bunkers. “You’re behind because you decided to get behind.”

“I’m behind because you kicked out the side of my bunker.” Red Field muttered to himself.

“Your bunker was hit by enemy fire because you were moving the sandbags too slowly private.” Midlothian had somehow heard him.

Red Field jumped into the trench. His heart was pounding and he felt his swollen face burning. He knew Midlothian was watching him. Red Field heard another instructor approach.

“Hey, how long is this going to be? We have to wrap things up soon.” He asked Midlothian.

“I dunno. Hey private, care to answer?” He called down to Red Field.

“About as long as it takes to kick the side out of a bunker.” Red Field called back. He heard both instructors chuckle.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Asked Midlothian. “He’s trying out this new variable plan where you do less work when you feel like it.” He said to the other instructor.

“Really? The hell does that work?”

“Well see now, it doesn’t since.” Midlothian said.

Red Field reached the other side of the trench and climbed out. He slung the last ten sandbags in the bag and dragged it into the trench. The bag was so heavy now that he paused between each step to catch his breath. He was midway through when a sharp sting shot through his extended foreleg. He swore and pulled his hoof back. The broken stem of a toothpick jutted from his leg. He shakily pulled it out and threw it out of the trench.

“Hey! Don’t throw that shit up here.” Midlothian said.

Red Field took ten more minutes to move the bag the final one hundred meters and to the chalk outline where his bunker stood. He was exhausted and his breaths came in short, quiet gasps. He swayed as he stood next to the completed structure.

“Well, you did it.” Said Midlothian. “Last place.”

“All right colts, hundred meter jog back to the start.” Said Blackwater.

Red Field joined the other applicants in the exhausted half-jog half-limp back to the entrances of the trenches. Once at the start, everypony rested and caught their breath as the UAT officers walked to them. Once the class had reassembled, Blackwater read off Red Field’s time from his clipboard.

“And the slowest time of the day goes to Private Red Field!” He said as if he were announcing a sweepstakes. “I’m told his time can be attributed to a very scientific method of doing less work when things get hard. Would I be correct in that private?” Red Field said nothing and Blackwater turned back to the group. “Suburbanites, it’s worth noting that the private here has consistently held the slowest times in the majority of his basic courses during Beast. While you might think that that’ll give you all a bit more rest whenever you’re waiting on him to finish something, realize now that you’ll be punished for somepony applying a,” He looked back to his clipboard. “’Variable model’, whatever the hell that means. So now would be a good time to educate the private on how work is generally done.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be kicking out the side of my bunker.” Red Field called from the formation. His heart pounded and his strained heart throbbed in his ears. “Maybe I should have-”

“You didn’t realize you might experience unexpected delays during a time-sensitive task? Did you not graduate grade school private or do you just play a lot of easy video games that distort your view of reality?” Asked Blackwater.
Red Field was silent. Midlothian and a few of the other instructors chuckled. Blackwater shook his head.
“At any rate Suburbanites, today was a valuable experience and everypony finished on time. We’d like to end today with a demonstration of our cooperation with the other branches of Gale Force Company. Remember, we are a team.” He finished speaking and a lengthy pause fell.
Blackwater didn’t seem to mind and started to chat with another instructor.

Red Field was still staring forward. He stood at rigid attention, but out of the corner of his eye he watched Midlothian. Red Field’s body went cold as he looked at Midlothian. The thought of emptying a magazine from the KKAT into the burly pony’s figure came to Red Field’s mind.

In about thirty seconds a dull wind buffeted the exhausted ponies and Blackwater looked up at the rustling leaves.

“Better late than never.” He muttered. The wind grew stronger, then died off. For a brief moment everything went still.
Red Field only saw the fleeting black football of a bomb rip though the branches above his bunker. Then the line of tiny buildings exploded. A stinging cloud of sand shot into the air as the bombing run obliterated the bunkers. Red Field heard the whoosh of a dozen Pegasi hurtling by overhead. A few leaves, torn off by the low flying ponies fell around him and he looked back to his bunker.

A small cloud of tan dust slowly dissipated into the air. One of the instructors ran out to the target zone to stamp out a few smoldering embers.

“Just remember Suburbanites, no amount of training can stop an airstrike.” Blackwater said. “UAT rarely goes anywhere without the Airborne.” The Suburbanites stared at the annihilated structures. “That’s all for today, report in at the usual time tomorrow.” He and the other UAT instructors started back to base.

Red Field kept his eyes on Midlothian. The fiery anger went cold.

The trip back to the base drained the last reserves of his strength and he nodded off a few times while standing under the soothing streams of the shower. The other applicants were equally exhausted, or just disheartened, as the walk back and shower had taken place in silence.

The cooks at the mess hall had seen many UAT classes before and knew the state of the applicants as they came to eat. They’d prepared plates for the Suburbanites and as he took his, Red Field mumbled thanks to the tattooed pony behind the counter.

“Heh, you’ve got more balls than I do, trying out for that clusterfuck.” Said the cook.

Red Field was too exhausted to notice that this was the first time any stallion had described him as being more of a stallion than himself.

He chewed through the tasteless meal in a few minutes and collapsed in his bed. He’d returned at 1800. Red Field had taken to sleeping whenever and wherever he could. Most nights somepony was in the barracks, but tonight he was alone and took advantage of the silence.

He was asleep before he could even pull the covers around himself.

“Hey, Red, wake up.” Red Field felt his bunk shaking. As he dazedly opened his eyes he saw through the window that the sun had set and the base had grown dark. Siplinski was at the foot of his bunk, he was drinking a can of soda and shook the bunk with one hoof. As Red Field turned over to move, he felt the lactic acid of the exercise flare up all over his body.

“Fuck. What the hell do you want?” Siplinski paused to gulp down the soda. Then pointed to his bed.

“Nopony else is here tonight, you should teach me that book now.” He said. Red Field had forgotten about the book.

“Uh I need to read it first.” He said laying back in bed. “Set it under my pillow tomorrow and I’ll try to read it in a few days.” He said, tugging the blankets around himself. Siplinski shook the bunk again.

“No dude, we need to do it now; nopony else is going to be here tonight.”

“I have to read the Goddamn book first.” Red Field said as he sat up. Siplinski sighed.

“Dude, we don’t have a lot of time. I just wanted to get like the first chapter done.”

“God.” Red Field sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Just give me the fucking book.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed as Siplinski bolted off to get the book.

Red Field could barely focus on the type as he lifted the book. His head felt like it had spent several hours wrapped in a thick blanket and he struggled to comprehend the first page. He sat completely still so as to avoid aggravating his muscles.

“Do you want to start with the foreword?” Red Field asked after he’d read the first chapter.

“You decide, you’re the teacher.” Red Field lowered the book and saw that Siplinski was sitting on the bed opposite from him. The red unicorn had his legs tucked up to his chest and had linked his forelegs around them. He rested his chin on his knees and looked to Red Field.

“Heh, guess so.” Red Field said, smiling a bit himself. He turned the page. “Chapter One: Applications and overview of industrial and architectural wiring.” He lowered the book again. “You can, you know, just ask if you don’t know a word or something.” Siplinski nodded vigorously.

“Okay, sweet!” Said Siplinski.

“A circuit is just that.” Red Field said.

The dark, speckled fabric clung to Red Field’s back, a mixture of sweat and river water adhered the uniform to his body. He cleared his throat of the phlegm that the short swim across the river had produced and spat into the pine needles at his hooves. He waited for somepony to speak.

The four Suburbanites hid from the pale spotlight of the moon. Apple Core knelt by a tree, he swiped at a trail of spit that hung from his mouth.

“We should break our pattern.” Red Field said, swallowing the remaining phlegm. “We’ve gone a quarter click without a sharp turn.”

“Hol’ up. Ah gotta catch mah breath.” Apple Core put his hoof on the tree next to him and steadied himself.

“What kind of patrols do you think they have out there?” Asked Chevron. After three weeks of training, they had descended into what Blackwater had termed “The Sieve”: a weeklong survival and evasion course with only a few hours of sleep allotted for each night. On their second night, the ponies of UAT class 308 were already growing exhausted.

“It’s not a question of what patrols they might have, it’s what they’re deploying now that they know we’re around.” Red Field said, still looking off into the forest. “They know our size and in a rough sense where we’re going.”

“Make that useful.” Said Chevron. Chevron was the only pony in the group who Red Field occasionally had a problem with. The green pony with the dull orange mane reminded him a little of Fit Finish. Whenever the group deferred to Red Field’s judgment for a course of action, Chevron was always the first to interrupt him and ask him to “get to the point”.

However the training was manipulating Red Field’s mind. Somepony would irritate him and he’d avoid them for a few minutes, then he’d grow so exhausted or strained that his anger would take second place to the need continue the mission and he’d overlook the transgression. He’d probably been upset with everypony in the group at some point.

“We should either split up into two groups and move separately, or we stay together and contort our path and try and confuse their patrols. But I imagine they’re running smaller groups with less focused searching and it might be easier to avoid them if we’re in smaller numbers.” Said Red Field.

“I vote we stay together.” Lithgow said, walking to where Red Field and Apple Core stood. “We double our chances of getting caught if we split up.”

“Not technically,” said Red Field, “we need to account for the change in-”

“It’s decision time Red.” Chevron said. “Let’s do a quick vote and keep moving. All in favor of splitting up.” Both Red Field and Chevron held up their hooves, while Lithgow and Apple Core voted for sticking together. “All right, somepony’s gotta back down here.” Said Chevron. “We’re moving again in thirty seconds.”

“I guess we could go in pairs.” Said Lithgow.

“Good. Red, you and Apple Core peel off to the left. Where do you want to meet?” Asked Chevron. Red Field pulled the tiny map out of his pocket.

“We should just both make our way to the exfil point, it’s not worth it to meet any earlier.” He said. Chevron nodded and flicked his head to Lithgow.

“All right, we’re going to break right. See you guys at the exfil. Don’t cross any dirt roads.” This last part was half-joke half-warning. The two cadets who’d been kicked out on the first night of The Sieve had been “killed by mines” when they’d made the mistake of crossing a road during an evasion exercise.

“All raght, let’s beat their asses t’the camp.” Apple Core pushed himself from the tree and started off to the left. Red Field followed closely behind him.

Macmillan forest was anything but quiet at night. Countless katydids droned in the treetops, bathing the entire woods in a blanketing brown noise that made everypony talk a bit louder. The river churned out ribbits and croaks that echoed far into the woods. An owl would occasionally call into the night, reminding the creatures underfoot to hide in their burrows.
All of the noise set Red Field on edge. His ears had already grown exhausted, regained their sensitivity, then exhausted again over the past 30 hours as they had listened for the patrols combing the woods.

First Cavalry searched for them.
They’d been easy to avoid, the bulky masses of clumsy stallions toting battlepacks and rifles had crashed through the woods around, under and over the remaining Suburbanites.
But the following night saw the Airborne ponies on the hunt. Red Field had added upward into his catalogue of directions to glance when he heard something.
He hadn’t even started to worry about the last two days when the instructors themselves would go on a hunt for the exhausted applicants.

“Ya’ll hear something?” Both Red Field and Apple Core dropped to the ground. They’d only advanced about a hundred meters from the bank of the river. Red Field’s ears twitched as he listened. He caught a syllable of a word drifting toward them from deeper in the woods.

“Shit, get covered.” He said, crawling toward a rotting log. He wedged himself beneath the mushy bark and dug himself under. He saw Apple Core looking frantically for concealment. The woods were just starting to thicken as they moved away from the river and only a few pine trees stood around them. Red Field heard a conversation approaching and watched as Apple Core wriggled over to one of the pines. He slithered up to two hooves and pressed himself against the side opposite the incoming ponies. The white rays of a flashlight swept over the fallen log and Red Field huddled into the earth.

“Only midnight? Damn, I’ve still got two hours before I sneak off to bed.” Eight hooves slipped though the wet grass a few meters from him.

“We’re supposed to be out looking all night.”

“Fuck that, there’s no way we’ll find them; we never find any. It’s always UAT who gets them. Most of the guys go out for like two or three hours then catch some sleep at one of the outposts.” Red Field could feel the minute vibrations from their hoofbeats as they walked around the log.

“I dunno.”

“You having fun out here?” Asked the first. They passed the log and Red Field watched as the two Pegasi walked toward the water. “Okay, look, we’re at the river, let’s go back. We can circle around that Stonehenge place and then I’m calling it a night.”

“We should take a look around.”

“You think they’re going to hide in the river?”

“I don’t know, they could.”

“I was around one of their training things and they said to never stay out in the open. I’ll bet you a hundred bits there isn’t one of them within half a mile of here.”

“I guess.”

“Look.” The beam turned and for a single terrifying moment swept over Red Field and his log. “There’s nowhere to hide here. They’d avoid this place.”

“What about that tree?” The beam turned to the tree where Apple Core hid. He’d shifted to the other side and pulled himself as close to the bark as possible.

“Oh yes of course, they cross all this open ground to hide in that tree. Hell, let’s go shake it and knock them loose.” One took flight and shot toward the tree.

Apple Core grew stiff and Red Field knew he was panicking. In a single leap, taken from two hooves, Red Field’s partner caught the closest branch overhead and yanked himself up. He steadied himself for just a moment, and the branch dipped. Apple Core reached up and took hold of another branch. Red Field heard a crack and Apple Core froze.
The first Pegasus reached the tree.

“Oh look, nopony here.” He said walking around the base of the tree.

“I didn’t say they’d necessarily hide here.”

“Heh, backpedaling.” Apple Core stood just above them, his lower hooves tenuously balanced on a dipping branch. His forehooves held the smaller, broken branch overhead and his body twitched and tilted as he tried to keep his balance.

“I meant they’d hide in the branches.” Said the second Pegasus. The flashlight pointed up into the tree.

“Well shit, looks like they aren’t- oh my God!” The first Pegasus jumped back. “You’ve got to be-” Red Field shot him first. The Pegasus interrupted his “shitting me” with “oh my God!” as the paintball struck his back. The other Pegasus only had time to make a quarter turn before Red Field shot him in the neck.

“Oh God no!” He threw up his hooves and cowered away.

“You guys are dead.” Red Field said shakily. The sights on his pistol jittered as he held them over the closest Pegasi’s chest.

“Yeah, no shit asshole.” The first Pegasus was wiping his back. “Great, first to die.” He kicked the other Pegasus. “Had to check the fucking tree out didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t the one-” Apple Core hit the ground with a thump and rolled a few meters. Both Pegasi cried in fright again.

“Gawddammit.” Apple Core said, jogging toward Red Field.

“We need to leave now.” Red Field said.

“Double tahm.” The pair galloped toward the woods as the two Pegasi went back to bickering.

The woods thrashed and slapped by the two ponies. Running was a terrible idea, but so was killing patrols. They ran for about a kilometer or so before Apple Core grew winded. They came to stop in a patch of buckthorn. Both ponies laid down and tossed a few hooffulls of leaves over themselves.

“Gawddamn.” Apple Core pressed his head to the ground and panted. “Ah, thought ah was a goner.” He looked over at Red Field. “Ya’ll saved mah hahd back there.”

“No problem but as soon as those guys report that they’ve been killed, the others are going to come out in force.”
“Eyeah.” Apple Core gulped down some air. “Let’s trah an’ book it t’the camp. Are they gonna make lahk a perimeter around it, now that we’re made?”

“I don’t know.” Red Field didn’t want to consider this. “Let’s get moving.”

They rose and started once more through the forest.

Thirty hours had gone by since Red Field had slept, and he had been active for almost all of that time. His body was a little sore, though all things considered, he felt physically well.

His head suffered. A dizziness had overtaken him and every few steps felt as if he was growing off balance. His mind seemed to work fine, if a bit fuzzily. Every now and then he felt like he’d awoken from a sort of sleep and he’d blink a few times.

They descended into a ravine and as they climbed back out Red Field suddenly grew winded. His hooves kneaded the soft mud of the incline and he struggled to rise upward. Apple Core pressed past him and climbed out. He reached down and took Red Field by the shoulders and yanked the smaller pony up to him.

They lay in the leaves for a minute, catching their breath. Red Field looked up and saw the flatness of a stretch of road winding through the trees, only about twenty meters ahead of them.

They weren’t supposed to have come anywhere near a road.

“We went off course.” Said Red Field, drawing the map from his pocket. Apple Core looked over at him. His panting had a slight wheeze and he wiped some dirt from his snout.

“Where we at nao?” Red Field pushed the map between them.

“We’re somewhere along this little road.” The tiny road stretched for several miles and was an offshoot of one of the larger roads that led out from the entrance to camp.

“How do we git back on track?”

“We need to cross the road.”

“Fuck, ya’ll sure?”

“We can’t waste time wandering around trying to determine-” Began Red Field.

“Alraght alrahgt, let’s make a plan t’cross.” Occasionally Apple Core decided that he needed to maintain Chevron’s curt impoliteness. Red Field did not feel that this suited him. But again, Red Field’s anger couldn’t seem to last.

They waited for five minutes without seeing any patrols pass by. The road was only about seven meters wide and Red Field estimated they could cross in under two seconds.

Red Field crouched in a hollow beside the road. He waited for a second, then bolted across the thin strip of gravel. He dove into the foliage on the other side. He pressed himself to the floor of the forest and listened intently for any sounds of a patrol. Apple Core clopped across the road after him. The Apple pony nearly landed on top of Red Field as he dove to prone. He rustled and jimmied around in the leaves for a few loud moments as he tried to hide himself.

“Ah think we’re safe.” Said Apple Core. They waited for five more minutes. A few clouds had slipped over the moon and the forest went dim. Red Field eased himself to his hooves and started to slink forward again. Apple Core followed behind him.

The clouds obscured the only source of light for Red Field to read the map and he turned to Apple Core.

“I still don’t know where we are, what we need-”

“Whut? Ya’ll had us cross a road t’figure out where we were!”

“I didn’t say we’d specifically know where we were.”

“Ya’ll fuckin’ said we need t’cross the road t’see where we’re at.”

Red Field took a deep breath and bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, I said something stupid, I’m tired.” He shook his head. “I can’t make out what the map says now but I know what should be ahead, depending on what we run into.” Apple Core sighed and shook his head as well.

“Alrahgt, let’s go.” He gave Red Field a pat on the shoulder. “Sorry fer snappin’ at ya’ll, Forever One Team.”

Forever One Team was the motto of UAT training. The Suburbanites were taught the motto on their first day of training and recited it every day at formation. According to their instructors, the Suburbanites needed to learn what it meant to fight as a team. They needed to learn how to work and focus as a single entity to accomplish their missions. As Blackwater put it, they needed to “Evolve into an organism of six armed ponies that all fought with one mind.” Red Field was a little afraid of conceding his mind into a melting pot and doubted he could achieve that level of cooperation with anypony.

But he’d learned to get along, at least a bit.
He gave Apple Core a pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Forever One Team.”

Red Field grew fully alert as they wound their way through the forest. Thankfully, the moon returned and Red Field caught sight of one of the outposts used in the wargames. From there he determined they’d actually gotten quite close to their destination. The forest slid down a gently sloping hill that led to the exfil zone. The moon was back out and every time they dashed through a damning patch of moonlight Red Field grew more and more nervous that they were going to be discovered. Apple Core grew winded and he continually trailed behind Red Field as they scurried from tree to tree.

“Fuck, ah gotta stahp.” Apple Core bumped against the tree as he dashed to Red Field. He crouched down and panted. “Jus’ gimme a minute.”

Red Field looked ahead. They’d covered most of the distance to the exfil point with only about two hundred meters to go.

Apple Core looked up at Red Field.

“There ain’t no cover, how’re we gonna make that?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” Red Field shook off an unexpected nap. “Let’s get to a better vantage point and go from there.”

A thick oak stood on the fringe of the forest. It grew on the edge of the clearing that surrounded the exfil zone and offered enough cover to hide both of them. Red Field and Apple Core sprinted the last fifty meters to the tree. Red Field was growing tired again and his overworked mind was still processing how they should cover the open ground as they dashed up to the tree.

“Fuck, ah gotta take anothir breather ‘fore ah-” Somepony grabbed Apple Core and pulled a hoof over his mouth. Somepony grabbed Red Field from the darkness beneath the tree and shoved their hoof into his mouth. He drove a hoof back into the pony’s belly and twisted away from his attacker. The pony recoiled in pain and Red Field drew his hoofgun. He heard several other ponies around him. He drew a bead on his assailant and fired a shot into their shoulder. He was in the process of dropping down and rolling over to shoot whoever was behind him.

“Friendly fire.” Said somepony speaking in the loudest voice he’d heard all night.

“Goddamn it who fired?” Whispered somepony. Red Field recognized the voices. They were other Suburbanites.

“Shit, what the fuck did you shoot me for?” The other pony grabbed Red Field and pulled him up. “Does it count if a teammate shoots us?”

“On our six! They heard that, go, now!” Shouted somepony.
The other ponies began to rush past Red Field and into the open toward the exfil point. Red Field was instantly in full gallop from the trees. He ran out into the grass and down the hill. Four other ponies ran alongside him. The beat of Pegasi wings traveled through the air around them.

Red Field hit the ring of flares at full tilt. He stopped a few centimeters from the administrative tent. The other ponies shot by and around him. Red Field was gasping for breath and had fallen onto his side. His head swam and he rolled over in the grass as vertigo rocked his brain.

“Well now.” Reflective Belt stepped from the tent. He surveyed the group of Suburbanites as they caught their breath.
“Looks like most of you made the run.” He looked over them and back into the field they’d just run from as two patrols of Airborne reached them. “How many did you hit?” He asked the Pegasi. Red Field looked back. A group ten Pegasi, all carrying paintball KKATs stood on the edge of the circle. They shook their heads.

“Let’s see- you guys are still missing two ponies.” Reflective Belt said.

Nopony spoke. Red Field saw several more patrols of Pegasi circle the clearing and land around the exfil point.

“All right, let’s load up and make a full sweep forward.” One of the Pegasi pointed toward the oak “That’s their only means of getting here so we just have to work forward from there.” The other groups agreed and soon the entirety of the airborne detachment flew off in a wave to find the Chevron and Lithgow.

Nopony in the exfil zone said anything for a bit. The tired Suburbanites sat in the grass and tried to get some rest.

“So who fired the shot back there?” Reflective Belt strolled around the group. He’d administered each of the physical tests for the Suburbanites and was one of the few admitted sadists of the instructors. The fluorescent yellow unicorn tilted his head to the side almost constantly and peered down at them like a hawk.

“I did sir.” Red Field said.

“What were you shooting private?”

“Nothing sir, just dropped my gun.”

“You’re supposed to be the sniper out of all of these grunts and you can’t even hold your gun?” His gaze flicked off of Red Field. “Oh, what happened to your shoulder private?” He asked somepony behind Red Field. The other pony, who had removed his jacket, bore a red welt the size of a paint round on his shoulder.

“Hit it on a branch sir.” Said the pony.

“Just made that little round spot?”

“I ran into it, sorta impaled me sir.” Reflective Belt’s tilted head turned back at Red Field.

“Is that a fact.” He looked to the group of seated stallions. “How many of you would corroborate that? How about a full MSRP for anypony who can tell me a story that doesn’t involve dropped hoofguns and impaling sticks?”

One of the flares burnt out and the circle grew almost imperceptibly darker.

“Forever One Team.” Said Reflective Belt. He pulled a flare from his belt and slashed the fuse. It popped and sparked and illuminated his body a brilliant red. “It’s a good thing that wasn’t a live “branch” you ran into private.” He lobbed the flare onto the dead one and walked back to his tent.

An hour had passed and Red Field was asleep. The fiery glow of the flares burned through his eyelids and the grass soaked through his uniform and chilled him, but Red Field was deeply asleep. The sounds of chattering gunfire and shouting snapped him back to consciousness. A few of the Suburbanites were standing on the edge of the circle. They were looking to the surrounding woods.

A few Pegasi fluttered out of the trees but continued to look back into the dark forest. One shouted something and the other two fired into the woods. Other Pegasi flew overhead.

“They must have spotted them.” Said one of the Suburbanites. Red Field looked to the forest. He heard more gunfire and the crackle of the Airborne ponies’ radios. The Pegasi overhead spotted something and flew into the trees at Red Field’s two-o-clock. They called in reinforcements. Red Field stopped breathing as they opened fire on the oak where Red Field had accidentally shot his teammate.

Two figures, one limping, the other half carrying him, were jogging toward the exfil point, about fifty meters from where the Pegasi were searching.

Chevron stumbled as he reached the exfil point. He staggered a bit, then righted himself. Lithgow limped after him.

“Private first class Chevron reporting in sir.” Reflective Belt had been facing away from them watching the antics of the Airborne with an expression of amusement. He swung around on them.

“Well! This is a surprise. I thought you’d been cut down out there.” He said, smiling at the sight of the last two Surburbanites.

“Was a bit touch and go at the end there.” Lithgow was grinning, but winced in pain as he took a step forward. “Hit a few roots and rocks but nothing too severe.” There was blood on his pant leg. Red Field felt his stomach grow more upset.
“One of you assholes must have flipped those guys the X ‘cause we were only about a quarter click behind you when we heard that huge patrol coming for us.” Chevron laid in the grass with the other Suburbanites. “So we tried to flank them, then just ran for it.” He was shaking with adrenaline. “Longest run of my life; which one of you dickbags tipped ‘em off?” He laughed, but nopony spoke.

Reflective Belt inserted himself into the circle.

“Gentleponies. The time is now 0200 hundred, your next phase of operation takes place at 0500. ” Reflective Belt walked back into the tent. The Suburbanites were asleep before he shut the flap.

Red Field dreamed about standing on the verge of a bottomless pit. Guilt mixed with adrenaline and he toppled into the darkness.

The Towel Maker spat a belt of ammo and rounds snapped through the air overhead. The gunner had reloaded and once more opened fire on the advancing cadets.

Red Field dove into a crater. The small bowl was just deep enough to allow him to hide and Red Field pressed his body to the ground. The topmost edge of his rump stood above the edge of the crater and he quickly flipped himself over. For ten long seconds the machine gun fired over the dunes. The machine gun quieted and he heard the clink of belted ammo as the gunner reloaded.

Red Field was the explosives carrier. He’d been given that job so that he didn’t fuck anything up. Carrying a satchel stuffed with plastic explosives was the least demanding or risky position of the operation of the day.

They had undergone another two days of UAT training since the night Red Field nearly got Chevron and Lithgow killed. The Suburbanites had performed aerial extractions, overrun a small outpost manned by a group double their size, and had a total of six hours of sleep. An unseen specter of sleep stalked each pony and caught them whenever they stopped moving.
Red Field was only awake long enough to make sure he wasn’t going to get shot, then passed out.

The story behind the exercise went that they had been on their way out of an operation, then their chariot had come under fire and they’d been downed in the Neigharan Desert. They were scattered, given a few magazines of ammo and some explosives and told to eliminate the threat of the MG nest inside of the bunker of the shooting range. Three hundred meters, near total exhaustion, and a lack of planning stood between them and the PMG-47. The Suburbanites had progressed fifty meters in twenty minutes.

“Red? Red?” The rectangle of his radio stirred him and Red Field shook the sand off of his face as he opened his eyes to the scorching sun above.

“Affirmative.” He said, blinking away the sleep.

“We’re getting ready to push on the right side, can you see the gunner from where you’re at?” Chevron had become the acting leader of the Suburbanites. Red Field poked his head up and peered through the swirling mirage to the bunker.

“Uh, yeah. He’s-” The paint-filled bullets reached him an instant after the report of the revived machine gun. Two puffs of sand jumped up before his snout. “Fuck.” Red Field writhed deeper into the crater. “He’s firing on me.”

“All right all right, keep your head. I’m going to ready up everypony over here, you tell me when he stops focusing on you.” The barrage of fire continued to eat away at the sand in front of Red Field’s shelter. Red Field closed his eyes and fell back asleep, even as his heart pounded.

“Red? Red? Goddamn it, where the fuck are you?” Chevron shouted.

“He’s not firing.” A light layer of sand had covered Red Field and he shook it off as he awoke and listened for the Towel Maker.

“Yeah no shit, he’s reloading now. Get your shit together Red, we need to know where he’s focused.” Chevron said. Red Field heard the whizzing and snapping of direct fire through the radio.

“He’s shooting at you.” Red Field said, still half-asleep.

“What? Jesus Christ Red, get your shit together.” Chevron scuffled a bit. “Hey! You two, get ready to move, he’s firing short bursts.” Red Field blinked away some sleep.

“If he’s firing lower pressure paint rounds then he’ll be able to fire longer without changing barrels since it’s less powder and heat.” Red Field said distantly.

“What? Oh, shit, you’re right. Okay, new plan. Hey, Barn Stormer, get back, he can still-” Red Field heard a decidedly loud series of thuds. Somepony shouted and he heard Chevron panting. “Shit! Need a medic, anypony got medical?” Red Field’s eyes opened. Thus far nopony had been injured “Yeah, Storm is hit, left shoulder. Goddamn, there’s an instructor coming out here.” The Towel Maker ceased fire and Red Field heard nothing for a few moments. “What? Yeah, left shoulder. Yes sir.” Chevron said.

“All right! Back at it!” Shouted Midlothian from the bunker. The Towel Maker resumed fire.

“Fuck, Red, we got to move, now. We have a bleedout timer on Barn Stormer and we can only add two minutes with medical. That gives us seven minutes to take out that MG and pop a flare for extraction.” He shouted an order for everypony to get away from the top of the foxhole. “Goddamn it I don’t know what the fuck we’re supposed to do.”

The sun heated away what little water was left in Red Field’s fatigued body, and he was running on the very last of his adrenaline. Yet Red Field experienced something beyond the hallucination he was expecting. He saw the long stretch of sand between them and their objective, he saw their position, their speed relative to the reflexes of the gunner and the accuracy of the weapon at that range coupled with its underpressure ammo.

“Flank hard right, tell everypony on the left side of me to flank hard left." Said Red Field. "Tell everypony to spread out and throw up as much dust as they can. We need to divide his attention and space out his targets.” He peeked up at the bunker.

“Red we have no cover.” Red Field undid the bandolier from his chest. He again peeked over the side of his cover. He saw a bit of mane standing out from the sand about twenty meters to his right.

“I’m going to throw you some explosives and a detonator. Use the charges to make craters to use for cover; don’t use the dust cloud to advance. Once you blow the charges, he’ll focus on the explosion and assume you’re going to run for it so let the left side move.” Red Field hurled the bag of charges to toward the mane.

“How are we going to breach the bunker?” Asked Chevron.

“We’re not.” Red Field checked the MG nest again. “We’re going to pop the flare on the roof and shoot anypony who tries to get out.” The Towel Maker saw the black mane standing out and directed its fury at him. Red Field slunk down the bowl. “Let’s move.”

“Copy that.”

At first the plan worked. In three minutes they’d covered two hundred meters. Then they ran low on charges.
Red Field laid in the deep bowl created by one of the chunks of explosive. With him were two of the other Suburbanites. They’d consolidated their groups and now two squads of ponies were taking diagonal routes toward the machine gun.

“Red, we’re running out of time.” Chevron said. “I’m gonna throw my last one and make a smoke screen to cover a run on him.”

“He’s going to read that.” Said Red Field.

“We’ve got nothing else.” Said Chevron. Red Field sank down in the bowl. He felt over his vest for his combat knife.

Red Field pushed the blade into the final block of tan explosive and cut a third off of the block.

“Chevron!” He said into the radio.

“Right here Red.”

“We’re going to run that plan of yours. Only you need to wait to see where he’s shooting. If you’re under fire, don’t move.” Red Field turned to the ponies that sat with him. Apple Core and another pony named Win Mag were his squad. Both were crusted with sand that had turned a dark brown from sweat. Both of their faces were taut with stress and exhaustion.
“Stay with me, we’re going to make a run for it. Chevron, throw your charge in five seconds.” He stuck a detonator into the larger of the two blocks.

In a moment he lobbed it up and out of the crater.

The two charges detonated almost simultaneously. The desert grew momentarily quiet as the pattering rain of sand and pebbles filled the air. Red Field heard the ripping noise of Towel Maker.

He didn’t wait to hear Chevron shout he was under fire. Red Field bolted out of the crater and into the open desert. He saw the cloud of sand churning in the air fifty meters ahead of him. He heard the hoofbeats of Apple Core and Win Mag behind him.

The gunner, wary of the pair of smokescreens, turned and fired a burst into the cloud that Red Field charged toward. A few rounds zipped past Red Field and he heard one hit somepony.

They hit the crater and everypony dove into the belly of the indentation. Win Mag shouted he’d been hit.

Red Field threw the next charge with all of his might. The lump stuck to the face of the bunker like a spitball, just under the smoking barrel of the PMG. Red Field detonated the charge as he got to his hooves.

The tiny explosive had only cracked the thick wall, but it had thrown up a cloud of sand that now obscured the view of the gunner. The Towel Maker threw four rounds before the belt ended. The bolt dropped against an empty chamber as Red Field reached the bunker.

His head knocked against the concrete and the sand whirled around him. He walked to the door on the side of the bunker. The coldness he’d felt during the sandbag test returned, unexpectedly. Red Field turned and stood beside the hinges of the door before banging on it.

The door popped open and a burst of fire from a KKAT greeted the open air. Red Field stood waiting behind the opened door like a peculiar sort of surprise guest. He stood on two hooves. The cage of the rifle’s flash hider pivoted curiously around the door toward him.

Red Field shoved the barrel of the rifle downward with his left foreleg, before pulling the gun toward himself. Reflective Belt lost his balance as Red Field yanked his rifle. He took a staggering step out of the doorway to keep from falling. Reflective Belt looked up at Red Field as Red Field’s hoof caught him under the chin.
Red Field couldn’t feel how much strength remained in his body. He felt his hoof crack and Reflective Belt fell forward into the sand. Red Field tore the rifle from him and entered the bunker.

The rest of the Suburbanites were galloping toward the bunker. The sand fell away as they were still forty meters from the gun. The gunner of the Towel Maker drew back the charging handle and shouldered the machine gun.

It was Midlothian.

The paintball exploded on his temple in a burst of bright pink. Midlothian yelled in pain and grabbed at his face. Red Field swung a foreleg around his neck, pulling Midlothian off of the gun. Red Field started to tighten his grip when Midlothian’s thick hoof caught him upside the chin. The blow nearly knocked Red Field out and he fell onto the floor.

“Fuck!” Midlothian still held the side of his face. “What the fuck?” Lithgow and a few other Suburbanites peered in the door.
“I’m dead goddamn it!” Shouted Midlothian. He held up his other hoof against the impending hail of paintballs.

“Clear the rest of the bunker.” Chevron said as he bolted inside. “Somepony pop the flare on the roof, we’re almost out of time.”

Red Field was still lying on his back. His head pulsated from the blow. Black spots swelled in his peripheral vision and he heard his wheezing breath echo through the bunker.

“Goddamn it.” Midlothian wiped some of the paintball off of his face. “Most snipers know a target is dead after being shot in the head.” He looked down at Red Field. The pink paint ran off of a purple welt. “Also, did you fucking forget about the standoff range? No kills at less than three meters.” Midlothian gave one of the crates of ammo a sharp kick as he nursed his face. “Where the hell is Reflective Belt?” The other instructor lay face down in the sand and his hooves were just visible through the open door. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Midlothian ran out of the bunker.

Reflective Belt came to after a few seconds.

He looked around and Midlothian asked him if he was all right. Reflective Belt nodded but couldn’t speak, and Midlothian turned on Red Field.

On two hooves, Red Field was nearly as tall as Midlothian. He held Reflective Belt’s rifle at his side.

“Should I have gone easier on you?” He asked. Midlothian stared at him for several seconds, his tiny eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Red Field stared back.

Midlothian burst out laughing. He laughed for a couple of seconds, before rubbing his temple and swearing in pain.

“Well shit, you sure didn’t seem like a UAT pony.” He held out a hoof to Red Field. “You’re getting a pass from me.” He looked back at Reflective Belt. “I think he’ll make a good sniper.”

Red Field brohoofed Midlothian and went back into the bunker. The other Suburbanites were sitting around a picnic table loaded with fresh hay and sports drinks. Bombs Away stood behind them and welcomed them into the fraternity of the deadliest ponies in Equestria. Midlothian slapped Red Field on the back and said their new sniper was up to the job. Red Field smiled and put away the knife he held under the stock of the KKAT. He didn’t know when he’d drawn it, or even why.

Red Field slept for twelve hours after UAT basic. He’d collapsed in the shower and had required the assistance of the other cadets to carry him back to his barracks. Chevron told everypony that Red Field alone had brought them through their last test.

As he regained consciousness, Red Field took several seconds to get his bearings. Once his head began to clear, a hunger tore through his stomach with such ferocity he feared he might not have the strength for the walk to the mess hall. The wall clock gave the time of 1830 and the evening air was still and warm within the barracks. Red Field found a packet of dried hay under Black Rain’s bed and sat chewing while he tried to recover. His memory of the last day or two of UAT training was gone.

Red Field was finishing the last of the hay when Bren entered the barracks.

“Oh shit, you’re up.” Bren walked to the bed and held up his hoof. “Nice job.”

“Uh, thanks.” Said Red Field.

“Brohoof?” Asked Bren after a second. Red Field held out his hoof and Bren gave it a firm clop. The clunk of their hooves stirred Red Field’s mind. “I know you’re not into showing a lot of emotion, but you have to be excited.”

“Yeah.” Red Field sat up a bit. “I guess I am.”

“Comes with a pay raise.” Red Field had forgotten he was getting paid. “Plus you get to shoot all the cool guns.” Red Field nodded. “So I saw you’ve been teaching Siplinski electrical stuff; that’s pretty cool.”

“How did you know?”

“Came home early a while back when you were reading to him. I didn’t come in since he’s all paranoid about his dad not wanting him to be an electrician.” Bren shrugged. “But you know more about that than I do. Anyway, I’m glad somepony can teach him.” Bren paused. “Rain found out about you being UAT.”

“How did he take it?”

“Dunno.” Bren shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything, I just know he noticed you were gone a lot. He went around asking everybody at every post where you were.”

Siplinski pushed open the door with his horn, he carried a plate of steaming food in his mouth. He saw Red Field and his eyes widened.

“Mph!” He rushed over to his bed and laid the plate on his bedspread. “Red! Why are you here?!”

“I was sleeping.” Said Red Field.

“No, like why now?” Siplinski looked at his watch. “You’ve got like four minutes to get to the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“The UAT meet and greet thing. I don’t know what you guys do but I know it’s a big deal and you’re supposed to be there right now.” Siplinski pointed to the door.

“Where?” Red Field scrambled off of the bed.

“The mess hall!” Said Siplinski, laughing a bit. “Damn, you nearly missed it!” Red Field yanked on his uniform and tried to sprint to the mess hall. Having just awakened from the slumber of half a day, Red Field’s muscles also needed to rouse from slumber and he toddled as fast as he could.

Red Field burst into the mess hall and felt the shame of somepony causing a lot of noise in a room of quiet. The other Suburbanites were grouped by the door and looked back at him as he entered. Everypony looked back at him. The room was full of groups of uniformed stallions, about fifty in total, sitting at the tables around the room.

“And our final guest decides to show up.” Bombs Away stood in the center of the room, atop a table. The stocky stallion stood stalwart, surveying the small squad of Suburbanites. Red Field took his place with his training mates. “That will conclude the pleasantries. When I call your name, head to your Urban Assault Team; Chevron, team one.” One of the groups of UATs gave a cheer and Chevron, who looked like he’d just awoken himself, walked briskly to his team. Bombs Away shouted the next name.

“High Speed, Team Two. Low Drag, Team Two.” Red Field glanced around the room. Save for the one brief moment in the first wargame, he’d never seen UAT ponies. The seated stallions looked eerily serious, and he looked to his hooves as a few matched his gaze and stared him down. “Red Field, Red Field.” He looked up. “Recon.”

“Uh yes sir.” Red Field said nervously.

“Win Mag, Team Four. Apple Core, Team Four.” Nopony had called to Red Field and he glanced around the room in search of his team. The UATs continued to look for their new members and paid no attention to him. The last few Suburbanites walked away from the door, leaving Red Field alone.

Bombs Away was rereading his list, the other ponies were settling into their new teams, and the room was starting to grow noisy with the low, rumbling talk of the soldiers. Red Field had tracked the entire room. Most of the teams had ponies, and the ones that didn’t were joining those that did.

He heard snickering behind him and somepony poked his shoulder.

“Hey, right here.” Behind him sat four stallions. Two of them were chuckling to one another. The pony who’d poked Red Field motioned to a seat. “We’re your team.”

The chuckling stallions were a pair of black and white unicorns. One of them whispered to the other as Red Field seated himself. The pony who’d poked Red Field put out his hoof for a friendly brohoof.

“I’m Chesterfield.” The off-grey pony’s voice had a simple, country intonation. Red Field brohoofed him.

“I’m Blackout.” The black unicorn placed a thick hoof on his chest. “Second in command and support gunner.”

“I’m Wildcat.” The white pony sounded the oldest of the three, though all three were probably within five years of Red Field’s age. “Medic.”

“I’m usually assigned to navigation and LRRPs.” Said Chesterfield. “So we’ll probably-”

“And turkey shooting.” Said Wildcat. Chesterfield chuckled in embarrassment to this.

“That too I guess.” He added. The final pony, a light tan unicorn, pushed himself off of the wall.

“Locked Breech. Captain of Urban Assault Team Recon.” Red Field saluted him. “You’re Red Field.”

“Yes sir.”

“Tell me why you should be on this team.” Locked Breech sat back against the wall. Red Field laughed, then realized he was serious.

“We all know your training results; this is an interview.” Blackout said. He motioned to the seated ponies. “We all have to agree on you before you join.”

“Well.” Red Field hadn’t considered that he would need to be accepted by his new team. “I am intelligent.”

“Yeah, sure are.” Wildcat nodded. “We noticed that on your file.”

They had a file?

“I’m fit to perform all of the duties of a UAT member.”

“So are about a million ponies.” Said Locked Breech. “I can tell you haven’t done this before. Tell me something about you that makes me want you on my team.” He sat back against the wall.

“I can analyze situations effectively.”

“The hell does that mean?” Wildcat laughed as he spoke.

“I find the most efficient methods of accomplishing goals and take into consideration factors that others don’t notice.”

“You sound like a handypony.” Said Chesterfield.

“Sounds like a sniper.” Locked Breech again leaned across the table toward Red Field. “Tell me, how does your mind work under pressure?”

“It works, sir.”

“I was reading in your training report that you used explosives to create a smokescreen during your downed chariot exercise.” Said Locked Breech. Red Field’s pride swelled.

“Yes sir.”

“Do you think your mind could work that fast when somepony is actually bleeding out?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Yes sir.”

“You know, there’s about a thousand times more risk operating with UAT than with Cavalry.” Said Blackout.

“Yes sir.”

“That’s about a thousand times more risk of getting killed.”

“Yes sir.”

“So what makes you so comfortable with all of this risk?”

“I believe in myself.” Red Field hesitated. “I believe in this team, you seem capable. I believe that there’s nothing a well-organized group off ponies can’t accomplish.” He folded his hooves. “I can bring a level of watchfulness to your team that will keep everypony much safer.”

Team Three looked at one another. Blackout seemed to want to ask another question but Locked Breech got to his hooves and motioned for the rest of the team to do the same.

“Your training results are good. If Belligerence signs off on you, then you have a place with us.” He said.

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field.

“Good meeting you Red Field.” Chesterfield gave him a polite pat on the shoulder.

“Tip for making us like you,” Blackout flicked his head at Red Field, “Bring something useful to the table. Make yourself indispensable.”

“If Belligerence passes him as a sniper, then he’ll be indispensable to us.” Said Locked Breech.

Day one of sniper training began at a comfortable 0900. Red Field donned his uniform after a relaxing meal in bed, then strolled over to Belligerence’s house. He allowed a group of jogging Airborne Pegasi to pass in front of him. After so many days of training, he took deep, relaxing breaths of the humid air as he walked at his own pace. Red Field stretched his legs out as he waited for the elderly pony to answer the door.

“Oh, Red Field. You’re early.” Belligerence held a steaming mug of coffee and his mane was flattened and uncombed.

“Oh.” Red Field had arrived at 0900 exactly, but knew to humor his teacher. “Sorry.”

“Well hey, come on inside.” Belligerence stepped aside. Red Field hesitated at the informal invitation, then entered.
The house smelled like wood varnish and Red Field saw a chair standing atop a blanket of newspapers in the adjacent room. The wood was half-treated and a can of varnish stood beside the chair. Belligerence ambled to the kitchen and Red Field followed him.

“I’ve been so busy with my grandkids’ letters and birthdays that I barely remembered the hobbies that are supposed to keep me from doing my work.” Red Field realized this was a joke and laughed accordingly. Belligerence seated himself at the dinner table with a groan. “Been, oh, at least a decade since I trained Midlothian.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Hope I can remember everything.” He added with a wink.

“I’m sure you will sir.” Red Field was still standing and Belligerence looked at him. Belligerence didn’t say anything and Red Field grew uncomfortable. “So, what, uh, are we doing today?”

“Oh, lots of stuff.” Said Belligerence aimlessly. He sipped his coffee. “Probably shoot some stuff, maybe talk a bit.” He looked over at the chair in his living room. “You ever do any woodwork?”

“No sir.”

“Ah, well, I never did and now I’m trying to figure it out in my old age.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it sir.” Said Red Field.

“Now, help me remember, was recoil your problem back in Beast?”

“Uh, yes sir, the recoil of the rifles was the main factor causing a flinch in my shooting.” Said Red Field. Belligerence nodded as he took another sip of coffee.

“Well, I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to take out the factors that cause a flinch.”

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Son, you need to get a personality. Ponies without personalities scare me.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Not your fault. Everypony has a personality, we’ll get to yours in time.” Belligerence issued another groan and stood. “In the meantime you can head over to Site at the armory and ask him for a full-size can in .343.” Belligerence set the mug in the sink. “I have to get my ruck together. I’ll meet you at the chariots in ten minutes, sound good?”

“Yes sir.”

“Full size, .343.”

“Yes sir.”

Red Field still wasn’t sure what he thought of his teacher. Belligerence genuinely seemed like a dull old pony, and not a sniper instructor. Red Field had spent three months surrounded by shouting, swearing stallions that were thick with muscle and generalized, omnidirectional anger. And now the pony they all alleged was the deadliest out of everypony was attempting to take up woodworking and was probably fighting arthritis.

Red Field also didn’t know what a can was.
He’d gone over a few different possibilities in his mind before he reached the oversized shed that was the armory. The shack had no window on the door and Red Field could hear and feel the vibrating buzz of some power tool from the inside. He knocked. In a second the buzzing stopped and the door cracked open a bit.
Site’s bearded countenance peered out of the dark shack at Red Field.

“Need something?”

“Uh, yes, my name is Red Field. I’ve been sent over by Belligerence for a full size can in .343.”

“Sure, I can see what I’ve got. Come on in.” Site opened the door and Red Field stepped into the warm workshop.
The workshop was a controlled mess. A long table ran along the opposite wall, covered in a blanket of parts and tools.

About a dozen KKATs were stacked against the wall, a single Towel Maker was propped up on a shelf, and countless hoofguns littered the table. Site stepped around a few ammo crates to a bin that sat in the corner. No music played in the machine shop and the room fell silent as the gunsmith dug through his workspace.

“Three forty three you said?” Site pulled a case of plain, metal cans from the bin. All were painted either a flat black or flat dark earth.

“Yes, he said full size.”

“Good, my last compact got mangled and I still need to piece the core back together.” He tossed the cans back into the bin and walked back to Red Field with one of the longer black tubes. “This should do the trick.”

“Thank you sir.”

“So you’re the new sniper.” Site leaned against the table.

“Yes sir.”

“Didn’t we meet back on like the first day of Beast?”

“I think so.” Said Red Field. Site squinted and cocked his head.

“Don’t remember what the context was.” He said distantly. “But I don’t remember you pissing me off.” He looked down at Red Field. “I’m sure Belligerence has told you by now not to piss off your gunsmith.” Red Field had heard no such thing from anypony and had no idea why it mattered what Site thought of him.

“Uh, yes of course.”

“Well Red Field, looking forward to getting to know you while I build your rifle.” Red Field didn’t know Site would build him anything.

“Me too.” He said, giving a firm nod.

“Oh hang on.” Site took the can from Red Field. He held it like a jar of mayonnaise and twisted one end. “Yeah, that should hold.” He said after a moment. “Can’t have a round take the whole thing downrange.” He held the can out to Red Field.

“Haha, course not.” Said Red Field.

Red Field left the armory with the device in his backpack. Apparently Site would build him a rifle, and “cans” could get shot during routine usage, and one should never antagonize their gunsmith.

Red Field reached the fenced lot of chariots and saw Belligerence loading a thick rucksack into one.

“Did he give you a hard time?” Asked Belligerence, inspecting the can. “I remember him and Midlothian butting heads occasionally.” Red Field shook his head and Belligerence tossed the can into the back seat of the chariot. “You ready to become a sniper?”

“Yes sir.” Replied Red Field.

“Well all right, let’s get it done.” Belligerence climbed into the driver’s seat of the chariot and took off.

Belligerence had carelessly placed his cap atop his head. The hat slumped a bit to the side as he set his rucksack atop one of the shooting benches. A burning desert wind licked the tops of the dunes and blew sand around the pair’s hooves. Belligerence whistled to himself as he unzipped the bag and pulled out the old rifle Red Field had seen hanging in his basement.

“First thing a sniper should know is his equipment.” Belligerence held the rifle out to Red Field. “What can you tell me about this?” Red Field took the rifle and eased open the bolt to check if it was empty. Belligerence gave an approving humph.

“Well, it appears to be a basic Wilhelm action.” Red Field knew a little about the old rifle, but most of the books in Mr. Whittaker’s collection had been written on the Storm Rifle and not the archaic firearm before him. “Integral box magazine, five rounds.” He ran out of things to say and looked at the scope. “Um, three to nine power scope.”

“What don’t you see on that rifle?”

“Um.”

“Crap.” Belligerence took the rifle back and set the buttstock on the table. “I call this rifle Fudd. Back before the bans, this rifle would have cost you a few days’ worth of work and it shoots like it too. This is a cheap piece of sporting equipment. It’s quality made, but it’s nothing that it doesn’t look like and it sure as heck doesn’t put the fear of God in anypony when they look at it.”

“Yes sir?” Said Red Field. Belligerence set the rifle on the shooting bench and looked around.

“Oh heck, must be inside. Follow me.” Red Field followed Belligerence into the cool sanctuary of the bunker. Belligerence walked to a locked trapdoor hidden by the wall of the concrete cavern. He unlocked it and led Red Field down a clammy set of concrete stairs and into a chilly underground chamber. He flicked a switch and the pale ambience of a few old light bulbs lit the room. They’d entered a supply closet. It was filled with stacks of metal and plastic crates. Belligerence set
“Fudd” down on one and began digging through the piles of boxes.

“That’ll do.” Belligerence slid out a crate labeled “DMR” and clicked the latch open.

The rifle that Belligerence pulled from the crate looked like a Christmas tree of death. Long, black and polymer, it resembled a KKAT variant, but it sported a lengthier barrel that ended in a spiked flash hider. A long tube of a scope with four to five dials was clamped atop the receiver. A spring loaded bipod sat beneath the barrel and the tiny TV screen of a red dot sight was mounted at a forty five offset to the scope. The L shaped stock adjusted for comb height and length of pull. Even the trigger was customized with a thin cushion taped to the center of the bow.

“Now this,” Belligerence slid back the charging handle and checked the chamber, “is more of your generation of weapon.” He held it out to Red Field. The DMR sank down in Red Field’s arms and he stepped forward to accommodate the weight. “Comes with this.” Belligerence lifted a scratched black calculator out of the box. He looked at the calculator, then tossed it to Red Field. “Does everything for you. Calculates holds for wind, drop, barometric pressure, then some stuff that I’ve never heard of.” Belligerence picked up Fudd. He clopped a hoof against the laminated grain of Fudd’s wooden body. “There isn’t really a competition between these two. Yours does everything but make a cappuccino and it’ll outshoot mine every day of the week and even on Sundays. Stock’s a lot better and you can put a can or a brake or whatever you want on it.” He pointed at Red Field. “One of the worst mistakes a sniper can make is caring too much about his equipment. Fudd here did its job when it needed to.” His laugh echoed up the stairs. “Nowadays you colts are shooting from mountaintop to mountaintop with all of your new gadgets. But you’re going to be dead real fast if you think anything but your training and your brain are what make you effective.”

“Yes sir.”

“You see that rifle as the tool of your time. It’s no different than Fudd and you need to know everything the system will and won’t do. Only difference between that rifle and mine is in the metal, not the pony behind it. A sniper changes his rifle to suit him, the rifle never changes what it means to be a sniper.”

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field.

Belligerence chuckled.

“Call me by my name Private, it’s just going to be the two of us for quite some time and I’d like to get started on that personality of yours.”

“Okay.” Red Field winced internally at the strange intimacy. “Belligerence.”

“Good, now let’s go shoot some stuff.”

Belligerence sat the DMR down on the bench. He’d just returned from setting up targets at a hundred meters and wiped a layer of sweat from his wrinkled brow.

“Lord, that desert’s a killer.” He fanned himself with his cap. “Feel free to start wailing away at that target on the right. Try a couple rounds then we’ll check out your group. Let’s start by getting on paper.” Red Field nodded and picked up the box of cartridges. He began loading the magazine.

“Oh, hang on.” Belligerence knelt beside Red Field. “Should have made this lesson number one.” He picked up the magazine and a few rounds. “You don’t load like that, you’ll cut up your fetlocks and it’s ten times harder than it needs to be.” He held up a round, then pressed it between the feedlips of the magazine without sliding it.

“Yes sir.”

“Belligerence.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Belligerence chuckled again as he seated himself at the adjacent table. Belligerence’s method of loading was easier and Red Field paused after loading ten rounds. “Uh, how many sir?”

“As many as you see fit Red Field.”

Red Field clicked the steel square into the gun and racked the charging handle. The stock of the DMR was immensely more comfortable than that of either the Towel Maker or KKAT and Red Field could clearly see the tiny X printed in the center of the bullseye through the clear scope.

He’d forgotten about recoil and the thin rim of the scope bit into his head upon his first shot. He immediately set the rifle down and held his hooves to his brow. He waited a few moments before he looked up at Belligerence. Belligerence glanced over at him with an expression of unwavering and uninterested patience. Red Field waveringly picked up the DMR again. He fired six more shots before he said something.

“Sir?” Belligerence had started to chew a few sunflower seeds and his munching countenance was the same as it had been seven rounds prior.

“Red Field?” Said Belligerence. Red Field dabbed at the trickle of blood that ran down his forehead.

“I feel that this might not be a productive exercise.” Said Red Field. Belligerence nodded and stood.

“Well, I suppose you are right.” Belligerence walked to his bag and took out the can. Without a word to Red Field, he knocked the magazine free from the rifle and racked the charging handle. He caught the jettisoned round and set it back on the table. Leaning toward the muzzle of the DMR, Belligerence slid the can over the spiked muzzle brake. The can clicked and he tugged it a bit to ensure it was seated.

He walked back to his seat and pulled a few more seeds out of the bag atop the table.

“Go ahead.” He crunched his next mouthful of seeds as Red Field nervously shouldered the rifle. Red Field stared at the “can” hanging off the end of the barrel. He really didn’t want to make a mistake and shoot it off. Red Field raised the scope to eyelevel and began to squeeze the trigger.

The rifle gave a hollow “thonk”. The gun shoved back into his shoulder, but the quietness of the report somehow made the rifle’s kick more manageable.

“Sir?”

“Yes Red Field?”

“I think there’s something wrong with the rifle.” Said Red Field. Belligerence started to chuckle. “Sounded like a squib round.”

“What if somepony affixed a device filled with a series of baffles designed to slow the release of gas at the muzzle end of the weapon? Without a flash or a bang, a gun and its recoil become a lot easier to handle.” Belligerence fanned himself with his cap and Red Field looked back at the black tube. He was still studying the suppressor when Belligerence got up and stood beside him. “I think our first lesson of is going to be that there’s always a way to make a shot. Shooting like this is a lot like solving a puzzle, you need to plan with the goal always in mind. You need to know there is a solution.” Red Field began to thank him but Belligerence held up his hoof. “We’re going to retrain everything about you, starting with what you call me.”

“Thank you Belligerence.” Belligerence replaced his cap and pointed out to the targets.

“Why don’t you start on that one on the left side? Let’s get you some practice on a rifle that doesn’t scare the stuffing out of you.”

“Yes,” Red Field caught himself, “Belligerence.”

Red Field spent the rest of the afternoon shooting. He’d fire five rounds, Belligerence would gaze through the spotting scope, then advise Red Field on what he was doing wrong.

“The barrel heats up on every gun, no two barrels are the same, but after a certain number of rounds your group is going to start stringing and you’ll think you’ve got the shakes. Never treat any respectably accurate rifle like a bullet hose. A cold bore is an accurate bore.”

“You’re pulling left, you’ve got a flinch from the first shooting you did. Keep the fundamentals in your mind every time you pull the trigger and tell yourself the gun’s not going to hurt you. What your mind thinks, it feels.”

“You always need to keep the basics in the back of your mind whenever you take a shot: ‘What’s my ammo? What’s my distance?” Belligerence motioned to the suppressor. “Is there something hanging off the end of the gun that will shift the point of impact?’”

Belligerence taught like no one else at Gale Force. He would stop Red Field to explain something and paid close attention to how Red Field mastered the concept. They stopped for water whenever Red Field wanted to, although Red Field took some coercion to even admit his thirst. Belligerence did have Red Field change out the targets because the sun was such a killer, though he loaded Red Field’s magazines while Red Field was out taking down the papers.

At 1500 Belligerence instructed Red Field to stand. He took the rifle and attached a black sling to the forend and stock.

“Most ponies think snipers are always laying down when they shoot.” He picked up the rifle and slipped his foreleg through the sling. “And I guess that’s true enough. But a lotta times you don’t have the space or the time or the terrain to set up a nice mat.” He shouldered the rifle, his supporting hoof bent into the length of the sling and the strap grew taut. “Looks goofy as all getout but you can hit stuff way out there and nopony expects you to do it standing, unsupported.” He pulled his hoof free and held the rifle to Red Field. “Give it a try.”

“Like this?”

“No.” Belligerence adjusted Red Field’s grip. “There.” Red Field’s hold slackened and he let the sling grow tight. He looked down the scope. The reticule was bobbing and twitching faster than it had on the bench, but it was steadier than Red Field expected.

“Let your body do the work, don’t force yourself to go rigid. It’s got to be a natural position, like sex, you know?” Red Field gave a polite laugh and nodded. “You haven’t had sex.” Belligerence said without sounding insulting. “Good for you. Colts these days are all about instant gratification.” He shrugged. “That’s not a good quality for a sniper. Don’t suppose it’s a good quality for anypony.” Red Field’s cheeks burned and Belligerence waved him on. “Go ahead, fire away.”

At 1700, Belligerence called it a day. He swept up the countless brass casings covering the concrete floor while Red Field took down the last few targets. Red Field paused before each of the papers.

He still wasn’t shooting very well. His best group was four MOA at least and many were much worse. He was in the process of stuffing the targets into the trashcan when Belligerence told him to stop. He lifted out one of the papers and smoothed it.

“You can always learn from these.” He read the tiny pattern of holes punched around the bull’s eye. “I’d say you need to get more trigger time.” He smiled as he shoved the target back into the can. “We can do that.”

They walked back to the chariot in silence. The baking sun was still firing rays down into the sand and both ponies were covered in a slick layer of sweat as they climbed into the chariot. Belligerence tossed his rucksack and Fudd into the backseat.

“Red, do you really want to be a sniper?” Red Field had already taken his seat at the back of the chariot and waited to take off.

“Uh, yes, of course Belligerence.” He said. Belligerence pursed his lips.

“I know you’re an introvert but so was Midlothian and even he talked more than you on the first day. Do you mind humoring me and letting me in on the reason for your silence?”

This question was completely rational and even expected, yet for some reason Red Field couldn’t think of an answer.

“I guess I don’t really talk much because I don’t see the need to. I’ve never had anypony want to know my thoughts.”

“All of that grey stuff in there and you’ve never had ponies want to know what you think of something?”

“No sir.” Red Field said, recalling every instance anypony could have asked him something in Rockvale.

A dusting of sand blew into the floor of the chariot from a nearby dune.

“Well.” Belligerence turned the key and the chariot began to growl. “We’ll add talking to the list of things you’re going to need to retrain yourself on.”

“Yes Belligerence.” They were up in the air when Belligerence spoke again.

“You ever think it was just a matter of being in the wrong place with the wrong ponies?”

“Yes.”

They got back to base and Belligerence bid Red Field goodnight at the gate to the chariots. He reminded Red Field to “come a little less early” the next morning. Red Field agreed.

The light odor of fresh hay hung in the air as Red Field entered the mess hall. He was early and the bins of hay had not been set out yet. He stood at the start of the counter for a couple seconds, trying to decide what to do. Did they at least have any water?

“Excuse me.” Flashpoint was standing behind Red Field. Flashpoint held a tray and looked into the kitchen. Red Field took a few steps away from him. He hadn’t seen Flashpoint since the incident with the Towel Maker.

One of the bearded cooks exited the kitchen.

“I’m here.” Said Flashpoint. The cook grunted and walked back to the kitchen as if they had an unspoken agreement. “And,” Flashpoint pointed to Red Field. “Please serve him as well.” The cook grunted again. “Private Red Field, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I trust you have nowhere to be at this moment?”

“No sir.”

“Good, it should only take a little while.” The cook returned from the kitchen with a pair of plates. Flashpoint took his and thanked the pony. Red Field hadn’t taken a tray and Flashpoint offered him one. “Over here.” He pointed to an empty seat at one of the nearby tables.

Red Field sat across from Flashpoint.

“Did you already eat?” Asked Flashpoint.

“No sir.” Red Field picked up his fork and started to eat.

“I have just completed the paperwork for your transfer to the UAT sniper program.” Flashpoint said. “Belligerence has spoken with me regarding his hopes for your advancement through the program.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field looked down at his plate as he ate.

“Private.” Red Field realized that Flashpoint had stopped eating. He looked up, meeting the excruciatingly cold gaze of Flashpoint. “I would be hard pressed to find a more suspect candidate than you for one of the most vital positions in Gale Force Company. I want you to be aware of the fact that your provisional continuance has been extended through your sniper training.”

“Yes sir.”

“Private, understand me when I say that I will tolerate nothing from you.” Flashpoint came as close to interrupting Red Field as was possible and Red Field repeated himself. “Thank you for your time Private.” Flashpoint resumed eating. He took a few bites then spoke, this time without looking up. “I have an appointment in a few minutes and I’ll thank you to leave me.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field stood and carried his tray to the discard station. He looked back. Flashpoint was setting up his chess set.

Red Field would eat every meal early, so as not to risk getting into any conflicts. He could easily spend the rest of his time in the barracks. In any case, he’d stay away from Flashpoint until the officer no longer had the ability to remove him.

Red Field entered Barracks Six, still thinking of ways to minimize the risk of committing any offenses. Siplinski was laying in his bed with a notebook.

“Oh hey Red!” He jumped out of bed and blocked Red Field’s path to his bunk. He held out his textbook “Ready for another lesson?”

“Yeah, sure.” Teaching became exponentially easier after UAT training and Red Field often enjoyed learning the basics of electrical engineering along with Siplinski. He took the book and jumped up into his bunk.

“I wrote down all of the terms in the back and I was working on the definitions. I was thinking we could do like a quiz or something?” Said Siplinski, holding up his notebook. Red Field paged to the glossary. It contained four hundred and fifty-eight different terms.

“You, wrote all of these down?” Siplinski offered the notebook. Nearly every page had been filled. “Damn, well-”

“I have ‘A’ through ‘C’ written down.” Said Siplinski quickly.

“Well then, what’s a conduit?” Asked Red Field.

The test went on for seven minutes. Siplinski had scored eighty-four percent when Red Field interrupted the test.

“You could probably get into trade school no problem.” He said. Siplinski had been studying his notes and looked up with a giddy grin.

“What? Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Red Field pointed to his notebook, “You study quite well. If your problem is with reading, you can find a tutor who specializes in that kind of thing and get that remedied. But in any case, you’re more than capable.”

“You’re not shitting me right?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field was about to ask Siplinski why his father hadn’t just taught him when the door banged open. It was thrown open so hard that it struck the opposite wall.

“Guys.” Bren entered the room. “Guys- who’s in here?” Both Red Field and Siplinski called to him. Bren stepped into the gap between their bunks. “We need to get to the med building, Full Wing got hurt and I need you guys there.”

Both jumped off of their beds and followed Bren out of the barracks. They galloped into the darkening base.

“It’s not good, he almost had his wing taken off.” Bren said. “Somepony hit him with a chariot during an exercise. He’s in surgery now; where the fuck is Black Rain?”

“He should be at Maremont, his shift ends in an hour I think. Who hit Full Wing?” Said Siplinski.

“Some cocksucker from Barracks Thirteen.”

The medical building smelled like ether and old bed sheets. The receptionist, a bored-looking MP, sat reading a paperback behind the desk. He looked up as the group burst into the waiting room.

“You’re going to have to wait out here.” He said to Bren as they attempted to round his desk and enter the medical unit.
“I’m guessing you’re here for the colt that’s in surgery.”

“He’s been in there for an hour.” Said Bren, more to the rest of Squad Six than the MP.

“When did it happen?” Siplinski asked. “Where were they?”

“He was out in Airborne training. I think they were running an escort drill. They said somepony clipped him with a chariot,
his wing got tangled in the axel.”

“Oh fuck.” Siplinski squinted in imagined pain. Bren swallowed again and ran his hoof through his mane.

“Somepony said it was that fuckin’ kid from Thirteen. I don’t know, I was at work when Scuttlebutt told me.” Said Bren.

“Where the fuck is he?” The front door bounced open. Black Rain’s body and hooves were stained with grease and oil. His mane, also greasy, fell into his eyes like a patch of black reeds. He caught sight of the rest of Squad Six. “What the fuck happened? Somepony give me a sitrep.”

“He got hit by a chariot during a close escort-” Bren said.

“How, what kind, where?”

“I don’t know what they were flying. They said the driver banked over him and he got his wing caught in the axel.” Said Bren.

“Fuckin’ bitch- who was driving?”

“I don’t know. Somepony said it was that kid from Squad Thirteen.” Said Bren. Red Field saw that this information should have been withheld from Black Rain as Black Rain took a sharp breath through his nose.

“Has he been in there long?” Black Rain asked, staring at the doors to the surgical ward.

“Like an hour I think, I don’t know, it could be a long time before he gets out.” Bren said.

“I can find out who is on the operating staff.” Said Siplinski.

“All right, let’s go.” Black Rain grabbed Siplinski by the shoulder.

“What? Where we going?” Asked Siplinski, taking an unsure step after him.

“We’re going to get that little bitch.”

They walked towards Barracks Thirteen. A full gallop would have been less frightening for Red Field. The short stark steps of Black Rain as he led the posse toward the barracks reverberated through Red Field as he followed behind.
Flashpoint’s threat of expulsion lingered in Red Field’s mind and he nearly bolted as Black Rain turned to face them.

“Let me do the talking, you stay behind me.” He shoved open the door and they entered.

The lights of the long barracks were dimmed and a heavy-duty fan pumped a gale through the building. Dirty uniforms and various articles of clothing were strewn about the floor. The sour, musky odor of sweat wafted into Red Field’s nose as he entered.

Two ponies were playing cards on a table set up near the door. They looked up as Black Rain stormed in.

“Where’s that little fuck?” Black Rain asked.

“What? What the fuck’re you talking about?” One, wearing nothing but dog tags and a pair of stained camo pants stood up.

“Shut up.” Black Rain pointed to the other pony. “Where’s that little cocksucker?”

Somepony awoke from their bunk further down the row.

The card playing ponies argued with Black Rain as Agent Orange climbed out of bed and walked over to them. Both Bren and Siplinski inched back as the captain caught sight of them.

“The fuck?” Agent Orange yawned and wiped his eyes. “Rain? The hell’s going on?”

“That little cocksucker, don’t know his name. He’s part of your squad.”

“Uh, okay?” Agent Orange yawned again. “What are you even talking about?”

“He hit one of our guys with a chariot and put him in the hospital. Nearly tore his goddamn wing off.” Agent Orange blinked, then rolled his eyes in thought. He smacked his lips several times, trying to place Black Rain’s accusation.

“I heard something about it, sounds like Shadow Wings banked right and clipped their guy’s wing.” Said the pony wearing the dog tags. Agent Orange frowned.

“Damn, sorry about that.” He cracked his neck. “You can borrow one of our guys for the team exercise-”

“Where’s that little shit?” Black Rain spoke in a darker tone and drew closer to Agent Orange.

“Now what would you want with-” Agent Orange began with a chuckle. Their snouts nearly collided as Black Rain grabbed the orange pony by his shoulders and pulled him forward. Both of the poker playing ponies rushed forward.

“I asked you where the fuck he is.” Black Rain said. Agent Orange shoved Black Rain back.

“You really want to pick a fight with an officer? I’m going to give you one more chance to walk out of here Rain.”

“I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me where that Shadow fuckhead is before I kick your teeth in.” Siplinski and Bren were standing beside Black Rain and the pair of card players matched this position behind Agent Orange.

Red Field still stood by the door.

“What the fuck Rain? You can’t be serious about this.” Agent Orange grew serious as Squad Six, save for Red Field, faced him. He narrowed his eyes at Black Rain. “You really want to do this?”

“Where’s that colt?” Said Black Rain.

Agent Orange didn’t respond.

Black Rain rushed into Agent Orange. The pair of card playing ponies folded in on him and Siplinski and Bren both shot into them. The group had just hit one another when the door opened.

A copper-colored workhorse filled the entirety of the doorway and his mane brushed the eave of the door. Red Field scampered away as the horse entered.

“Whoa what is this?” The horse’s voice rose out of his thick chest and filled the room in a baritone.

“Shadow Wings hit these guys’ friend with a chariot.” Agent Orange pushed Black Rain away. “They were about to get into some trouble over that.” The giant pony looked down at Red Field, who stood closest to him.

“Is that so?” He asked.

“What’d I do wrong?” Red Field recognized Shadow Wings, he was the same pony who’d “cleaned” him during the first war game. The Pegasus stepped around the horse in the doorway. He’d grown since Red Field had seen him last and he reminded Red Field of Beet.

“You hit one of our guys with a chariot.” Bren started toward Shadow Wings but one of the card ponies caught him by the shoulder.

“Oh my God, you mean this afternoon? That was your guy?” Shadow wings sounded genuinely surprised and Red Field’s fear relaxed. “Heh, well, not my fault he can’t fly in formation.”

“Oh fuck you you little piece of shit!” Siplinski shouted.

“Hey!” Shadow Wings saw that Squad Six was outnumbered. “I was flying just fine, it was his fault he couldn’t break right.”

“I swear to God you’re-” Black Rain moved toward him.

“No you’re not.” The workhorse stepped between Black Rain and Shadow Wings. “You’re not going to do anything.”
At best Black Rain was two-thirds of the height of the stallion. Bren and Siplinski stood shoulder to shoulder against Agent Orange and the other two stallions.

Shadow Wings looked on with anticipation.

“We’ll take you guys on in the next war game.” Everypony looked to Red Field. “Next one, the one where it’s squads against squads.” Red Field looked around, not sure which side he needed to convince more.

“What?” Asked Agent Orange.

“The next war game, our team will eliminate yours.” Said Red Field. “Then you give us a full apology.”

Shadow Wings was the first to laugh.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We butchered you guys last time, or don’t you remember?”

“I’ll be a sniper by the next game.”

“No way.” Said Agent Orange. “You’re a clopper.”

“Ask Flashpoint, or Belligerence.” Red Field felt a rush of satisfaction as Agent Orange grew stupefied with disbelief. “Whoever loses this game goes to every barracks and tells them the other squad took them out. Sound like a plan?” He had no idea if this was fair recompense for Full Wing’s injury and he thought for another condition to add.

“Fine.” Shadow Wings stepped in front of Red Field and looked into Red Field’s face. “And I’ll be looking forward to adding sniper tags to my collection.” He started to make a sweeping motion at Red Field’s throat but Red Field caught his hoof.

“Red’s going to put you down before you know where he is.” Siplinski said.

“Is that it then?” Agent Orange asked. “We’re going to meet in the next game to settle your stupid vendetta over an accident?”

Everypony waited for Black Rain to reply. Black Rain looked from Red Field to Shadow Wings.

“When he kills you, you’re quitting Gale Force.” Black Rain said to the Pegasus. Shadow Wings shrugged.

“Sure.”

Black Rain shoved past the workhorse and led Barracks Six out of the building.

Nopony spoke as they returned to the medical center. Black Rain told Siplinski and Bren to go inside and check on Full Wing. He waited until the doors closed, then turned to Red Field. Black Rain placed his hoof on the wall.

“So you’re actually a sniper?”

“Yeah. I finished UAT basic and I’m training with Belligerence now.” Said Red Field. A couple soldiers jogged past and a few called to Black Rain.

“I’d heard you were- guess I didn’t believe it.” Black Rain kicked a tiny rock under his hoof.

“I know I’ve been a shitty team player this far-” Red Field said.

“Shoot that piece of shit in the throat.” Said Black Rain with all of the certainty that had pervaded his declarations of Red Field’s ineptitude and incompatibility with Gale Force. Red Field smiled, then saw that Black Rain was waiting for a response. He nodded.

“I will.”

The next day at sniper training, Belligerence moved the targets out to two hundred meters. Red Field didn’t know what doubling the distance to the target would do since he was still shooting badly at one hundred meters.
He tried not to think of his recent bet impinging on his competency as a sniper.

“Just do what you normally do.” Belligerence was nearing the bottom of his bag of sunflower seeds and he ate each salted apostrophe slowly. Red Field fired a few rounds and saw that his group was double the size of the one at one hundred meters. At two hundred meters he couldn’t even hit a normal pony reliably. Belligerence dug out another seed.
“What do you think on when you shoot?” He asked.

“I just focus on the target sir.” Said Red Field and Belligerence frowned.

“You don’t think on anything?” Red Field shook his head. “Well then this’ll be the first building block of your personality. What’s your favorite, most peaceful place? Doesn’t have to be a five star resort, just somewhere you like.” Red Field tried to think of somewhere peaceful. “You’re a smart pony, what about your library?

Red Field envisioned the old machine shed in Rockvale. It smelled like old motor oil, the books were manuals, Mr. Whittaker was sleeping. He couldn’t superimpose the image over the desert before him and wondered why he even ought to try.

“The reason I could go out with Fudd and crawl for days in the mud and the trees wasn’t because I had no brain, it was precisely because I had things in my mind that I could go to that I could keep going.”

“You went to a happy place?” Asked Red Field. Belligerence grew more and more bizarre as Red Field knew him.

“Ha, well, yes I suppose. Everypony has their limits. Right now yours is two hundred meters. Whenever you hit your limits, you can do one of two things: You can muster your strength, push through the pain and give it your best shot, which might or might not miss. Or you can slow things down, go to your library, and make that shot from a comfortable armchair. Sniping isn’t like normal fighting, it’s about controlling your mind. When you’re at your limits, you need to get comfortable and let your body do the work.” He pointed to the target. “Now go to your happy place and shoot from there.”

Red Field understood the theoretical concept of inner peace during stress. But he did not understand how it could possibly make him a better shot. He picked up the reticule and drew a bead a few inches above the target. He imagined himself inside of the library. He was sitting on his haunches, scanning the first pages of a book. He never found any real books inside of that library.

Thonk.

“Where were you?” Asked Belligerence as Red Field squinted down the scope.

“Few minutes to the right.”

“No, where did you go?” Asked Belligerence.

“Library.”

“So you do like to read.”

Red Field couldn’t qualitatively claim that imagining himself within the library aided his marksmanship. His next group was still within the mean for his two hundred meter shooting and he felt any improvement was placebo.

Belligerence joined him on the walk to replace the targets.

“So, is that library where you read about guns?”

“Yeah.”

“Must have been quite the library to have books on such an esoteric subject. How big was it?”

“It wasn’t big at all. It was a machine shop turned into a library. All of the books were manuals and catalogues for farm equipment. I guess somepony’s old gun books got in there.”

“Ah, I see.” A small breeze drew a few grains of sand from the dunes flanking them. “So, you’re from a small town then?”

“Yeah, a little town called Rockvale, my dad is a rock flipper and my mom picks cabbage.”

“So you’re poor?” Red Field looked over at Belligerence. “I’m teaching you to be the deadliest soldier on the battlefield; I want to get to know you.”

“Yes, my parents don’t make a lot of money.” Red Field said.

“Same for mine." Said Belligerence. "Dad was a carpenter, mom couldn’t get a job.”

They reached the line of targets. Belligerence inspected the papers, then stopped at the last one.

“You know what this means?” He pointed to the paper. The group was the smallest of Red Field’s. Five holes sat within five inches of one another, roughly two inches down and to the left of the bulls-eye. Red Field studied the group. “Means you’re learning.” Belligerence poked the paper, making it crinkle. “You’re getting used to the gun and your groups are only going to get smaller from here.” He noted the distance between the grouping and the bulls-eye. “But this means you’re also integrating your flinch into your routine. If you aimed up and to the right of the target you’d be dead on. Never do that. Never include a bad habit in your plans.” He cocked his head at the paper. “I have a plan for how we can take care of that.”

Back at the shooting station, Belligerence sent Red Field inside for a bag. Red Field spent five minutes wandering the empty bunker, searching the tables and shelves. Eventually he found a cloth bag about the size of a football and returned to Belligerence.

“Will this work?” He asked. Belligerence nodded.

“Now fill it with sand.” Red Field obliged and then tied off the bag. Belligerence pointed to the DMR, which he’d set atop Red Field’s shooting table. The bipod had been removed and the magazines had been reloaded and sat in a neat pile. “Rest the forend of the rifle on the bag, we’re going to go to a more stable shooting position from now on.” Red Field did so and as he drew up the rifle he noticed the added stability. “Eyep, most ponies think the bipods are the most stable rest to shoot from. But the more contact you have with the surface of the rest the more accurate you’ll be. Sand is nice ‘cause it conforms.” He pointed to the stack of magazines. “Use that top one.”

Red Field loaded the first magazine and chambered a round. The scope was now only sluggishly looping and twitching around the bulls-eye and Red Field tightened up for his first shot.

“Rest your supporting hoof around the rear of the stock, that’s what that little beavertail cut out is for.” Red Field eased his hoof under the stock. His hoof contacted the plastic and the rifle sank closer to him. The bulls-eye came to rest under the scope reticule. He let his breath out, then squeezed off another thonk.

He fired four more rounds. Red Field stared at the target. The cluster of shots couldn’t have been more than four inches in diameter. The impacts were still two inches down and to the left.

“Try another mag Red, this time go back to the library.”

He was again sitting below the M shelf looking for something besides machine maintenance and masturbatory remedies.
The rifle gave a castrated click and Red Field saw the crosshairs of the scope dip down exactly two inches from the center of his group. He looked over at Belligerence.

“Dummy round. It lets you see your flinch.” Said Belligerence, standing and walking over to Red Field. “Guess inner peace won’t cut it for you. Flinches are just fear, but the thing is, they’re the weird sort of fear that can’t be overcome by toughing it out. Our brain is afraid of getting hurt and- well, it’s like a reflex I suppose.” He pointed to the DMR. “Now we could get a longer suppressor and make your shooting even softer. Heck, we could drop you back to rimfire and you’d still pull your shots. The way you get rid of a flinch is by making it so that making the shot is more important than that fear. You make a more important reflex for your brain to follow.” He popped the sweaty cap off his head and fanned himself. “We’ll need to figure out what your brain thinks is more important than getting clocked in the eye with some glass.” He looked downrange. “Let’s switch to maintenance.”

Belligerence taught Red Field the basics of maintaining the DMR. How to clean the bolt, how to check the gas rings and why it was pointless to check the gas rings. He showed Red Field the gas tube and pontificated for some time about why it was idiotic to think shoving a piston in the tube would solve everypony’s problems. He showed Red Field where to oil, where to never oil, where to never care about cleaning.

Belligerence never asked any normal questions. As Red Field scrubbed the chamber of the DMR, Belligerence inquired as to why he’d had never had sex.

“I guess because I never wanted to.” Said Red Field.

“That’s a first for a young stallion.” Belligerence chuckled as he handed Red Field another patch. “Was it because you knew everypony in your town, or did you really not feel like sex.”

“I never felt like sex.” Belligerence didn’t sound like he was mocking Red Field like Black Rain had. Belligerence spoke a lot like Mr. Whittaker.

“So you want to go to Cantorlot, get a fancy degree in chemistry?”

“Yes.” Red Field’s head swam a little from the noxious, banana-smelling solvent and he decided to consider alchemy a form of chemistry.

“Have you taken the entrance examinations?”

“No but I know I can pass them.”

“I bet you can.”

Belligerence asked a series of such questions. Red Field, though not overtly offended by the rather personal and assuming line of inquiry, eventually sought to turn the tables on his instructor.

“Did you ever marry?” He asked, reassembling a cleaned magazine.

“Yep, married twenty years, had two sons, now I’m getting grandkids.” Belligerence said, searching the shelves above them for oil. “Would have liked to skip the kids and head straight to grandkids.”

“Does your wife live on base?”

“She died ten years ago.” Belligerence said, setting the oil beside Red Field. “Make sure you dry lube those mag springs or they’ll bind.” Red Field grew quiet as he oiled the springs. He’d learned at a young age he should wait several minutes before continuing the conversation.

“You ever consider the deaths you might be responsible for Red?” Belligerence asked.

“No.”

“Everypony thinks it must be hard killing people through a scope.” Belligerence shrugged. “They think we get some terrible, personable feelings looking at somepony through a scope. I never could understand that. Sniping was a hunt for me, not just shooting good. The crawling, the planning, the movements and adjustments.” He smiled to himself. “The surprises.”

“It was that easy?” Red Field asked.

“My reasoning was that the people I shot were going to hurt my friends and me,” he frowned and wiped some spilled oil from the stock of the DMR, “and peaceable negotiation and free chocolate bars weren’t going to fix things. If you ever have to take a shot on someone, you are going to be completely fine with it, or you’re going to have messed up in your preparation. The most bloodthirsty thing you could say I did was ask ‘why should I kill this guy and friends?’ when I was doing prep work for a mission. For a good soldier, killing is only difficult if it’s wrong.” He was quiet a moment. “You don’t ever want to be there.” He knocked his hoof against the spiked flash hider of the rifle. “This gun is just a tool in the hooves of a normal pony doing a job for his country. The minute any of those things becomes any bigger to you, you stop being a sniper.” Red Field wanted to ask what he would become if that happened, but felt he knew the answer.

They left the range at 1400. Full Wing was getting discharged from the medical center and Belligerence was fine with cutting their day short.

“I know what it’s like to have a friend in the med bay and the worst thing my C.O. ever did was make me wait to see him.” Belligerence dropped Red Field off in front of the medical building. “Make sure you bring a notebook and some paper tomorrow.” He winked at Red Field. “We’re going to test your math skills.”

Full Wing had been in hospice for three days. He’d been drugged up for two and was supposed to resume cogency sometime during the day of his discharge. Squad Six was prepared to take him back to their sweating barracks and give him a hero’s welcome. He didn’t know about the bet that had been made in lieu of vengeance for him.

The base was mostly deserted during the day. Nearly everypony was either at training for, or serving at, their post. The grounds were patrolled by ponies who’d make a mistake at either place and a few officers walked between the buildings on their way to meetings.

Red Field was the first to arrive at the medical center.

Full Wing and the receptionist were sitting in the waiting room. The receptionist, a lanky blue and white stallion, stood as Red Field entered.

“Hey there, I take it you’re here to pick this guy up.” He said, the eagerness of being relieved of actual duty evident in his voice.

The chairs faced away from the door and Full Wing turned to look back at Red Field. His blue face was lined and grey, as if he’d been sleeping for all three days. His eyes were sunken and his shoulders slumped.

He smiled upon seeing Red Field.

“Hey Red, good to see you.” He rose out of his chair with the receptionist’s help.

“Good to see you Full Wing.” Said Red Field, his stomach turning at the sight of the withered Pegasus.

“Now then.” The receptionist transferred Full Wing to Red Field and jogged over to the desk. He pulled a white wax paper bag from a drawer. “His meds are in here. No alcohol and no physical exertion for at least another week.”

Full Wing’s muscular frame sank down into Red Field and Red Field nearly toppled over trying to support him. He braced himself and held up Full Wing’s right shoulder. Full Wing laughed softly.

“It’s okay dude, I got this. I just wanted to see if you guys would actually give me a hoof.” He stepped away from Red Field to prove he was ambulatory.

“Just make sure he doesn’t move that wing at all.” The receptionist held out the bag to Red Field. “The rest of the instructions are written here.” He stuffed a memo note into the bag.

“Thanks Nicollet.” Full Wing turned to Red Field. “Are we good to go?”

“Absolutely.” Red Field offered to support Full Wing. “Are you sure you can walk?”

“Psh, yeah.” Full Wing walked around Red Field and to the door. Without pause he pushed the doors open and walked outside.

“Hope you get well soon.” Nicollet resumed his seat at the desk and looked for his place in his book.

Red Field felt uncomfortably helpless. He followed Full Wing back to their barracks, not sure if he should go back to the medical building and leave a message for the rest of Squad Six. Even when they reached the barracks, Full Wing insisted on helping himself into bed and getting everything he needed on his own. Red Field, who’d never nursed any injury not his own, stood by, looking for something to say or do.

“So, what’s new with you?” Full Wing asked, then sighed as he sank into the harem of pillows he’d amassed behind his shoulders. Nearly all of his upper body was wrapped in thick white bandages. Red Field sat on the adjacent bunk, trying to keep from staring.

“Oh, not much, just doing training.”

“Sniper training, way cool dude.” Full Wing said, his casual manner now amplified by a general sleepiness.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Asked Red Field.

“Siplinski told me like the day after he found out. He thought it was the coolest thing ever. You’re going to do awesome by the way.”

“Uh thanks- are you sure you don’t need anything?” Red Field started to get up and Full Wing smiled.

“I’m so high right now, it wouldn’t matter what you got me.” He sighed again and sank into the bunk. “Where the heck are those other guys?”

“I dunno.”

“Betcha anything Rain’ll forget I’m hurt and like hit my wing or something tonight.” Full Wing said, smiling tiredly. “Still though, we’re a good group you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Doctor’s say I’ll probably be flying in a few months.”

“Oh.” Red Field wasn’t certain if this was a bad thing or a good thing and he kept his response as neutral as possible.

“Yeah, yeah.” Full Wing said, nodding. “Guess I’ll have to do Airborne training later or something.” He seemed strangely detached from the issue and sat thinking for a bit. Finally he looked over at Red Field and grinned. “So you want to hear the story of how this all happened?”

“If you want to tell it.”

“Well, we were doing like an aerial protection thing.” Full Wing propped himself up and grew a little more animated. “I was I think, like right to the left of this guy in the chariot. Anyway, he banked hard left, which he was supposed to do, but like, I totally spaced and he just plowed into me. Not his fault really.” He pointed to his wing. “I felt it pop and I was like ‘aw shit’.” Full Wing laughed in that same detached manner.

“Damn.” Said Red Field, sticking to neutrality.

“Yeah bro, it was crazy, didn’t feel a thing.” Full Wing let out a long breath and looked up at the bunk above him. “But I so missed this place, and you guys, no homo. Did Bren and the guys come visit at all? I can never tell if those guys really care about you, you know? Like I dunno.” He shook his head. “I was worried they’d just be like ‘oh he got hit by a chariot whatever’.” He looked to Red Field. “Did they like notice I was gone?”

The door opened and Black Rain entered. He carried a plastic trash bag. Behind him were Siplinski and Bren.

“Hey! What’s up!” Black Rain caught himself before he gave Full Wing a punch across the shoulder. “Whoa forgot, got sand up that pussy, don’t want to make you cry.” He shook the bed instead, which Red Field didn’t think was much better.

“Hey dude, how’s it been?” Full Wing asked, his smile returning.

“How’s it been? How’s it fuckin’ been?” Black Rain seated himself on the bed beside Red Field, crowding out the smaller pony. “Fan-fucking-tastic. You got hit, first thing we did: rallied the team, marched right over to that asshole’s barracks and I was about to blade at 45 but then Red,” Black Rain turned and grabbed Red Field by the shoulders as if he were some sort of reliable pack animal, “Red steps in and challenges that motherfucker to a battle next war game.” He slapped Red Field on the back, making Red Field go cross eyed for a second. “I talked with the doctors, by the way. You’re going to be good to go in like a month, like running and shooting and shit.” He poked Red Field. “Maybe I can have this killer hold off and you can kill that son of a bitch yourself.” He tossed the trash bag onto the bed next to Full Wing. “Oh, and I got you this. I got a hookup at the med bay.” He opened the bag and removed a vial. “They give you like one needle for two doses of painkiller and that shit gets filled with blood and gets stuck half the time so I brought you some extras. Also a prescription for some shit that’ll knock you the fuck out if you need to not be around for a bit. I pulled my tendon last year and I needed that shit a lot.”

Whenever Black Rain stopped talking, Red Field felt like a boulder had been dredged out of the conversation and everypony else needed a few seconds to fill in the gap.

“Hey, glad you’re okay.” Bren said, leaning on the side of Full Wing’s bed.

“Yeah me too, you have no idea how long it took to get your feathers out of the axel.” Said Siplinski. Bren cuffed Siplinski. “And yeah, really glad you’re fine, I mean, you know, okay I mean.”

“Guys, I’m high as shit, and I don’t want to sound any gayer than I have to. But I freakin’ love you guys.” Full Wing laughed again. “Like, I don’t care what happens honestly, so long as we stick together.”

“Totally.” Bren said.

“Fuck yeah we’re staying together.” Black Rain nearly pulled up for a hug with Full Wing, who nearly accepted. “And next war game we’re gonna kick Thirteen’s asses.” Everypony cheered to this, including Red Field.

Another two days of training passed. Red Field had lost count of how many rounds he’d fired on the second day. Belligerence continued to ask him odd and probing questions about himself that never led anywhere. By the end of the second day Red Field could hit easily place all four rounds within the same svelte group that sat two inches down and to the left of the bull’s eye. They still hadn’t found what Red Field’s brain thought was more important than getting hit in the eye with a scope.

For the next day, Belligerence told Red Field to be ready by 0600. They were going to do some “twilight” shooting. Red Field awoke at 0530. The room was still blackish and he carefully eased himself out of his bunk. Something like a pine needle pressed into his hoof as he touched the floor. Feeling in the dark, Red Field realized he’d stepped on one of Full Wing’s needles. He sucked in a disgusted breath as he eased the bent needle from his hoof. He threw the needle in the trash and hastily scrubbed his hoof in the sink. He slipped out of the barracks and into the early morning.

He couldn’t blame Full Wing for being careless with his medical waste. The barracks could soon tell that Full Wing was still feeling the effects of the sedatives. After two days of intermittent sleep and mumbling, Full Wing was still as loopy as ever.

He’d paid no attention to when Red Field and Siplinski had discussed electrical terminology.

Red Field yawned, he was growing used to his new circadian rhythm of rising late and one early morning felt like drawing out of a coma. He dragged his hooves through the gravel and to the mess hall. The cooks had gotten used to serving him after the other ponies and Red Field hoped he wouldn’t agitate them by coming early.
He’d talk to the one whose name he knew.

Red Field spoke with the cook, who begrudgingly agreed to serve him a plate of hay and yogurt. Red Field took a seat and stretched the sleep from his body. The mess hall was empty and the sluggish stirring of the cooks emanated from the kitchen. Their deep voices were rich and growling. Red Field eased himself onto the narrow length of the bench. He laid on his back and laced his hooves across his chest. He shut his eyes. Was twilight shooting going to be any different than normal shooting?

He heard his tray set with a clatter atop the table above him. Red Field opened his eyes and shook the sleep from his head.
“Hey thanks, Spam Can.” He said as he drowsily pulled himself up.

Flashpoint sat across from Red Field. The tray of food was between his polished hooves and he pushed it politely to Red Field.

“Sorry sir, I thought you were the cook.” Red Field took the tray. “Thank you for bringing me this.” He took a quick bite of the hay.

“I heard something regarding a near-altercation between your barracks and Barracks Thirteen.” Said Flashpoint. Red Field tried to swallow the hay but it caught in his throat. “I understand your barracks is upset over the recent accidental injury of one of your ponies.”

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field. Flashpoint cleared his throat.

“I understand there is now a bet of sorts over the outcome of the next war game?”

“Yes sir, I apologize if such bets are not-”

“You were personally responsible for negotiating this bet?”

“Yes sir.”

“As opposed to what would have no doubt been a violent and certainly unsanctioned brawl.” Said Flashpoint.

“Sir, I apologize.”

“Not everything need be an apology private.” Flashpoint bowed his head slightly to Red Field. “Your ‘bet’, though the probable cause of a lot more bets and unsanctioned activities, was a very intelligent and safe detour for you and your barracks.”

“I was trying to avoid trouble, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you were not in the mood for any confrontation private.” Flashpoint said, his voice becoming condescending again. “At any rate I am very pleased you managed to avert a catastrophe of tempers. Recruits very rarely make my work easier.” Flashpoint’s stern face was unsuited to smiling and the expression looked garish and unnatural.

“You’re, welcome.”

Red Field waited for Flashpoint to say something else. The chilly pony set one hoof atop the other and looked out the window behind Red Field. He appeared to have forgotten Red Field. Far too uncomfortable to move, Red Field began to nibble away at his breakfast.

“Do you play chess private?” Red Field’s snout sported a line of vanilla yogurt as he looked up.

“Yes sir.”

“I noticed your Cutie Mark was a chess board. How you did earn it?”

“I was playing chess and it appeared. I don’t know when sir.”

“So, it IS related to chess. I had thought it might be some sort of abstract mark relating to your thought process.”

“Oh, well, actually that’s very close sir. I think in a very linear and systematic manner and I think my mark ties in very closely with the game of chess.”

“Would you mind playing me private?” Flashpoint slung his felt chessboard and box of pieces onto the table. The force knocked Red Field’s carton of yogurt onto his plate. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Said Flashpoint hastily.

“No no, I was done anyway.” Red Field pushed the tray away. He was both perturbed and relieved by Flashpoint’s sudden onset of friendliness. “I would enjoy playing you.” Red Field was startled by the speed with which Flashpoint set up the game. Flashpoint’s horn glowed and pulsed as he lined both rows of pawns, then worked inward from the rooks. In just under three seconds he’d placed both kings.

“White or black?”

“I don’t mind, I mean care- I mean you can choose.” Red Field said.

“I’ll play black then.”

Red Field had not played chess in several months. He was too nervous to recall his standard opening and he made several missteps in the early stages of the game. Flashpoint on the other hoof, played like he’d been practicing for the game, and Red Field found that notion less and less absurd as the game progressed.

Flashpoint waited for Red Field. He took trades, made a few advances, but shied away from demonstrating his plan of attack. He never looked up from the board and Red Field wondered if he ever saw Flashpoint blink.

Red Field won by a pair of stepped rooks. He didn’t say anything as he tried to inoffensively ease the small plastic tower into the corner of the mat, sealing the end of Flashpoint’s king. He didn’t dare say checkmate, or anything for that matter. He returned his hoof to his lap and sat looking at the board.

The end had been coming for a few moves and Flashpoint gave a little shake of his head.

“Checkmate.” He looked up at Red Field. “Good game.”

“Good game sir.” Red Field replied as good-naturedly as he could.

“You are certainly a talented player; would you mind giving me a rundown of the game?”

“I’m sorry.” Red Field was late by a minute and he got up from the table. “I have training.”

“I have spoken with Belligerence and asked him to give you another five or ten minutes this morning.” Flashpoint said. “Would you mind indulging me private?”

“Uh.” Red Field reseated himself. “No.”

He gave a rundown of the game to Flashpoint. Red Field was thoroughly perplexed as to what was going on while he demonstrated the intricacies of the game to the officer. He clumsily explained, as best he could, why he’d won. Flashpoint didn’t seem to notice that Red Field stumbled over his words or repeated himself a few times. When Red Field reached the last few moves, Flashpoint nodded.

“Yes yes, I think I see it now.” He paused, then started cleaning up the pieces. “Thank you for your time private. You may now attend your training. I appreciate your competition.”

“You are welcome sir.” Red Field moved to pick up his tray.

“Oh I got that.” Flashpoint pulled the tray toward himself. He looked up at Red Field and offered his misshapen smile.

“Good game.”

“Good game sir.” Red Field repeated uneasily.

Red Field didn’t know what to make of Flashpoint’s sudden geniality. Perhaps he was trying to coax a confession or a slip of words from a trainee on probation. That wasn’t the case; Flashpoint could have chosen to end Red Field’s career over his “compromise” with Barracks Thirteen. Red Field grew uncomfortable with the thought that he knew nothing about what Flashpoint had planned for their meeting.

Flashpoint couldn’t possibly have only wanted to play chess.

“Well, I wanted to start doing some harder shots today.” Said Belligerence as Red Field reached the chariot. “But if your C.O. has some official business to discuss with you then I guess we’ll work on that flinch some more.” He shrugged as they pulled into the sky, which was turning a light shade of pink from the rising sun. Flashpoint had told Belligerence their meeting was official business.
Red Field grew only more uneasy.

Red Field had fired so many rounds from the DMR and had become so accustomed to the gentle thud of the suppressed rifle in his shoulder that thought he saw his flinch reducing in his first several groups. All were an inch higher than usual and he grew excited at the prospect of actually hitting where he was aiming. He focused as hard as he could, paying close attention to imagine himself in the library back home, and fired the last five rounds.

“How did I d-”

“What’s your most prized possession in the world Red?” Red Field hesitated. Belligerence had been looking down the spotting scope.

“Uh, I don’t know that I have one Belligerence.” Said Red Field. Belligerence chewed his lip and adjusted his cap upon hearing this.

“I’ll bet you fifty bits you can’t hit where you’re supposed to.”

“What?”

Belligerence nodded and unzipped a pouch on the side of his rucksack. He took out a small tube of bills.

“You said your parents could use some money.” He slapped the bill down beside Red Field. “Fifty bits for every group of five you make. I’ll bring it up to a hundred for every round after ten you keep on target.” He set the rest of the money beside the spotting scope. “Think you’re up to the challenge?”

Fifty bits bought quite a few dinners for Red Field’s tiny family. A hundred could buy them a better home. Without another thought, Red Field knocked free the empty magazine and locked in another. Slinging back the charging handle, he drew the scope up into his view and stared at the distant target.

“Midlothian’s parents weren’t rich either.” Belligerence said as Red Field steadied himself. “First time that colt ever shot sub minute of angle was when I offered him twenty five bits for a group of ten.” He adjusted his cap. “You’ve got inflation and modern weaponry working for you Red.”

Red Field pressed off the first shot, then took a breath. He rubbed his neck and prepared for another shot.

“Okay then.” Belligerence said shortly. He walked over to Red Field and flipped the scope covers down. Leaning over the table, he looked down at Red Field with an expression of exhaustion. His cap slipped down to his snout and he pulled it off. “There aren’t a lot of things that matter to you, are there Red?” Red Field, who had just minutes prior felt optimistic about his progress, now shrank back.

“I’m sorry?”

“You want to go to that academy of magic in Cantorlot or some such, correct? That’s your plan if you make it here right?”

“Yes sir.” Red Field said quietly.

“Not going to be such a good plan if you aren’t a sniper and have no post here.” Red Field felt his cheeks starting to grow warm. “Right now I’m running out of carrots to hold in front of you to make your brain forget about a pain that doesn’t exist.” Belligerence pointed to the rifle. “This thing can do it, the ammo can do it; this shot is nothing for a sniper. I’m at the point where I think you’re going to need to pick up the responsibility for getting your skills to work.”

“Yes sir.” He was doing his best, why was Belligerence suddenly impatient with him?

“Good, now hit the dang target, and don’t jerk the shot because you’re afraid of something that isn’t there.” Belligerence stood and walked back to his table. He picked up the spotting scope. “Target two, hit it.”

Red Field felt his nose burn as he drew the scope up once more. He couldn’t stop the frown from creeping over his face and bending his mouth downward sharply. Belligerence had been so kind before, now he was as bad as Agent Orange. Had all of his kindness just been an act? He squinted at the pair of dotted lines before him and held their intersection over what he thought to be the center of the target.

Thud.

“What’s it going to take?” Belligerence was beside Red Field before he even had time to bring his sights back on target. The brown stallion stood on two hooves and pointed downrange. “That’s two hundred meters private, that’s less distance than I have to walk in the morning to get my breakfast. You’re shooting for a tuition worth tens of thousands of bits, and heck,” He tossed the tube of bills into the air, “a thousand bits of spending money. You’re taking a shot that wouldn’t stress a lot of experienced cloppers. How can you care that little about something?” Red Field could no longer look up at Belligerence and looked at the rifle. Belligerence shook his head. “The reason you didn’t get anywhere with any of the other posts is that you don’t have the will to finish a project. You only read a few books on guns and thought you could come-”

Red Field yanked the stock into his shoulder. He glowered at the scope and smacked open the covers of the lenses. He focused on a random target on the left side of the row.

Belligerence didn’t pick up his spotting scope; he didn’t move from Red Field’s side. He said nothing as Red Field forced the sights back down to the target.

Red Field held his breath. He wasn’t supposed to hold his breath. He was gripping the stock much too hard and that would probably pull him off target. He squeezed the trigger.

The scope barely moved. Red Field clutched the rifle so tightly that the weapon could barely muster enough force to press into the pocket of his shoulder.

“Let me see.” Said Belligerence. The next four rounds thudded from the suppressed DMR in the time it took Belligerence to return to his table and pick up the spotting scope. The casings tinkled over the scattered bits. Belligerence paused as Red Field let loose the rapid string of fire. Red Field let out his breath. His entire body had cramped from holding his breath for so long.

Belligerence steadied the spotting scope.

“I don’t see-”

“Third from the left.” Red Field said thru clenched teeth.

Belligerence counted along the line of ten targets.

“Well.” He looked up from the scope. “I’m glad I’m finally getting to know that personality of yours.”

Belligerence accompanied Red Field to the targets and helped him pull down the first nine.

As they took down the papers, Red Field glanced at his last target. A tiny honeycomb of five holes were scattered in the midst of the red circle in the center of the target.

The group was under two inches.

Joining Red Field at the final target, Belligerence pulled his cap off and squinted through the bright sunlight at the pony who’d told him to shut up.

“Every sniper I’ve ever known has had something that can turn on their focus, something that pulls them to make shots. I always cared about my buddies in the field. Midlothian said he fought for his fiancé. You’re a poor pony from a tiny town and you’re too young to have any real friends yet.” He pointed to the paper. “You know you did everything wrong when you were shooting this.” Red Field didn’t reply and Belligerence poked the center of the target. The red circle, shredded by five close holes, gave way and drifted into the air. “I’ve never seen anypony shoot a group like that, making as many fundamental errors as you. There is something you care about Red.”

They ended early that day. Red Field sat in the back of the chariot, his hooves folded in his lap.

“There’s a lot I need to teach you Red.” Said Belligerence. They flew over the trees of Macmillan forest and were greeted by a cool updraft from the shaded woods. “You still have a lot to learn about stalking and camouflage, which is quite a bit more important than punching out tiny groups on the range.” Belligerence slowed the chariot to a halt and they hovered over the trees. He turned to look at Red Field. “But today was important. What you showed me back there was much more than just ironing out a little flinch.” He chuckled. “In case you couldn’t tell. I tried to hit as many nerves as I could. A pony without drive doesn’t have any nerves. You have a lot of both. You shot your best group after I made you think I doubted you.” Belligerence started the chariot again. “It meant enough for you to want to prove it to me. Enough that your brain thought it acceptable to get clocked in the face with a scope to prove me wrong.”

“I suppose.”

“Red, you are bad at most everything until someone drives you into a corner and forces you to fight. That’s the impression I got from your performance at Beast.” Belligerence said. “You want things but you don’t believe in yourself. It’s only when you’re faced with humiliation, defeat, or resignation that you get confident.”

“So, if that’s true-” Red Field had never considered anypony’s impression of him, but Belligerence’s words caught him deeply.

“Red you need confidence.” They began to descend toward Gale Force. “You need to start getting your act together before it’s all or nothing. You have the ability, just make yourself understand you can use it whenever you want.”

He could think of several different reasons as to why he’d shot the group. Maybe confidence had a little relevance to his issues, but Red Field didn’t feel like everything had to do with confidence.

“All right, thank you.” He said as he climbed out of the chariot.

“Confidence Red, start working on that.”

“Yes sir.”

Red Field entered the barracks and greeted the bedridden Full Wing, who laid on his back, doodling into a notepad he’d found. Red Field climbed up on his bunk. His shoulder hurt from clutching the rifle.

Confidence. Every achievement in his life had been born of his outrage at being thought inept.
Fabricating Appleseed’s crimes.
Joining Gale Force.
Staying at Gale Force.
Joining the UAT.
Midlothian entered his mind.
Trying to get revenge on his instructor.
He’d passed UAT training. Months prior he’d been incapable of defending himself against an insect; now he was a member of the deadliest group of soldiers in Equestria.

Something was responsible for the change. That something had only come into play when he was pushed into a corner.
Belligerence was right. He could be just as able as any other stallion. It wasn’t a weak body or an overpowered mind that had made him different than the other stallions in his life.

He’d never been confident in himself.

All he needed was confidence. Up until that moment he’d only been confident out of anger. He needed to believe in himself all of the time.

He laughed aloud.

This misunderstanding of himself proved to be Red Field’s greatest mistake. Without exaggeration, I can say that if Red Field had known himself better, none of this would have happened. If Red Field had known his problem as well as he thought he did that afternoon, he’d have died in Mohs.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Full Wing gave Red Field’s bed a little kick.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking on something funny.” He said. “How are you?”

“Psh, I’m fine dude.” Full Wing held up a vial of morphine. “Shit’s wack dude. This is my last one though, so I gotta make it count.” He giggled, his entire upper body jerking with his laugh.

Siplinski entered through the door, his hooves were coated with mud and he shook some leaves from his mane.

“Sweet, you’re back early.” He said, seeing Red Field. “Can you get the book? I want to finish our recap.” He turned on the sink and began to scrub his hooves.

“Uh, yeah.” Red Field dug the textbook out from under his mattress while Siplinski dried his hooves.

“I want to finish up that chapter so we can skip ahead to chapter twelve.” Said Siplinski.

“Well, most textbooks are written in sequential-”

“Oh I’ve read it don’t worry. The first few chapters are like that but if you know this one and the others before it, you can skip to twelve.” Siplinski jumped up onto his bed. “So, the two types of current are alternating and direct.” Red Field flipped open the book as Siplinski sat on his bunk. “Alternating is currently used in residential, commercial, and industrial applications. Currently, direct current is used in smaller electronics.”

“The current current is currently current with the other currents.” Said Full Wing loudly. Red Field and Siplinski had grown accustomed to his delirious banter.

“Yeah something like that.” Said Siplinski. “Anyway, alternating is basically just a cheaper way to send current a long way so that’s why it gets used more.” Siplinski looked to Red Field to see if he’d gotten this right.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Red Field turned the page.

“Now, alternating current is more dangerous, so there are a lot of precautions you need to take before you work on them.” Said Siplinski slowly.

“That is correct.”

Siplinski stabbed hoof into his pillow.

“Dude, I was born for this.” Red Field thought to mention something. Here was a time he could be more confident. He shouldn’t let fear of being a wet blanket keep him from giving Siplinski some help.

“You know, you will need to read a lot more books than just this one. This is just a primer.” He said gently. Siplinski nodded.

“Yeah I know dude, but like, I’m actually starting to get somewhere now.” He smiled. “Thanks to you dude.”

“Heh, well, you’re welcome.” Red Field smiled back as he saw his confidence rewarded.

“You two are soooo gay.” Full Wing shook Red Field’s bed. “Get a room.”

“Hey, why don’t you stick that shit in your neck already?” Said Siplinski.

“Dude, I was gonna save it for tonight, it’s my last one.”

“Oh.” Siplinski said quietly. “Sorry.”

“Butcha know what?” Full Wing kicked the metal support of the bunk. “Let’s do it now!” He flicked the tiny spear of the needle and poked it into his shoulder. He leaned his head back and took a deep breath. “Yolo, right?”

“So, chapter twelve.” Siplinski said, pointing at Red Field. “It’s about how big the wires have to be to support the different current loads and stuff.”

“Let’s start by using the correct language.” Red Field said, confidently.

“You’re the teacher!” Said Siplinski.

They worked through chapter twelve for an hour. Siplinski saw it was time for dinner.

“Shit.” Said Siplinski. “Wish we could just get some MSRPs for here.” Red Field felt a tinge of guilt at this. “I’m sick of listening to everypony in the mess hall.”

The news of the epic bet between tiny Barracks Six and juggernaut Barracks Thirteen spread around the base within the day. Many ponies sided with the oversized team of Thirteen, in part because many were members of Thirteen. However, just as many wished Barracks Six to win. The pathetic group consisting of a pony who talked too fast, an apathetic team leader, the base burnout who couldn’t make UAT in a thousand years, and a grounded Pegasus who was so offensively mismatched to Squad Thirteen that a sort of underdog aura surrounded them. They were all going to die, but maybe they’d pull off some impressive tactics.

Red Field was the only wildcard in the entire bet, and the focus had eventually drifted to him. He’d be a sniper, but no sniper could stop an entire squad alone. All predictions had him dying last.

The martyr and the pony who talked too fast entered the mess hall and slid their trays down the line and took their steaming piles of freeze dried clover to a mostly empty table. Their privacy was gone and they rarely ate alone.

“So, what kind of books should I look for?” Asked Siplinski as they seated themselves.

“Red, buddy! What’s going on?” Blue Streak galloped across the room to sit beside Red Field. “What’d you learn today in sniper school?”

Blue Streak would make a giant bet on the battle. Only he didn’t know who he would bet on. For the past few days he’d been inquiring of the instructors and tacticians of Gale Force Company on what a sniper could be expected to do.

“Not much, just did some shooting.” Red Field said.

“Psh, of course!” Said Blue Streak. “Are you learning like how to shoot like an entire group of guys in under a second?”

Confidence.

“Do you have something else to say or can you leave us alone?” Blue Streak raised his eyebrows, then gave Red Field a punch on the shoulder.

“Damn dude, this is new.” He pointed to Siplinski. “You should have seen this guy before he went UAT, don’t be surprised if this colt flips shit and kills you guys first.”

“I’d worry about him hunting you down first. Don’t forget you’ll be out there too.” Siplinski said.

“Hah, I’m not, that’s the thing. I got a job as a ref.” Blue Streak said.

“You’re sure that’ll stop him from looking for you?” Siplinski asked. Blue Streak became very still. He poked Red Field.

“Dude, you wouldn’t do that.” He said quietly.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Red Field asked. Blue Streak swallowed.

“No, just,” he got up, “no dude, good seeing you.” He backed away from the table and Red Field began to eat.

“Come back if you have anything else to say to him.” Siplinski called.

“You should get books on the basics of electrical stuff. If you don’t mind some overlap, a few introductory textbooks would have you really prepared for college.” Red Field said. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“Hell yeah.” Said Siplinski.

Red Field and Siplinski discussed how Siplinski ought to go about going to college for a time. A few other ponies came by their table to discuss their game plans and the pair cooperated a defense against them as well. Bren and Black Rain found them and the team had their first uninterrupted meal in some time.

That night, Red Field sank into sleep, savoring the rewards of just a few hours’ confidence.

“So, what makes you upset Red?” At three hundred meters, Belligerence’s questions grew larger. Red Field tried not to squint too hard at the target. He swallowed and the tiny reticule burning into his eye slowed around the center of the target.

Thunk.

“Hit, two inches high.” Said Belligerence.

“Not a lot of things. Unreasonable ponies I guess.” Red Field wiped his brow.

“You guess?”

Belligerence had noticed Red Field said he “guessed” about things he probably wasn’t guessing about. Belligerence specifically told his pupil that anytime he said he guessed about something that he’d have to take him at his word and disregard the statement.

“No sir, unreasonable ponies are truly something that upsets me.” Red Field said, shouldering the rifle again.

“Now that’s a common dislike for colts, and really nopony at all likes dealing with unreasonable ponies.”

Thunk.

“Two high, you know you’re shooting one-seventy-fives and not two-twenties?”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Said Red Field. Belligerence shook out his cap.

“Let’s let the barrel cool for a bit.” He pointed back into the bunker. “Water?”

As they took shelter from the desert heat, Red Field took a long draught from his canteen while Belligerence rifled through his rucksack.

“Unreasonable ponies.” Belligerence repeated. “Once again your vocabulary evades precision. I’ll take that to mean jerks.” He pulled a few spare magazines from the sack. “Good thing you chose the military, certainly don’t have a problem with them here.” He looked up and Red Field realized he was making a joke. Red Field laughed politely, then grew uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean I have a real issue with it, I-”

“Red, I think it’d be good to stop putting disqualifiers on the things you say.” Belligerence pulled out a notebook from the bag and looked through it. He set it on the table and continued to root through the bag. “So far, the only consistent thing about you and your shadowy personality is that you don’t like making definitive statements about it.”
Confidence did not protect Red Field from embarrassment.

“Sorry sir.”

“So what kinds of unreasonable ponies have you dealt with in your life?” Belligerence took a thick book from his pack and set it beside the notebook.

“There were some brothers in my hometown. Apple family, they picked on me a lot.”

“You are the kind of pony who’d get picked on.” Belligerence said, sliding a pen from out of the pack. “Come over here.” Red Field walked over to the table. “Every good sniper needs cheats.” Belligerence flipped open the notebook. “We call them range cards though.” He looked at Red Field. “Were those colts one of the reasons you came to Gale Force?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see. Well, anyway, let me school you on range cards.”

Belligerence had yet to issue a formal evaluation of Red Field, or at least hint at one. He seemed content to probe, slightly annoy, then discard his conversations and return to teaching. Red Field wondered if this quality was native to all snipers, or if Belligerence was simply slipping into early senility.

Range cards did seem like a cheat. They were a clever idea: maps of a field of fire could exponentially expedite the process of accurately assessing the needed compensation for a shot.

Belligerence shared in Red Field’s enthusiasm.

“I was never really good at the 'rithmetic part of my three R’s,” Belligerence pointed to the first page of the notebook, which Red Field saw was a collection of all of his range cards, “at least, not when hamburgers are shooting at me.” He nudged Red Field. “This first one took me two hours to make. Didn’t even get to use it for anything.” He tugged out another notebook from his rucksack. The book was a light tan and its pages and cover were still firm and sharply edged. “This is yours.” Belligerence pushed it to Red Field. A pen was caught up in the spiral wire binding. “Use pen, don’t get used to easily fixed mistakes.” He pointed to the ladder on the wall opposite them. “Let’s head up to the observation deck. Grab the rifle.”

Red Field winced at the brightness as he followed Belligerence onto the roof of the bunker. They stood above the firing line and could now see over the berm. The vast burning waves of the desert stretched out all around them.

“You ever do any drawing Red?” Belligerence asked, taking a seat on a stone bench that faced out over the shooting range.

“No sir.”

“Well, looks like it’s another opportunity for that personality to come out.” He pointed out off of the deck. “There’s about thirty flags out there in the desert, all sorts of ranges.” He flipped off his cap and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Tossing it to Red Field, he leaned back in his chair. “That’s the key for what each of those flags stands for. Figure out the correct range for each of those flags, then mark down what they correspond to on your range card. Some of them are buildings, some are natural landmarks.” He laid his cap over his face. “Wake me up when you’re done.”

“Uh, sir.” Red Field had absolutely no idea how he should range the flags.

“There’s a formula on the page. Should be easy for you.” Red Field unfolded the page. His eyes went to the top of the paper.

D=(S/100)/milx1000.

“Flags are all two meters high.” Belligerence said, adjusting the cap on his face. “Mils are-”

“The dots in the scope.” Red Field said, a smile creeping over his face.

“There’s that personality.”

Red Field didn’t have any particular love for math, any more than other kinds of thought. Yet after months of constant physical exertion, Red Field couldn’t help his elation at the prospect of using the part of himself that mattered the most.
He spotted all thirty-three targets within a few minutes. He flipped open the notebook and looked down at the empty range card. He marked a tiny dot in the bottom center of the page to indicate himself. He paused, then drew an infinitesimal smiley face next to the dot. He picked up the rifle and drew his sights on the first flag. Resting the forend on a sandbag, Red Field carefully measured the tiny bowing pole from which fluttered a green flag. He marked down the range on the paper.
Math in intense heat was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

He ranged the other thirty-two flags in about twenty minutes. Slowly he filled up the range card with dots and numbers. The scope only gave a modest magnification and he had trouble making exact measurements. He made a few utilitarian icons and symbols for each of the objects, then stopped to survey his work. He’d marked everything and it looked fine. Red Field felt a little cheated, since he’d gotten less than an hour to think.

“You’ll need to learn to do this a bit faster.” Belligerence had risen from his chair and took the notebook from Red Field. “What’s this?” He pointed to one of the icons.

“That’s a stream sir.” Belligerence gave the notebook back to Red Field.

“Get some better icons, I want that personality to come out in them.” Red Field spent about ten minutes drawing a few superfluous details on the tiny marks, then called Belligerence back over. “That the best you can do?” Belligerence asked, studying the icons. He still hadn’t checked the accuracy of the measurements.

“Yes sir.” Red Field wanted Belligerence to see how accurate and fast he was at a task he’d only just learned, yet Belligerence only cared about the appearance of the icons.

“These are going to be the marks you use from now on.” He turned to one of the last pages in the notebook and pointed to an empty legend. “Are you sure those are the ones you want?”

“Yes, of course.” Red Field began to hastily fill in the legend with his symbols. He waited for Belligerence to check his numbers.

“Those colts that made fun of you, they must have really gotten to you.” Said Belligerence distantly.

“Uh, yes sir.” Said Red Field.

“All right, grab the rifle and let’s get back to shooting.” He turned away from the table and lifted the hatch. Red Field waited for him to say something. Belligerence grunted as he fit into the tiny chasm, then climbed out of sight. Red Field followed him, clutching his notebook with its accurate measurements.

Belligerence said nothing about the range card for the rest of the day.

Red Field liked Belligerence mostly. He didn’t condescend like so many of the ponies at Gale Force. He certainly didn’t apply obscenities and accusations of promiscuous homosexuality whenever Red Field missed something. He usually encouraged Red Field and the lesson on ranging marked the beginning of the thinking part of sniper training, which excited Red Field quite a bit. Overall Red Field found sniper training pleasant and Belligerence a good teacher.
But Red Field grew impatient with Belligerence. Certainly Belligerence knew a lot about being a sniper, and certainly it made sense to ask some probing questions about a candidate being groomed for a deadly profession. But Red Field grew tired of the listless conversations and hoped Belligerence would explain himself soon.

Red Field stopped by the mess hall to get something to drink. The cooks usually gave him a carton of juice and Red Field wanted to remove the taste of the tinny water from the bunker. In his confidence, Red Field learned that the cooks were very amiable persons if treated correctly and he called politely into the kitchen and asked if they had anything to drink.
Confidence net rewards daily.

Flashpoint exited the kitchen. He smiled as soon as he recognized Red Field.

“Private Red Field! Good to see you! What are you here for?”

“I’d like a drink sir, if that would-”

“Certainly!” Flashpoint ducked under the counter and rooted around through a refrigerator. “Is this okay?” He held out a chilled bottle of amber beer to Red Field.

“Er, yes sir.”

“I’m sorry, it’s the best we have.”

“No no.” Red Field twisted off the cap. “It’s fine.”

Flashpoint’s tilted smile appeared again.

“Just one moment please.” He poked his head back into the kitchen. “I’m through with the inspection. Everything is in order, make certain to keep the trays disinfected though.” He looked back at Red Field, who was trying to find a way to discard the beverage. “Are you free right now private?”

“Absolutely sir.”

“Would you mind playing me in another game of chess?”

“Of course not, that would be fine.” No amount of confidence would make Red Field say no to Flashpoint.

“Excellent! My set is in my quarters, would you join me?” Flashpoint walked around the counter and held the door for him. Red Field began to worry Flashpoint was hiding something.

He followed Flashpoint out of the mess hall. Rather than stick to his habit of walking at least five steps ahead of his companions, Flashpoint walked beside Red Field.

“How has your training been private?”

“Good sir, it’s been very accessible. Belligerence is a good teacher.” Red Field took a sip of the foul beer out of politeness.

“I am very glad to hear that.” Flashpoint stopped at one of the long, single story buildings of the officer’s quarters. He produced a key from the breast pocket of his uniform and unlocked the door.

“Please, make yourself comfortable while I dig out my set.”

The door opened to a single room. A short cot sat against one wall, its green fleece sheets in crisp folds. Three bookshelves, tall enough that the top two shelves required ponies to stand on two hooves to reach them, insulated the walls around the bed. On the wall opposite the bed stood three lockers, all painted a smooth olive green. The floor was a cheap pressboard like that of the other officers’ quarters, but swept clean and without stain. A small card table with a single chair sat on the left side of the room and Red Field seated himself.

“I notated our previous game.” Flashpoint began to enter the combination on the center locker. “I noticed you played a few inefficient moves.” He tugged at the lock. “Heh, if I can even remember my combination.” Red Field looked around as Flashpoint spent the next several seconds entering the correct combination. “Sorry about that.” He said, setting down the board and pieces. “Now, which color?”

About midway through their game, or as near to midway as Red Field could estimate since his opponent played like an insecure dictator and would often compromise himself at the most unexpected of times, Flashpoint cleared his throat.

“Why did you do that?” He pointed to Red Field’s pawn. “Isn’t that a poor advance?”

“Not really.” Red Field motioned to the knight beside it. “If I need to keep you off of my knight, this is the best option. I tend to play frugal defenses.” Flashpoint studied the pieces, then nodded as if he understood. He lifted his bishop, as Red Field guessed he would.

“I’m sorry.” He set the bishop back on its square. “I’d like to thank you for this, the game I mean.”

“It’s no trouble-”

“You know it’s a bit of an intellectual wasteland around here.” Flashpoint said, bearing the tilted smile. “It’s been quite some time since I played a game of chess with a good adversary.”

“Same.”

“You wouldn’t like to play again sometime would you?” Flashpoint asked. Red Field nodded.

“That would be all right.” Said Red Field. Flashpoint smiled and looked back to the game.

“Excellent.” He picked up the bishop and moved into Red Field’s trap.

Flashpoint said little else during their short game. He asked no questions as to why he’d lost and cleaned up the pieces after Red Field’s victory. He thanked Red Field and was replacing the set in his locker as Red Field exited.

“I lifted your probationary status.” Red Field had walked a few steps and he turned around in the tiny alleyway between the officers’ quarters.

“Oh, thank you.” Red Field said.

“No problem, I’ll let you know when I’m free to play again.” The last part of the sentence sounded like a question and Red Field nodded to display his agreement.

“Splendid.”

Red Field felt himself beginning to like Flashpoint. They’d had some difficulties in their initial acquaintance during Beast, but that was just due to the circumstances. Flashpoint was an intellectual pony, and he noticed Red Field was too. While he was a bit awkward, he was probably unused to interaction with ponies on his level of intelligence, Flashpoint was certainly a straightforward pony. As he returned to his barracks, Red Field wished a bit that Flashpoint, and not Belligerence, could teach him to be a sniper.

With just the two of them, Red Field could learn all he needed to know, probably quite a bit sooner than with Belligerence’s mysterious banter.

Red Field stopped outside of the barracks. His mane bristled.

Somepony was crying.

The sound was so quiet that a breeze from the woods would have washed it out. Red Field stayed motionless and tried to place the noise.
Soft whimpering drifted through the door and Red Field crept inside.

Full Wing sat up in his bed. His hind legs were pulled tightly against his chest. He kept one forehoof over his forehead, while the other pulled his legs closer. His eyes were shut tightly. Red Field closed the door behind him, not sure what he should do.

“Hey.” Full Wing’s eyes were swollen and a congealed impasto of mucus coated his blue nose. He coughed once and wiped his nose.

“What’s wrong?” Red Field asked.

“What’s wrong?” Full Wing gestured to his bandaged wing. Red Field hesitated and Full Wing threw a punch into the mass of bandages. Red Field ran toward him. “My fucking wing dude.”

“I could get some more painkillers.” Red Field said.

“I don’t want any damn painkillers.” Full Wing shouted. He punched the frame of the bed, shaking the entire bunk. “I can’t fly dude!” He huddled his limbs closer. Full Wing had probably just come down from the morphine.

“I’m sorry,” said Red Field, “what have the doctors said about a timeline for your recovery?”

“I can’t be in Airborne.” Full Wing started to shake with another wave of sobbing. “Their training is done in like a month.”

“You train over the winter and come back next year.”

“Yeah sure, yeah fuckin’ sure.” Full Wing swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’ll just wait another year, I’ll just wait another year.” He said feverishly. He pushed by Red Field, but the tape on his bandaged wing caught frame of the bunk. His cocooned wing extended fully and Full Wing cried out. Red Field reached to free him but Full Wing twisted away from him and knelt on the floor of the barracks, where then he began to cry harder. “I can’t fucking do anything right.”

“Well.” Red Field acted on instinct. “What do you mean?”

“What the hell does it sound like dude? I can’t do anything right. I-I got held back a year at my high school.” Full Wing closed his eyes and sobbed. “My dad made me feel like a fuckin’ piece of shit.” He curled into his knees. “I couldn’t get into any other colleges. Then we got the letter from this place.” He slammed his hoof into the concrete. “But now I had to be an idiot like always and I’m getting held back again and my dad’s going to make me feel like shit and I hate it. I hate my stupid fucking life.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” Said Red Field.

“So am I.”

“Mine’s like that too.” Said Red Field.

“Why would your dad be mad at you?”

“I couldn’t do what I wanted to do because we couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want to go into the career he wanted for me. I came here just to get away from him. My dad’s pretty shitty like that.”

“Did your dad divorce your mom because she was making his work life hard?” Asked Full Wing.

“No.” Red Field said softly. Full Wing sniffed again, snorkeling the mucus in his nose.

“I’m just not good at a lot of things and being in Airborne was like the best thing ever since I was actually getting somewhere.” Full Wing took a long breath, then let it out in a resigned sigh. “But now that’s fucked.” Tears dripped from his chin and he clenched his jaw. “And I’ll have to tell my dad and feel like the biggest loser ever.”

“You can find other occupations.” Red Field said. “There’s a lot to do here. You can easily-”

“Oh easy for you to say, you’ve got the best post ever and you’re really good at it. There’s nothing besides flying that I’m good at. I failed like all of the written tests for stuff.”

“There are positions that don’t require-”

“Dude, whatever.” Full Wing pulled his tears back with a sharp breath. “I need to get it together.” He labored to his hooves. “Those other guys will make fun of me for crying like a foal.” He swallowed and wiped his face. “God, I should just quit before they get back.”

“Don’t quit.” Said Red Field.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a good guy.” Red Field smiled. “You were very amicable to me during Beast, and I didn’t treat you very well. I’m sorry for that.”

“What’s amicable mean?” Full Wing asked after a moment.

“Friendly.”

Full Wing sat for a couple seconds. A thread of mucus dangled from his snout and he wiped it away. He sniffed once more.

“I’m going to wash off and pretend like I’m asleep when they get here.” He said, rising and walking to the sink. Full Wing washed, then hobbled back to his bunk. He seated himself across from Red Field. “I just feel so shitty when I think about all the stuff my dad says to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Said Red Field. “I’m not smart enough to get my own dad out of my head, let alone give you advice with yours.”

Full Wing smiled.

“You’re a good guy Red. Thanks for being amicable.”

“I owe you that,” said Red Field, “after how I acted during Beast. I’m still not used to-”

“This’ll sound really pathetic but you’re my best friend. Like, if you’d quit during Beast, I probably would have too. I couldn’t act like such a pussy in front of anypony else.”

“That, means a lot.” Said Red Field. “I haven’t heard that from anypony before.”

“Don’t ever become an asshole like Black Rain.” Said Full Wing. Red Field laughed, and in a moment, Full Wing laughed too.

They sat in silence for a bit, then Full Wing laid back down in bed. Red Field’s nose burned a little, which he found odd.
Siplinski entered the barracks in a few minutes.

“Yo, who’s here?” He asked.

“I am, so is Full Wing.” Red Field said, setting his notebook of range cards on his lap.

“Hey.” Siplinski said to Full Wing’s bedded form. “You awake?”

“No, he found another two vials of morphine and passed out after taking them.” Red Field said. “I wouldn’t wake him, morphine makes you have some pretty weird dreams, and patients sometimes freak out if they’re awoken from opioid-induced sleep.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Yeah, it’s basic pharmacology.” Red Field held up Siplinski’s textbook. “Hey, do you want to go over that vocab test?”

“Hell yeah!” Siplinski dove under his bed and rooted around for his notebook. Red Field looked over at Full Wing. He felt proud to be a best friend covering for another friend.

Flashpoint didn’t get better as a chess player.
Over the course of the next week he clumsily ambushed Red Field as he came to and from the shower, mess hall, or sniper training. After taking Red Field back to his well-organized lair, Flashpoint promptly lost every game. If Red Field analyzed his strategy, he’d probably find Flashpoint was putting too much emphasis on his early game and not enough on his deep game plans. But Red Field refused to analyze the officer’s playing out of embarrassed respect and subsequently kept his assessment to a courteous minimum.

Red Field had finally gotten a day off and had spent it with Flashpoint. They’d talked for a few hours about the Blast, gotten lunch, and then gone back to Flashpoint’s quarters for chess. Flashpoint progressed five moves before jeopardizing himself. Red Field, attempting to give the inexperienced player a bit of leeway, forwent a biting attack and advanced a pawn.

“I imagine you have been meeting with your UAT.” Flashpoint said, maneuvering his knight. They’d begun to talk after two days. At first the pair had awkwardly hovered over safe subjects and ideas. But soon enough they’d begun to realize their similarity. Red Field, in his confidence, had been the first to ask Flashpoint about his personal life, to which Flashpoint confessed to being a lifelong academic. They’d become close friends after that.

“Uh, no, should I be?” Red Field said, shifting his pawn forward yet again. Flashpoint shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal if you haven’t, I’m not certain of how recon team integrates new members. Presumably you’ll have some sort of formal acquaintance once you complete your training.” He rubbed his chin, then castled needlessly. “You’ll like them.”

“How are they different from the other soldiers here?” Red Field asked, looking up from the board.

“More professional.” Flashpoint said. “Less obscenity and peacocking and more communication and sobriety.”

“They have a rather intimidating reputation.” Said Red Field.

“Of course they do.” Said Flashpoint as he slid a bishop several squares. “Everypony in Cavalry likes to imagine them as sort of the classic dogs of war. UAT seems to get deadlier and deadlier every year, especially when Agent Orange uses them as the paragon of military excellence.” Flashpoint shared in Red Field’s dislike for Agent Orange. Red Field knew they’d become even closer the longer they knew once another. “Of course they’re fantastic forces, and in all honesty they’ve kept Equestria from war more than once. But allow me to urge you to disregard anything you hear around base about them; allow them to exhibit themselves.”

“Good advice.” Red Field said. “Your move.”

“The majority of the soldiers in this base have no idea how a war would play out.” Said Flashpoint. “Most of them think war is just like a giant game of paintball. I’ve discussed this at length with Bombs Away and he maintains we’d use UAT for every possible operation, then issue some sort of training on the scenes of war to the cloppers before we launched any sort of mission. UAT are our true warriors.” Red Field felt his stomach turn a bit to this. As if he could sense Red Field’s unease, Flashpoint spoke again. “You’re clearly a solid UAT candidate. They’d be off base to reject you.”

Red Field let Flashpoint mince around for a few more moves before he closed the game. He didn’t give a critique of the game without being asked. After all, they were kindred spirits in a sea of thoughtless might.

“I should go, I have to meet Site.” Red Field said, glancing at the analog clock above Flashpoint’s immaculately folded bed. He began to scoop the pieces into the box, but Flashpoint shooed him.

“No no, get to your appointment, I’ll finish this.” Flashpoint said. “I’ll go over my notation to see where I went wrong.”

Belligerence had cancelled class and instructed Red Field to meet with Site to begin work on his rifle. Red Field left Flashpoint’s quarters and strolled over to the little metal shack. He knocked against the door and stretched his neck. He wasn’t certain if the day were particularly pleasant, or if he’d just stopped caring about the weather altogether.

“Oh hey Red Field, come on in.” Site opened the door and stepped aside. “Just been finishing a few projects.” He said, drawing back into the recluse of his workshop. The controlled mess in the shop had remained since Red Field had last visited. “Belligerence said you knew a bit about firearms?”

“A bit.”

“Well that’s something, don’t see that too often, even with UAT ponies. Your dad a mechanic or something?”

“No, he flips rocks.” Said Red Field. Site raised one of his dark eyebrows.

“Huh.” He spat into a cup atop his workbench. “Well, anyway, I put a bit of it together.” He knelt under his bench and pulled out a narrow cardboard box.

Belligerence had simply told Red Field he would have his own rifle made and that it needed to fit him. As Red Field drew up beside Site, he saw that the building of his rifle was much more than the construction of a firearm.

The dusty black phosphate receiver resembled Fudd’s blued action distantly. But the stock of Red Field’s rifle- a thick, rough plastic, looked nothing like Fudd’s smoothed wood. It was an ugly, flat black, and Site seemed a bit guilty to show it to Red Field.

“I really didn’t know what you had in mind, so I just started with a base and sanded off the edges.” He shrugged. “So what do you want?”

“Well, what do you have?” Red Field asked.

“Pretty much anything.” Site said, gesturing to the litany of tools and parts scattered around them. “You name it I can pretty much piece it together.”

“I’m not sure I know where to start.”

“That’s fine.” Site pointed to a small bin of parts on a shelf above Red Field. “Could you grab that?” Red Field took the smoky colored bin and gave it to Site, who in turn popped off the lid and held it back to Red Field. “Let’s start with the bolt knob. Pick the one you like the most.”

The box contained a variety of bolt knobs. Red Field set the box down and picked through the handles. The angles of knobs only varied by a few degrees and Red Field felt the clutches of apathy as he tried to pick one to give to Site.

“I think I have an action here somewhere.” Site said. After rifling through a pair of cases, Site produced the action to a rifle identical to Fudd. Site set the abbreviated firearm in a vise. “Trying cycling that.” He said, pointing to the action. The action clacked as Red Field gave the bolt a sprightly manipulation. “You tend to hold it low? Let me get one that works for that.” Site picked up the box of handles and pulled one out. He took a hex key from the pile on the bench and replaced the handle on the action. “All right, try that one.” Red Field gave the action another quick cycle.

“That one works I suppose.”

“Okay, we’ll go with that.”

Site removed the bolt handle and tossed it into an empty cardboard box. He unscrewed the action from the vise and lobbed it further down the bench.

“What kind of trigger are you working with?” Site asked.

“Well, I think something like four pounds would work very well.” Red Field said.

“Four?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“I have a good four point five around here somewhere. Two five on the first stage and two on the second. Shit, where’d I put it?” Site said, looking around the shop. “Oh wait, it was that one.” He clamored over some strewn magazines in search of the action he’d discarded. “Yeah.” He said, wiping some oil off of the action, which had landed in a carton of old rags. “Try that trigger.” Red Field took the action and slowly depressed the trigger. The bow of the trigger slid back, then wavered. The trigger pull broke like icicle.

“Wow, that’s nice.” Red Field hadn’t thought a trigger could be so crisp. “I’d love that.”

“I’ll get that done then.” Site picked up the stock to Red Field’s rifle. “Let’s see, no coating yet- yeah, got everything I need. Once I’ve got it together, I’ll give you a call.

“Oh.” Red Field didn’t know how long the process would take. “Okay, thanks.”

“Yep.” Site sat down at his bench and began disassembling a KKAT.
Red Field showed himself out. His stomach growled a bit and he looked to the mess hall. On account of the irregular training schedule, Belligerence had made arrangements for Red Field to eat whenever he finished for the day. The cook slumped over the counter grunted in recognition of this agreement as Red Field entered.

“Apples and clover?” He asked.

“Yes thank you.” Red Field said. He took a seat in the empty hall and waited for the cook to return with his food. Strangely, being alone so much didn’t appeal to him much anymore. Now that he’d settled in, if only partially, he didn’t mind being around everypony. The cook brought him his food in a few minutes and Red Field asked for a bag for it.

“If you were anypony but Jesus Pony, I’d tell you to go to hell.” He said, returning with a plastic bag.
Jesus Pony was still the moniker most ponies chose to use with Red Field. Yet now the title was somewhat of a compliment. Jesus Pony had made the insane bet with Squad Thirteen and Jesus Pony was Squad Six’s only chance at salvation from a crushing defeat and humiliation.

Red Field took his meal around the building to Flashpoint’s quarters. He could play a quick game of chess over lunch, then perhaps discuss strategies. Red Field planned on working in some questions about Flashpoint’s education and how he studied. No doubt Flashpoint could give him some advice for when he attended the Academy of Advanced Magic. Red Field knew that Flashpoint was his first friend and that this was his first time “dropping by to hang out with his friend.”
Flashpoint answered after only a few seconds. He wore his uniform, starched and cleaned per norm.

“Oh, hello Red Field.” He said.

“Hello sir, I was thinking we could play another game. Site finished with my rifle sooner than I expected.” He still felt a bit nervous addressing his friend.

“Sorry private, I’m about to leave for a meeting.” Flashpoint finished buttoning his collar and nodded to Red Field. “Excuse me.” He said and Red Field stepped aside. “I’ll try and find some time tonight to play a game with you. I’d like to get in another game as soon as possible.”

“Absolutely.” Red Field said.
He’d forgotten about Flashpoint’s rank and responsibilities. He shouldn’t have tried to be so informal. He’d felt so acquainted with Flashpoint that he forgot about his friend’s status.
Flashpoint was an important officer with a penchant for professionalism. Red Field couldn’t have kept better company in all of Gale Force.
He stung from embarrassment, but swelled from pride at his acquaintance.

Full Wing was ambulatory, but still didn’t venture outside of the barracks besides for meals. He sat in his bed, staring at the blankets bunched up at his hooves as Red Field entered.

Full Wing held up his hoof to Red Field. They hadn’t talked since Full Wing had told Red Field of his best friendship and Red Field didn’t know what to say. He waited for Full Wing to speak first and began eating his dinner. Red Field was midway through his second apple when Full Wing drew a long breath.

“So I’m gonna quit dude.” He said. Red Field set aside his meal. “No dude.” Full Wing said, lifting his hoof. “I’ve thought it over and like, I don’t think I want to try to get back into Airborne.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, I just don’t want to. Everypony already thinks I’m just some idiot jock, which I am.” Red Field was about to say that athletic ponies were the bulk of Gale Force, but Full Wing cut him off. “Everypony thought I was like this shoe-in soldier right? I’m not even that good at Airborne; I can’t carry those bombs all that well. I don’t know if I would have even passed Airborne training this year, even without my injuries.”

“What about Cavalry?” Asked Red Field.

“No way. Do you know how much of a bitch I’ll look like if I go to Cavalry? Everypony in Airborne was talking about how the only Pegasi in Cavalry are dropouts from Airborne.” He sniffed. “You’re a really cool dude Red, like you don’t know but all those times the guys were making fun of you, they weren’t focused on me and how much of an idiot I am.”

“You don’t need to quit right now.” Red Field said gently.

“Dude, I can’t fucking fly for shit.” Full Wing said, trying to hold back a sob. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

“There’s more than just flying.”

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Said Full Wing. “I didn’t even finish high school, my dad just transferred me out of the school so I wouldn’t look like the idiot I am.”

“Hey.” Red Field said so severely that Full Wing looked up at him. “Listen to me. I shouldn’t have been here either. I came to this school to get back at my dad and I quit on the first day. I shouldn’t have stayed here but I did. And it turned out I was perfect for a job I didn’t even know existed.” He pointed at Full Wing. “You were kind to me, you didn’t make fun of me like everypony else, which is why I’m going to make you stay.” Red Field had no idea where any of what he was saying originated from. “I came here thinking I had no place, if I can find a post at Gale Force, so can you.”

“Dude, I can’t.” Full Wing said.

“You say I’m a smart pony, so what do you think you know about your situation that I don’t? I say you have a place here, you need to either rebut that, or accept it.”

Full Wing sat quiet for a minute.

“What job do you think I could do?” He asked.

“I’m not sure. But I didn’t know about being a sniper until the end of Beast.”

“I’m not a sniper.” Said Full Wing dismally.

“I know.” Said Red Field. “You’re something else.”

“What makes you so sure?” Full Wing asked.

“You’re my friend.” Red Field said. “And I don’t keep useless friends.”

A chariot flew overhead and shadows fluttered through the windows around them. Full Wing looked to his hooves.

“Are you going to stay?” Red Field asked.

“Do you mean it?” Full Wing asked.

“What?”

“That I’m your friend.”

“Yes, I do.” Said Red Field.

“Well if my friend Red Field thinks I could find something here,” Full Wing said, “I guess I’ll stick around.”

Red Field had never consoled a distraught friend before and he had difficulty finding the next step in the conversation.

The conversation seemed over.

“I uh, have to go read over the next chapter in the electrical book.” Red Field said slowly. “Sip’s taking a big exam tonight.” He took the book from under Sipma’s bed and searched for his place.

“Red, do you ever think I could do something like that?”

“What?”

“Like study something.” Said Full Wing, and Red Field paused to contemplate the absurdity of the question.

“Of course you could.” Red Field said. “You just have to put the time in.”

“It means a lot to hear that.”

Red Field realized two friendships that day. He hadn’t planned on either, yet there they were. Flashpoint’s made sense, both of them were intellectuals, both were meticulous and detail-oriented.

But how had he become friends with Full Wing? From the little of the concept that Red Field understood: a true friendship was born of similarity, periods of agreement and mutual enjoyment. Red Field didn’t think friendship could come from a sudden onset of pity for a pony with whom he shared no similarities. Red Field looked down on Full Wing, who sat in his bed, rolling a small ball bearing around on his sheets. Red Field could still see the dark, irritated gulches the tears had left on Full Wing’s snout. Red Field decided that his understanding of friendship needed an update.

“Red, I think I have a piece of that personality of yours nailed down.” Belligerence stood over Red Field and Red Field pushed himself to his hooves. The prickly arm of a buckthorn plant took hold of his suit. Red Field had yet to discover how to easily remove clinging foliage from his ghillie suit. He pulled the plant out of the folds of burlap and drew back his hood.

“You like thinking on stuff.” Said Belligerence.

“Yes, I think that’s true.” Red Field said, wondering why it had taken the supposed master sniper so long to figure this out.

“No no, I’m saying little stuff.” Belligerence pointed to Red Field’s suit. “When Midlothian first started building his suit, he’d just stick in the bushiest sticks and leaves he could find. Heck, all of my students did that.” He pulled one of the dead buckthorn plants out of the suit. “You picked up this camouflage stuff a lot faster than anypony I’ve ever taught.” He pointed to hood of the suit. “You don’t break the flow of the forest, there’s no weird plants on you,” he chuckled, “and in four crawls, you haven’t turned into a tree tumor even once.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s a whole class of junk I teach about stalking and camouflaging, but it looks like a lot of this stuff is already native to how you think. You get self-conscious a lot Red?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Are you guessing there?”

“Yes I do get self-conscious often.” Red Field said. Belligerence nodded.

“Living in a base full of soldiers who are all looking to demonstrate their dominance- I don’t see how that would make you self-conscious.” Red Field caught this joke and laughed. “You get bored a lot Red? Or can you fill your mind with stuff?”

“I get bored easily sir, but I try and always fill my mind with things.”

“You’re already mostly trained to be a sniper then.” Belligerence said. “Stalking was probably eighty percent of my job, and learning to master it is a much bigger priority than learning to put five bullets into a little dot a long ways away. Most ponies wash out of sniper training on stalking.”

“Really?” Red Field asked.

“Most ponies are one-track beings. Give ‘em a goal and they head straight for it.” He poked Red Field’s suit. “How come you didn’t cover this in a variety of plants?”

“Because it wouldn’t be representative of the foliage I planned on-”

“How come you don’t ever come close to trees or rocks?”

“Both are static objects with easily recognizable forms. By adding my form to-”

“How come you don’t go straight for your destination?” Belligerence asked.

“Because I would never reach it without being spotted.” Red Field said.

“Exactly. Stalking is pretty much the opposite of shooting. Instead of one goal that needs all your attention, you have a million little goals that need bits and pieces of your attention. You have to be aware of all of the little things that make you stand out. I see you already have a good handle on that.”

“Thank you sir.” Red Field said.

“Eyup.” Belligerence tossed his mane out of his eyes and adjusted his cap. “Now, let’s do another crawl. There’s still a few of those million little goals you need to know about.”

Red Field enjoyed stalking. At first he’d balked at the thought of dragging himself through the forest, forced to lay still for hours, avoiding the sweeping eye of a spotter. But the exercise suited him well. He’d gotten used to boredom while at Gale Force, and all of his tactics against boredom came into use during stalking.

He laid down upon reaching his next starting point. Red Field pushed his face into the soft leaves and closed his eyes. Where was his next target? He pictured the space between him and the pillbox eight hundred meters away. He had his route in a few seconds and began to crawl.

How did the plants and undergrowth stand? Was his outfit flush with their orientation or would he have to find another route that matched his appearance? How did he affect the landscape as he moved over it? Could he find an alternate route that would incur a less-visible imprint?

The wooly folds of the ghillie suit didn’t scratch his skin and the ensemble even felt comfortable. Belligerence had spent a few days showing Red Field how to construct and maintain the outfit, before sending him into Macmillan on stalks. Being so small and so sensitive worked in Red Field’s favor. He could feel every leaf and thorn woven into the burlap and knew when one became askew.

Red Field had all of the traits a good stalker needed ingrained into him through years of boredom and analysis. Yet the most important quality for stalking, and sniping, Red Field exhibited as an integral part of his nature.

He could wait.

He could wait as long as he needed. He could wait until the various ponies Belligerence used as spotters looked away. He could wait until the sun shifted and he could craw through a patch of shade. Red Field could wait for as long as the stalk or shot demanded.

In the coming weeks of training, Red Field started to morph into a sniper. His shooting improved and he could hit targets at further and further distances. They’d moved on from the DMR and Red Field began to fire the monstrous AP-4 rifle. The AP-4, Belligerence explained, wasn’t technically a sniper rifle. It was an anti-armor rifle with a bull barrel and very recoil resistant scope bolted onto the top of the receiver. The rounds, hoof-loaded by Site, dwarfed the .343’s of the DMR and Fudd. After a few weeks of stretching the distance to the targets, Belligerence finally skipped the last four hundred meters and presented Red Field with a pony-sized target sixteen hundred meters from his shooting deck atop the bunker. Belligerence sat sipping an iced tea as Red Field plugged his calculations into his notebook. The skies were clouded, and the baking heat of the desert was partially dampened. A box of ten gigantic .40 PAG rounds sat beside the rifle. One fat slug of a cartridge stood beside Red Field’s hoof.

“So Red.” Belligerence set the canteen of tea on the concrete beside his lawn chair. “Who is going to be your spotter?”

“I don’t know.” Red Field said. The official posting for UAT sniper included a second pony, with equal or greater experience calculating the necessary equations and formulas for making long distance shots. The pony needed to know everything the sniper knew. The spotter didn’t need to be a superlative shot, but they did need to know how to stalk properly and not add any signature to the sniper’s presence. According to Belligerence, Red Field’s spotter didn’t need to be a genius or a crack shot. He just needed to be a second pair of eyes and maybe half of a brain.

They needed to be somepony Red Field trusted, and could rely on. So far, Red Field had no prospects. According to Belligerence, spotter was arguably the most underappreciated job in the whole company. According to Belligerence: “Everypony remembers the shooter, not the egghead doing the math next to the shooter.”

“Welp, you have another week and a half I think.” Said Belligerence. “Assuming you don’t screw this up.” He said, pointing to the AP-4.

“I won’t.” Said Red Field.

“I know.” Belligerence picked up his tea and took another sip. “You better take that shot before I get a sunburn.” He squinted at the sky. “Clouds don’t last long out here.”

The bullet would drop about five meters, wind drift would push it about a minute of angle off course.
He checked the barometer tied to his notebook, then changed the adjustments. He decided against a holdover and he carefully entered the adjustments into the thick turrets atop the scope. He twisted the elevation to the last ¼ MOA adjustment and looked out at the desert.
All he’d done was make the scope point at where the bullet would strike. He still had to align the rifle with the target.
Red Field dropped to his belly and lifted the stock of the rifle. Red Field searched around for the target. The AP-4’s scope magnified up to twenty-five times and finding the target amidst the blank sands took Red Field a minute. He caught sight of the black metal of the stand. The paper target undulated slightly in the breeze. Red Field watched as each minuscule pulse of his heart caused the reticule to slip several meters off target. He spread his legs a little wider and pulled the stock tighter against his shoulder.

“Fire when ready.” Said Belligerence. Red Field’s breathing slowed. He imagined a small feather just before his nose. He inhaled so lightly that the feather did not rustle.
Three, two, one. Exhale and the feather remained motionless. One, two, three.
The black bars of the reticule slowed their journey around the target. His heartbeat fell. Red Field pushed the safety off of the rifle. Three, two, one. He entered a space between the beats and the reticule fell onto the paper. Red Field’s hoof curled around the trigger.

Click.

Belligerence chuckled and took a sip of his iced tea.

“Forget something?” Red Field took a deep breath and stood up from the rifle.

“Eyeah.” His uniform was soaked with sweat. He picked up the weighty round beside the gun. Red Field pushed the round into the chamber of the rifle and shoved the bolt closed.

“Take two.” Belligerence said, wiping the condensation from his canteen. Three minutes passed and a few grains of sand clung to Red Field’s nose as he waited.

The AP-4 sent a pair of thundering jets of gas from its arrowhead muzzle brake and a grainy cloud of sand engulfed the shooting deck.

In lieu of a sharp slap in the shoulder, the ten kilogram weapon shoved Red Field’s entire body backward several centimeters as it recoiled. The gasses from the brake reverberated through his sinuses and dizzied him. Red Field wiped some sandy sweat from his brow. Belligerence coughed and fanned the air.

“For crying out loud.” Belligerence said, dusting himself off. “I forgot how much that danged thing kicks up the dust.” He stirred his tea and set it on his chair as he picked up the spotting scope “Now where’d I put that dang target?” He coughed again. “There he is- looks like you got him.”

“Really?”

“Yep, took his left leg clean off, amputated at the hip. Have a looksee.” Red Field took the scope. The image blurred for a moment. He saw the target and the nearly half-inch hole punched through the upper hip of the pony-shaped target.

“Not a lot of ponies can hit a target like that at a distance like that.” Belligerence said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you for teaching me.” Red Field said. “You’re the reason I can hit a target like that.”

“Oh yeah yeah.” Belligerence said distantly. He cocked his head at Red Field. “Now that you’re a graduate of my school, mind if I tell you a little about who I think you are?”

“Of course sir.” Said Red Field. Belligerence took off his cap and tossed it onto his chair. His mane was turning grey and Red Field could see the deep wrinkles beneath the unicorn’s eyes.

“Red, you’re a smart pony. For your whole life I suspect everypony has told you that if they have any sense at all.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Wasn’t finished. Seems like you came here to get away from something, not because you really had a love for the military. You started shooting right when I started pushing you, not when I offered you a reward.” He frowned and looked out at the desert. “You’re definitely going to make a good sniper. That’s pretty obvious.”

“Thank you sir.”

“But I’m a little worried about you.” Belligerence said with a seriousness that made Red Field intensely self-conscious.
“Remember what I said awhile back about the danger of this job when it gets too easy or too hard?”

“Yes.”

“Red, that’s really only an issue for ponies who don’t have a lot of people around them to keep them level. You’re smart, aware and don’t have any bad habits.”

“Thank you sir?” Said Red Field.

“You’re going to be joining your UAT pretty soon, and I’m sure you’ll take to them just fine.” Said Belligerence. “UATs are good ponies. And you’ll have your spotter.” Belligerence sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something. “Guess it’s just this tiny period of time right now that worries me. Midlothian already knew his spotter by the time he graduated sniper school. But you’ll get to know your team soon enough.”

“I’m not sure I understand sir. Have I forgotten something?”

“You’re a solitary pony Red Field.” Belligerence said. “That’s what worries me. Of all of the snipers I’ve known who’ve gone on to- do things they shouldn’t, all of them have been solitary ponies who shoot alone. Shooting people isn’t an issue in war, when you’re keeping your brothers alive. Midlothian always talks about his kill count as ‘people he saved’ and not people he killed. But when you’re shooting and there’s no one but you, that’s when things get hazy. Red, don’t let yourself get confused about why you’re doing what you’ve learned here.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field said, feeling a bit uneasy about the sudden gravity of Belligerence’s words.

“It’s just an old pony’s worry.” Belligerence said with a chuckle. “You’re not out on long range ops right now. I suspect you just need to meet the right group of ponies, who I suspect are your UAT.”

“I think so too.”

“And don’t forget your spotter. Pick somepony you’d want to talk to you. Missions are a lot easier when you can stand the fellow you’re working with.”

“Yes sir.”

“Anyway.” Belligerence reached into his pocket and fished out a patch. It had the emblem of a mil-dot reticule and the word “Sniper” embroidered over its brown surface. “Good job in school Red. If I know anything at all, it’s that you’re now qualified as a UAT sniper.”

Red Field took the patch. He felt the smooth, raised surface of letters.

Red Field had only cared about titles one other time in his life. When he and Elroy had been informed they might have to share the title of valedictorian, Red Field had been overcome with indignation. As far as anypony in the little school had known, including Red Field himself, Red Field didn’t much care what he was named at graduation. He’d said nothing as the pair sat in Ms. Wormwood’s office. A rage he didn’t understand took hold of him and he thought about walking out. Elroy had stood and said he would not share the title with Red Field and that Red Field alone deserved the honor. Elroy excused himself, and Red Field was named valedictorian.

Red Field put the patch on his shoulder.

“Thank you sir.” He said. Red Field’s mouth went dry as he considered how much a position at Gale Force now meant to him.

“Good work Red.” Said Belligerence. “Go make me look like a good teacher.”

Red Field had to pick up his rifle and Belligerence dropped him off at Site’s workshop. Red Field carried the cased AP-4 up to the door and paused to steady the unwieldy container before knocking. Site didn’t answer and Red Field’s shoulders were growing sore by the time the door cracked open. Site’s beard was flecked with globs of brown and green paint and his glasses had slipped down his nose a few inches.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I’m here to return the AP-4 and pick up my rifle.” Red Field said. Site closed his eyes.

“Fuck.” The workshop had been cleaned and about twenty KKAT rifles were stacked along the workbench. The machine shop reeked of paint. “Just put that somewhere where there’s space.” Site said. Red Field shoved the case under the workbench. Site opened a cracked rifle case and lifted out Red Field’s incomplete rifle. “I just got swamped by those.” Site pointed to the hordes of Kitty Kats. “UATs are running their urban assault and small unit tactics exercises and I guess the stars aligned ‘cause they had everything from sheared bolt lugs to gas blocks coming misaligned.” He held out the unfinished rifle to Red Field. “I’m sorry, the last time I built one of these was ten years ago for Midlothian and each one takes a while.”

The beavertail and fore end were still unsanded and the rifle lacked a barrel. Red Field lifted the bolt handle and the action unlocked with a click. He tested the trigger, which still broke like an icicle.

“This is great.” Red Field said.

“I still have the bedding and barreling to do, then drill and tap for a mount.” Site rubbed his beard, brushing loose a few chips of metal. “I’ve just been swamped and I’m not so good at blocking time.”

“Oh no problem at all.” Red Field said, setting the rifle down on the bench.

“It’s my job.” Site said with a shake of his head. “You’ve got one of the most important jobs in the Company and you can’t do your job if I don’t do mine on time.” Red Field was in the process of reassuring Site of his patience when the gunsmith pulled a fifty bit bill out of his pants pocket. “Fifty bits on delivery to make up for lost time.”

“Uh, thank you.” Red Field said, uncomfortably.

“Yeah no problem.” Site said, turning back to his stack of damaged rifles. Site lifted another damaged KKAT from the stack and threw it onto his bench as the door shut. Red Field felt a bit sorry for him as he left.

Red Field had made plans to meet Flashpoint for an early lunch and some chess and he walked to the mess hall. The pair were meeting almost every day now, and talking about everything from military strategies to the state of affairs in Equestria. Flashpoint stood outside of the doors of the hall, reading from his chess notes. He looked up as Red Field approached him.

“Hello friend!” Flashpoint was as starved for companionship as Red Field. They lunched and talked over their schedules for the next few days. Red Field had about a week of free time before he would begin to integrate into his UAT. Flashpoint said he had a few meetings and had to oversee the construction of a new firing range, but he’d make sure to pencil Red into as many time slots as he reasonably could.

Back at Flashpoint’s quarters, they played a warm-up game, then Red Field started advising Flashpoint on his opening. He set up a scenario for Flashpoint to play through. Flashpoint pointed to his desk as he shifted his first pawn forward.

“I pulled a volume on philosophy of magic for you.” He said. “Tell me what you think of it.” Red Field got up and had difficulty containing his eagerness as he went to the desk. “The epistemic presumptions are a bit dated.” Flashpoint pulled his pawn back and studied the board more. “But it’s a good primer for the subject. Just don’t let your teammates spill beer on it.”

“I won’t.” Red Field said, paging through the first chapter.

“Oh I don’t believe I formally congratulated you on completing sniper school. You did finish this morning, correct?” Said Flashpoint, moving his pawn back again.

“Yes.” Said Red Field. Flashpoint stood and held out his hoof to Red Field.

“Congratulations Red Field. I’m glad someone as capable as yourself holds the position.” Red Field fought a grin. Flashpoint retracted a bishop and looked for a better move. “Now, I assume that given our conversations you would like to attend the Academy of Advanced Magic in Cantorlot on the Company scholarship?”

“Of course!”

“That’s what I thought.” Flashpoint laughed and opened one of the drawers to his desk. “Since you’ve completed your requisite training and are slotted for a position, I wanted to get the paperwork started on your selection. I’m supposed to wait until your UAT actually accepts you. But I don’t think you’ll be having any problems, and application forms for the Academy are fairly lengthy.”

His aspirations and dreams were within reach. The Academy would no doubt have some financial provision for veterans and he’d only be twenty-two when he started, and if he could test out of his generals-

“Please don’t bend that.” Flashpoint said. Red Field saw he was twisting the book.

“Oh.” He set the book down. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Flashpoint said. “I remember when I first applied. I was quite excited as well.”

“You went to the Academy?” Red Field asked.

“My parents are benefactors. I did my first four semesters of a degree in Practical Magic with an emphasis on military applications.” He poked the patch on the shoulder of his uniform. “Princess Luna recommended I join Gale Force Company for a few years and gain some experience before writing my thesis.”

“You went to the Academy?” Red Field asked again.

“Haha, yes Red, I did. I was wondering if you’d like some tutoring-”

“Of course!”

“It’s a deal.” Flashpoint said. “Now, can you tell me if I ought to en passant here?”

For one of the first times in his life, Red Field had difficulty organizing his mind. He’d gained entrance to the Academy of Advanced Magic. He’d gained private tutoring, with one of the ponies he respected most of all. Even in the three hours he spent with Flashpoint, reworking the officer’s poor chess game, Red Field could barely keep his mind from fluttering off into the possibilities now open to him. He left Flashpoint’s quarters and slid the book under his pillow. He sat up for an hour, too excited to nap.

“Red! Yo, Red!” Bren shook his bed. “You pass your sniper exam?”

“Yeah.” Red Field yawned, then made certain the book was still safe before checking his watch. He saw it was 1600. “Yeah I did.”

“All right!” Bren brohoofed Red Field. “Knew you could, what now?”

“I need to pick a spotter, then he and I go to meet with our team and if they give us the heads up we start training with them.”

“So you’re not going to be with us much longer?”

“I suppose not.” Red Field had known he would leave Squad Six for the UATs and though it shouldn’t have, the thought made him sad.

“Well, looks like Barracks Six might be going their separate ways pretty soon.” Bren said.

“Really?”

“Eyup, I’m thinking of leaving GFC for a job as a line inspector at my dad’s machine shop. I’ve learned pretty much everything I can here and plus I can still go to college on the scholarship if I want to.” He seated himself on his bed and pulled off his uniform top. “Rain’s going to try out for Opfor.”

Opfor were the group of soldiers tasked with the ill-fated duty of fighting against the UATs on their practice operations. Usually the members of Opfor had committed some sort of infraction which earned them a place on the team that always lost.

“Yeah, some guys stay on Opfor for like a year or two and then try out for UAT. I guess since you get experience with them.” Bren looked at the door, then back to Red Field. “Don’t tell him I told you this but he’s doing it because of you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he said he was thinking about it back when you first started your sniper training. He just told me yesterday that he signed his transfer papers. Dude, you changed the whole barracks. Sip told me and Rain the other day he wants to be an electrician. He used to get so pissed off if we even joked about it before. Since you started teaching him all that stuff he’s actually started to think he can do it.”

“I didn’t think it mattered what I did.” Said Red Field. Bren gave Red Field’s shoulder a gentle punch.

“I’m glad as hell that you stuck around Red.”

The rest of Squad Six continued the celebration of Red Field’s sniper status. Black Rain brought a case of beer and gave everypony a few bottles. As night fell over the base, they sat atop their bunks, drinking.

“Shit Red, congrats, like I really mean congrats.” Siplinski said. “Like I can’t believe you’re the same pony I was yelling at in the trench a few months ago.”

“It’s fucking crazy.” Said Bren.

“It’s fucking inspiring is what it is.” Black Rain said. He pointed his bottle at Red Field. “Red, I thought you were the saddest piece of shit to come to this base, but then you proved me fucking wrong. Now you might still be a gay little brainiac, but now I respect you, ‘cause you’re fucking UAT.”

“Thanks Rain.” Red Field said as he finished his second beer.

“You’re gonna take us all the fuckin’ way in the game.” Black Rain said. His black face was flushed with a semi-drunken grin and he looked almost as elated as Red Field. “I can’t wait to fuck those shitheads up.”

“Wish I could be there with you guys.” Full Wing said. He’d declined the beer and nopony had known what to say to him.

“We’re going to wreck their shit for you.” Siplinski said. “We’ll do it so you don’t have to.”

“Still wish I were going with you.” Full Wing said.

“No no it was actually really good you got hurt.” Black Rain said. “I mean, shit, no it wasn’t. But now we’re finally going to kick Thirteen’s asses, and get that Shadow shit out of here, and fuck with Orange.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Said Full Wing. “Still wish I was with you or I at least didn’t get hurt and make you guys have to fight their whole barracks.”

“Look, you got us into this mess and Red’s gonna get us out.” Said Black Rain.

“Uh, yeah.” Red Field did not entirely agree with the notion that he would singlehoofedly eliminate their opposition and win the game. “What exactly is our plan for that?”

“I was thinking we go on a defensive plan, wait until the other teams thin each other out before we make our move.” Bren said. “I dunno if you have like a specific thing you need to do, or place you need to hide or something.”

“I don’t really.” Red Field said. “I, um, probably won’t be able to be with you guys.” He felt awkward and a little arrogant saying that. “I just- do best alone.”

“Yep, that’s good.” Black Rain said. “Red, you go off and do your thing and we’ll stay put. I’m thinking we could be bait for an ambush. You set up like a few hundred meters behind us then we wait for Thirteen to find us. I found a good spot to set up for it. Shit lemme show you what I’m talking about.” Red Field did not like the nonspecific nature of this plan, or that it sounded like he would end up taking on the entire force of Squad Thirteen.

Black Rain led the team, minus Full Wing, into Macmillan forest. The sky was cloudy, and the air had the faint, cool quality of an impending rainstorm. As they walked, Bren and Black Rain conversed about the bets circulating the base. Eventually they reached the location of the ambush.

“Here we go.” Black Rain motioned to the forest around them. “What do you think Red?”

“It could work.” Said Red Field.

Black Rain had chosen a good location for a field of fire. They’d come to a depression, perhaps forty meters in diameter. The depression sloped down a few meters, and small reeds and cattails grew in the soft, marshy ground. Enough trees grew around the depression that anypony’s field of view would be heavily limited. Just glancing around, Red Field could see at least two different firing positions with adequate concealment. They were near the southeastern edge of the forest, and the angles from which their enemies might advance were limited, Red Field picked out another spot behind the ambush point which would give him optimal visibility no matter how the attack arrived. But one of the aspects of the plan made him uncomfortable.

“You guys aren’t going to get out of this if they find you here.” He said.

“Yeah.” Black Rain said. “I know, but we’ve got decent concealment, and we’ll probably take a few out before they get us.”

“We can find another spot-” Red Field began.

“Did you check out those couple of pines up there?” Black Rain pointed to the vantage point Red Field had just selected.

“Yeah, I-”

“There’s a little hollow only a little ways from them, you’ll be totally invisible. I dug it out a couple days ago. Sip, go help Red find the spot, me and Bren are going to set up a few logs for cover down here.” Red Field watched as Bren and Black Rain began to hunt for logs in the surrounding forest.

No number of logs could change the depression into something that wasn’t still a death trap.

Siplinski led Red Field up the short hill to the pines. Once at the patch of trees, Siplinski knelt and began to sweep the needles out of a concave bowl in the ground. It was sized to Red Field and was more or less exactly where he’d planned on hiding.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to rely on me to take out their whole team.” He said, assisting Siplinski in clearing the hollow.

“Yeah, it’s probably not.” Siplinski said, absentmindedly. He looked down to where Black Rain and Bren were setting up. “Did I really do good on that last test?”

“The one on batteries? Yeah you did fine; I would review the differences between li-po and nickel cadmium.”

“Yeah.” Siplinski said, again absentmindedly. They scraped the last few needles out of the bowl and Red Field laid down in it. Siplinski squatted beside him. “Can I ask you a question?” Siplinski asked as Red Field looked out over the depression.

“Yeah of course.” Red Field said as he marked the distance to the firing zone. It looked about 200 meters away. The trees would block any wind, although he’d have to worry about foliage obscuring his shot.

“Can I be your spotter?” Siplinski asked.

“What?” Said Red Field. Siplinski looked at his hooves and broke apart a few needles he held.

“Like, I want to be your spotter. I know a ton of the stuff you have to know to estimate range and stuff and,” his voice grew quieter, “I know they can train spotters after selection so you know I could learn the rest.” Siplinski swiped at the dirt with a hoof. “I can’t get a scholarship to anywhere I really want to go to unless I get a more important post. There’s this great tech school in the Crystal Kingdom.” He pawed at the ground, scraping the dirt up into a little pile. “It’s my dream you know? Like you helped me think I can actually do something and if I become your spotter, I can do that.”

“You can still be an electrician without going to college. It often starts with apprenticeship.”

“I don’t want that.” Siplinski said, giving a mild punch to the dirt. “I want to open a business, start off in a real job. I thought, if we were together in the UAT, you could keep tutoring me.”

“Hey! What’s it look like? It gonna work?” Shouted Black Rain.

“Yeah, hang on!” Siplinski shouted back. He smashed the mound of dirt and stood. “I dunno, I’m really weird- I’m sorry if this was weird.”

“Hey.” Red Field said. “You’re the first pony to actually ask to be my spotter, and since I don’t really have any other picks, I’d say you’re in a pretty good position.”

“Are you serious?” Siplinski asked. “Like you’re not just saying that?”

“Yeah, I don’t really have any other contenders.” Red Field stood. “You’re pretty sharp on the numbers, I mean, you have some stuff to learn.”

“I could totally learn.”

“I know you can. I can’t promise anything, I haven’t even-”

“No no it’s fine I get it.” Siplinski grinned. “I just want to know you’d actually consider it.”

“Well, I certainly am.”

“Hey! I have to show you some bug-out routes!” Black Rain shouted. “We’re losing light!”

Red Field figured he’d choose Siplinski. He was experienced with military routines, could grasp the necessary concepts and could learn camouflage. Siplinski didn’t have any downsides that Red Field could think of.

Red Field felt a little uneasy that he had very basic criteria for a position that would be his closest comrade. Regardless, Siplinski was still a rational choice, and Red Field couldn’t overlook the parallel between his own dreams and those of the aspiring electrician.

They walked back through the blackened trees of Macmillan forest. Red Field said the position would work fine, though he did ask how they knew Squad Thirteen and not any other Squad would attack them. Black Rain replied that “those queer motherfuckers would find them.” Black Rain walked ahead of the group, pointing out tactically superior positions they could regroup at if the ambush failed. Red Field decided not to say anything to dampen his spirits.

Full Wing was already asleep when they returned. Drowsy from the alcohol, the rest of Squad Six turned in for the night.

As Red Field climbed into his bed, he caught sight of Siplinski. He was still smiling.

Red Field laid down and tried to collect his thoughts.

“Hey, anypony home?” Somepony banged on the door.

“Oh my God, who the fuck is it?” Asked Black Rain as he marched to the door. “What the fuck do you want?” He asked as he threw the door open. A black pony wearing CCU’s stood in the doorway. He stood on two hooves and looked over Black Rain and into the barracks.

“I’m Blackout, UAT recon. There a pony named Red Field in here?”

“Sorry sir!” Black Rain galloped over to Red Field’s bunk and nearly yanked Red Field out of bed. “This is him.” Blackout
raised an eyebrow as Black Rain pushed Red Field to the door.

“Private Red Field?” Blackout asked.

“Yes sir?” Red Field asked. Blackout towered over him and Red Field nervously rose to two hooves.

“I was told you graduated sniper school today.”

“Yes sir.”

“You have a meeting with your UAT tonight, come with me.” Red Field started after him, stopped, and ran to his locker for his uniform.
Blackout was walking to a chariot parked nearly in the center of the compound. The aircraft was painted a matte black and bore no markings. Red Field ran to the chariot and climbed into rear. Blackout looked back at him.

“We’re not going on a gun run.” Said the black unicorn. “You mind sitting up here?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry sir.” Red Field said, hastily taking a seat beside Blackout. They took off sharply, kicking up a cloud of dusty gravel and making Red Field’s stomach lurch.

The sky was a dark shade of purple and the moon had not yet risen as they left. Blackout said nothing to Red Field as they flew and Red Field anxiously wondered where they were headed.
After ten minutes, they landed in a clearing in the forest.
Another base, smaller and unfenced, stood in the clearing. The chariot landed between two buildings, each two stories tall and constructed of old brick. They had landed at the base of a flagpole, and Red Field could make out Celestia’s royal seal waving at the top.

“Follow me.” Blackout said, climbing out of the chariot. Windows shone yellow light out onto the pair as they walked to one of the two structures. Shouting and rough laughter traveled through the brick and into Red Field’s body. Blackout held the door open. “After you.”

The room looked like militarized frat house. Tables and chairs stood next to couches and beds in a disorganized mess of recreation. The UAT ponies sat at tables, playing cards or talking. A few reclined on the couches with their eyes closed. Red Field heard a frenzied clacking and saw two ponies dueling at ping pong in the corner of the room. Somepony pushed him and he took a few steps forward.

“This way.” Said Blackout. Four ponies sat around a table near the middle of the room. Red Field recognized three of the ponies as the same group that interviewed him before he’d started sniper school. The fourth was Midlothian. All four had been conversing, but stopped as Red Field approached. Blackout walked past Red Field and took a seat at the table. Red Field stopped about three steps from the table as he saw he had no chair.

Nopony said anything. The team looked at Red Field, and he looked back. On all of their faces was the expression of patient expectation. He saluted them.

“Hello sirs.” He said, trying to sound as polished as possible.

“Howdy.” Said Midlothian.

“I understand I am supposed to meet with you.” Said Red Field.

“Eyup.” Said Chesterfield. Red Field felt a minor rush of relief as he recalled each pony’s name.

“What would you like to know?” Red Field asked. One of the ping pong playing ponies pounded his paddle against the table and cursed, causing Red Field’s ears to flinch.

“Seems like that’s a bit of a redundant question- if I knew what I wanted to ask, why would I ask to know it?” Said Blackout. Although never impressed by poor jokes pertaining to semantics, Red Field maintained his respectful demeanor.

“I mean, what general information do you want to know about me?” He asked. This made the group chuckle and Locked Breech leaned forward, setting his fore hooves on the table.

“Belligerence told me you are excellent at fieldcraft.” Locked Breech said, and Red Field instantly devoted all of his attention to the captain. “He also says you improved rapidly at shooting and you’ve got a mind that’s well-suited to the job of UAT scout sniper.” Locked Breech gestured to the other ponies seated around the table. “But what we want to know is, how do you plan to integrate into our team?”

“I am a qualified sniper, I can perform all of the duties of a UAT sniper, and I can fill your need for such a soldier.” Said Red Field.

“You think you can fill my shoes?” Asked Midlothian. The bearded pony’s tiny eyes were trained on him. “These guys,” he pointed at recon squad, “are my family. I’d die for any of them, and I’ve killed to keep them safe.” He pointed at Red Field. “What they want to know is, will you be able to do the same?”

“We’re a family.” Said the white pony named Wildcat. “We’re out on missions, we’re taking fire, we need to know everything about each other otherwise we end up dead.”

“You’re going to need to prove yourself if you join the family.” Said Chesterfield.

What affirmation could he give to a question like that?

“You’re still on a probationary period.” Locked Breech said. “We started the integration period for new members last week. Since sniper school ends so late, you missed the first round of that and you’re going to be working to show you can do everything we’ve just asked of you, at least as much as you can outside of a mission.”

“How, sir?” Red Field asked.

“Shooting shit.” Blackout said. “Shooting lots of shit. Blowing shit up, then shooting it some more.”

“Getting shot at by shit, getting shot to shit, then getting patched up and retaliating for your aforementioned shooting to shit.” Wildcat added.

“UAT integration is where we get to know one another.” Said Locked Breech. “Once your transfer is processed, which should be just two or three days, you’re going to move in with us and start training with us, and maybe answering some of those questions.”

“One more thing.” Midlothian said. “You got a spotter picked out?”

“Yes.” Red Field said quickly. “Siplinski, one of the ponies in my barracks.”

“Anypony know who the hell that is?” Asked Blackout.

“Yeah, I do.” Chesterfield said, raising his hoof. “He helps run Beast with Agent Orange. Good kid.”

“Is he proficient in spotting?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Gotta know something if he helps with Beast.” Wildcat said with a shrug.

“All right.” Midlothian said. “He can pick up a lot of the stuff he needs to know when we start running live fire drills. It’s you, Red, that’s gonna be doing the proving.” He looked to the rest of Recon squad. “Ya’ll got any more questions for him?” Nopony spoke. “Well all right then. Sounds like you got yourself an urban assault team, private.”

“Are you saying that I’ll be joining you by the end of the week?” Red Field asked. Locked Breech nodded. Red Field bit his lip. “Uh, will I be able to attend the second war game?”

“Nope. We’re going to be running drills fast and hard six days a week.” Said Locked Breech.

“If at all possible-”

“Nope.” Blackout said. “Party time is over.”

“I understand that your word is final.” Red Field said. “But it’s just that my team is counting on me to help them win the game.” He swallowed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about a bet going around base.”

“Nope, we don’t live on base.” Blackout said.

“What’s the bet?” Midlothian asked.

“Well, one of the ponies in our barracks was injured during a training exercise, by a member of another barracks. We, well my barracks, including myself.” They stared at him with the same patient expectation as before and Red Field started to stammer. “We were going to get into a fight with them, but then I told, or rather bet them that we would beat them in the next war game.”

“What are the stakes?” Asked Midlothian.

“Well.” Red Field had forgotten the stakes. “Loser has to tell all the other barracks of their defeat. And the pony who injured our pony will quit Gale Force if he loses.”

“And you’ll quit if you lose?” Midlothian said. Red Field had no idea this was part of the bet but he nodded anyway.

“I see.” Said Locked Breech.

“Well damn.” Blackout flicked his head at Red Field. “I like you already.” The others began to nod and Red Field felt a mixture of relief and confusion at their approval.

“Don’t think we’ve ever had a prospective member need time off to win a battle bet.” Chesterfield said.

“Hey, there somewhere we can put money on this?” Asked Wildcat.

“What, you want to bet against him?” Asked Midlothian with a laugh.

“Hell no.” Wildcat said. “Belligerence trained him, I’m not betting against that.”

“Private.” Locked Breech said over the other ponies. “We’ll extend your interim so you can attend the game.”

“Thank you sir.” Red Field said.

“So’s that it?” Asked Blackout. He looked around to the other ponies. “Nopony got any burning questions or big disagreements?” Everypony shook their heads. “Welcome to the team private.” Said Blackout. Red Field was in the process of thanking them again when Midlothian spoke.

“So what can you do to entertain us?” He asked.

“Oh yeah.” Wildcat said. Looking over his shoulder and back to the other ponies in the room. “Hey assholes, our newest member is going to entertain us now.” The other UAT ponies, about twenty in total, stopped what they were doing and watched Red Field.

“We have a little tradition here in the UATs where each new member has to entertain the barracks.” Midlothian said. “It’s very important that you do well, this solidifies your reputation in the order, lets us know a little about you.”

“Plus it helps us gauge how well you’ll do under fire.” Chesterfield said. “How are we to know you’ll function under fire if you can’t perform under pressure?”

“Exactly.” Midlothian said. The other UAT ponies made their way to the table and Red Field was surrounded. “Got a stage right over there you can perform on.” Midlothian pointed over Red Field’s shoulder at a small plywood stage set up against the wall.

A single table and chair stood atop the stage, next to a microphone.

“What am I supposed to do?” Red Field asked.

“You tell us!” Midlothian said, pointing to the stage. “But you better think of something before we lose interest.”

Twenty-two ponies shifted chairs and couches to watch Red Field. Red Field’s mouth went dry the instant he set hoof on the stage. The ponies who’d been joking and goofing off just moments earlier were now silent and studying him.

“Fillies and colts, Private Red Field!” Said Blackout.

Silence. Red Field thought hurriedly for something to interest them with. What did they even mean by entertain? Was he actually supposed to perform something for them? Why on earth would they require that?

“So what the fuck do you do?” Called somepony.

“Uh, what do you want me to do?” He asked.

“What will fifty bits get me?” The UATs broke into rough laughter and Red Field felt his face burn.

“Can you sing? Or maybe dance?” Called Locked Breech, trying to lead Red Field to something.

“Fuck yeah, I wanna see you dance.” Shouted Wildcat. They laughed more.

“Jesus, you’re tiny, is your special talent fitting inside an ammo can?”

“I can beat anypony at chess.” Red Field said. They paused and a few looked confused.

“That’s boring as fuck.” Said one.

“Queen down.” He added.

“That the name of some BDSM shit with Twilight Sparkle?” More rough laughter.

“I can play four of you at once.” He said. A few raised their eyebrows to this.

“Are you like some-”

“I can play four of you blindfolded.”

This got their attention.

“Oh bullshit.” One UAT, a tawny Pegasus wearing the bottom half of his CCU’s stood up and pointed at him. “I want to see this.” He looked around. “Who the shit has a chess set?” They searched around for a chess set. Eventually one of the UATs hoisted a worn cardboard box with the faded label bearing the words “Learn to play Chess like a Pro!”
The tawny UAT pony dumped the set out before Red Field and told him to set it up. Turning back to the audience, he shouted for somepony to get a blindfold. Somepony threw a sock onstage and he picked it up.

“Here, put this on.” He said as Red Field placed the black king on the appropriate square. The sock was yellowed with sweat and Red Field could smell it from a meter away.

“It’s just an expression, I’ll just face away from the board.” He said. The tawny pony narrowed his eyes at Red Field. “Which color would you like?” Red Field asked, taking the sock.

“White.” Said the pony. Red Field nodded as he wrapped the foul garment around his eyes.

“Your move.” Said Red Field.

“Eyup, I know how to play chess.” Said the pony curtly. Red Field heard the dull pat of a pawn moving and the audience grew quiet as the game began. “Your move kiddo.”

“Where did you move?” Red Field asked.

“I don’t have to tell you, that’s the point.”

“It’s impossible to play a game if-” Red Field started to lift the blindfold and a few UATs shouted in protest.

“Okay okay, Jesus!” His opponent said. “I moved the second pawn from the right two spaces forward.” Red Field did not think the pony knew proper notation and he simply decided to ask whose right.

Before they played one move before something hit Red Field’s nose.

“Ah.” He said bringing his hooves to his nose. Whatever it was felt like a sharp, tiny slap and he flinched at the sting. The audience booed him as he started to lift the blindfold and his opponent clucked his tongue at him.

“That’s not very sporting.” He said. Red Field trembled as he lowered the blindfold. He picked up a pawn and pushed it two squares forward. He heard something click in the strangely quiet audience.

“Your turn.” The same stinging slap hit his forehead this time and he heard muffled laughter from his opponent. “I moved the pawn just to the left of that first one one space.” Red Field was asking for clarification when something glanced off of his teeth and into his mouth. He tore the blindfold off and spat out whatever it was as the entire room erupted into laughter. His opponent doubled over laughing and nearly upset the table as Red Field spat the tiny foam dart out of his mouth. Midlothian held a toy dart rifle and he aimed it at Red Field.

“Ya’ll got a head wound there.” He said. Red Field reached up and felt another dart stuck to his forehead.

“Jesus, we have a sniper who doesn’t even know when he’s been shot in the head!” Said Blackout and though it seemed impossible, they laughed harder. Red Field trembled with rage.

“Checkmate.” He said without looking down. His opponent looked up.

“What?” He asked between chuckles.

“I said checkmate motherfucker.” Red Field said, sliding his queen forward.

“No?” Said the UAT pony. He looked at the Fool’s Mate before him. The other ponies were still giggling and snickering and with a swipe of his hoof he knocked the pieces from the board.

“Whoa, hey. Did he just beat you in two moves?” Asked somepony and the tawny pony stood up.

“No!”

“Yes.” Red Field shouted. “F3 to E5 to G4 to-”

“Oh shit! You got your ass handed to you in two moves!” Said one of the ponies as the tawny pony slunk offstage.

“What was that move called?” Asked Locked Breech. Red Field felt chilled, and angry and vindicated all at the same time and he reseated himself in the chair. He scooped up the pieces and began replacing them onto the board.

“Fool’s Mate.” Red Field said.

“That’s your nickname now.” Said Chesterfield.

“That’s not bad actually.” Said Blackout. “Everypony in favor of Fool’s Mate raise their hoof.” Before Red Field could comprehend the process, he’d received his name.

“Everypony!” Shouted Midlothian. “Give it up for Fool’s Mate!”

The UATs whooped and clapped to the impromptu christening.

Recon squad invited him back to their table, and Red Field spent the next forty five minutes in an informal interview about his life. He did not like the name “Fool’s Mate” and after relating the story of his Cutie Mark for the second time, he asked about changing it.

“Well most UATs earn their nickname during operations.” Locked Breech said. “But it’s been a few years since we conducted any operations so we decided to give them out during training.”

“But you missed the first week of training.” Said Blackout. “And you’re missing another day ‘cause of that bet you made.” He pointed at Red Field. “Fool’s Mate sounds good, and if you want to change it, you’ll have to change it during training.”

Red Field received no more say in the matter.

Blackout dropped him off at his barracks at 2400. Everypony in Squad Six was asleep when Red Field slipped into bed.
Red Field couldn’t say he liked his urban assault team. He didn’t like that he was now a part of a group of overstuffed commandos who gave one another nicknames based on their antics in battle. Red Field was exhausted from his lengthy day and scarcely felt as if he’d graduated sniper school that morning. He fell asleep thinking of how he might change his derisive nickname.

Flashpoint shared his sympathies regarding the Urban Assault Teams. He and Red Field met for breakfast, as Flashpoint had more meetings in the afternoon.

“I spent a week with them advising about magic entrapments and their prevalence around Equestria.” Flashpoint shook his head. “They put my office chair on the roof for my last day.” Red Field countered Flashpoint’s knight with his bishop. “I must confess I did not experience the professional aspect of their ‘professional commandos’ title.” Flashpoint said, rescinding his move.

“I feel a little disappointed.” Red Field said. “I understand they’re used to soldiering and such, but-”

“Well it is all we employ them to do.” Flashpoint said, offering his rook instead. “I just dislike interaction with them. I don’t feel it reflects poorly on them though.” They played a few more moves and Red Field decided to suggest they discuss his first year at the Academy of Advanced Magic.

“Would you mind helping me pick out my first classes?” He asked. “I’d like to test out of as many of my generals as I can.”
“After this move.” Flashpoint said, making a mediocre push with a pawn. Red Field blocked the pawn and dismantled the attack with his knight.

Flashpoint pulled a folder out of his desk drawer. He set it atop his desk and flipped it open.

“You said you’re thinking of pursuing a degree in Alchemic Science?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

“What particular degree?” Asked Flashpoint.

“Uh.” Red Field had never known of multiple studies of alchemy. “I don’t know, I’ve always just assumed there was only one option.” Flashpoint shook his head as he walked back to the table.

“The Academy offers seven total, but only two are really what you’d want. Ethics of Alchemic Science and Historical Alchemy really aren’t related to the modern field.” He set the file before Red Field. “Look through those first, then we can start reviewing your options.”

Red Field read the list. He read it twelve times. He spent a quarter of an hour reading, thinking, and rereading the options before him. The words weren’t esoteric, or even exotic, yet they excited him like nothing ever had or would. Before him lay futures, careers and lives that all demanded his intellect. His dream world grew into a dream universe.

“Raw Alchemy, preferably research.” He said, his heart racing at the thought of researching the means to transform the most basic of matter. Flashpoint was studying the board and he looked up.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised and a little impressed. “You’re planning on pursuing a doctorate?” A doctorate. Rockvale had never imbued such a dream in him and Red Field stood stunned for a few moments.

“Well, I have to confess I’ve never really thought about it.” He said. “But I would certainly say it appeals to me.” He smiled. “Put me down for a Ph.D.”

“Well, that comes after your undergraduate degree and some entrance exams and such.” Flashpoint said with a polite smile. “Let’s just focus on your first year.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, I’m just excited.” He said.

“Well, I can’t blame you,” Flashpoint said, “I think somepony as smart as you ought to be very excited about their education.”

They discussed book purchases and rentals for the remainder of their time. Flashpoint said he’d pull some books out of his storage when he got the chance. He gave Red Field the file and told him to give his degree more thought. They both agreed that a college degree was one of the most overlooked and under-thought of all life choices. Before he left, Red Field thanked Flashpoint. He thanked Flashpoint for being his friend, for being a glimmer of hope in the rough life at Gale Force.

“Well, I’d like to thank you Red Field. You are certainly a pony I can relate to and I’m glad to offer my services in assisting you in your college aspirations. You’re also a damn fine chess player as well as a good conversationalist.” They both laughed nervously, unused to complimenting others so heavily.

“Well, thank you.” Red Field said. “I will do some reading and learn more about my prospective future.”

“Excellent, I’m certain you’ll find the right degree.” Flashpoint said.

So was Red Field. He read the list of alchemy degrees six more times on the way to the tailor. He sat in the waiting area, weighing the merits of a degree in Industrial Alchemy against those of one in Scholastic Alchemy.

“Hey, I said your shit’s done.” The clerk held his CCUs over the counter. Red Field set his file down. Next to his name, embroidered in the same camo tone as the rest of the garment was the word “UAT”. Red Field felt a small swell of pride, nowhere near that resulting from his hopes for a degree in alchemy, as he picked up the jacket. “Free of charge, some old guy came in here and paid for it.” Said the clerk. Red Field smiled to himself and thanked the clerk.

“Hey, you want this other thing?” Asked the pony. Red Field looked back. “This is like your gorilla suit or whatever right?” The pony dropped a furry bundle on the counter. “Old guy had it cleaned too.” The pony clucked his tongue as Red Field picked it up. “So is that what you’re going to be wearing during the game?”

“Yes.” He said.

“Best of luck to ya.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He donned his CCU’s, slung his ghillie suit over his back, and returned to reading the list of degrees. He read it a few more times as he walked back to the barracks.

Full Wing could now stand and walk with ease and he was pacing up and down the middle of the barracks when Red Field returned.

“Oh hey Red!” He said. “Do you want to take a walk with me?”

“Sure.” Red Field set the book on the philosophy of magic back on his bed. “Just let me put my stuff away.” He said, sliding his ghillie suit under his bunk.

“Oh yeah yeah, that’s fine.” Full Wing said. “Thanks by the way, I’ve been cooped up in here so long and I really want to get out.”

Full Wing led Red Field along the fence, behind the mass of barracks. The skies had slowly darkened over the past few days, and the impending storm hung over the camp.

“I don’t want to walk through the middle area ‘cause I don’t want everypony staring at my bandage.” Full Wing said. “Still feel kinda like a loser for getting hit by that chariot.”

“You aren’t to blame.”

“I don’t see a lot of other Pegasi getting hit by chariots.” Full Wing said. They walked down the fence, toward the southern gate. “I talked to the guy who owns Maremont or whatever and he said I could probably get a job cleaning up at the end of the day.”

“Oh.” Red Field looked over at Full Wing to see how he perceived such a mediocre job. Full Wing looked to Red Field with the same expression. What would Full Wing need to hear to recover his hope?

“Yeah I dunno.” Said Full Wing. “I could probably do that, but like, why would I want to?”

“You know, it’s not always about getting right to your place. Sometimes you have to wait until it presents itself.” Red Field said. “I mean, Siplinski wants to be an electrician but he’s here so he can get a scholarship.”

“I dunno if I’m really cut out for that.”

“Well it doesn’t have to be college necessarily.” Red Field said. “I just mean that it isn’t a bad thing if you have to take a shitty job while you look for where you want to be.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Said Full Wing, kicking at the gravel beneath his hooves. “That book you and Sip are reading isn’t too hard.” He looked up at Red Field guiltily. “I’m sorry, I pretty much ransacked the whole barracks looking for stuff to read over the past few weeks. I was just so bored. I even found Black Rain’s porn stash.” Red Field couldn’t help but laugh and Full Wing broke into a coltish smile too.

“So what’d you think of the textbook?” Red Field asked as they reached the gate.

“I dunno, I read it like twice since I had literally nothing to do. It was pretty easy to figure out the second time through.”

“Well look at that.” Red Field said, giving Full Wing a gentle push. “You’re as smart as Siplinski, don’t write off your future so quickly.”

“Thanks Red, it means a lot. Could you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, anything.” Red Field said.

“Could you like, I guess, look for posts for me?” He asked. “Like I don’t want to ask Bren or Sip. They’ll probably just say I should take the job at Maremont. I know you know like everything, so if there’s some place that could use somepony like me, I figured you’d know it.”

“Absolutely.” Red Field said. “I’ll ask Flashpoint when I see him tonight.”

“Thanks so much dude.” He gave Red Field a hug. “Like I’m not gay or anything. I just have never had a friend like you.”

“I’ve never had one like you Full.” Red Field said, hugging Full Wing back.

Red Field returned to Flashpoint’s quarters after dinner. The question of Full Wing’s prospects came up as Red Field and Flashpoint filled out Red Field’s first few pages of applications. The forms were mostly legal and pertained to his scholarship from Gale Force. Flashpoint pushed each page to Red Field when it came time to sign. Red Field asked about any meaningful posts that would appeal to Full Wing.

“Well I suppose that would depend on the qualifications for ‘meaningful post’ wouldn’t it?” Flashpoint said as he copied Red Field’s ID number onto a page.

“Heh, yes, I suppose that should be a consideration.” Red Field said.

“Well I think he’s like anypony: he would like his talents utilized and to feel like he has some importance.” Flashpoint flipped a page and began to fill out the opposite side. “And if he passed Beast and has made it thus far without any serious disciplinary actions then I imagine we could find a position for him.” He pushed a page to Red Field. “Sign at the top, then write his name down on a sticky note and I’ll pull his file.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it a lot.” Red Field said.

“No problem, one of my responsibilities here is ‘post and specialty advisor’ which is essentially a militarized guidance counselor.” He set his pen down and took a sip from the water bottle beside his desk. “Have you had a chance to look over the list of degrees?”

“Yes.” Red Field said. “I would like to pursue a degree in Raw Alchemy- I would like to go into research and therefore obtain my Ph.D.” He paused. “Of course, it’ll all be subject to change once I get to the Academy, I hear that happens a lot at college.” The last portion of the sentence, a joke, felt flat to him and he laughed congenially.

“Yes, well.” Flashpoint said. “All we need right now is an undergraduate.” He picked up a form and began to write “Raw Alchemy” into a box. He pushed a few stapled pages to Red Field. “Those are the generals for all majors. Obviously you can test out of some, but I would advise you to think carefully about which ones you want to try to opt out of, as they are still very rigorous courses and the tests are not easy.” Red Field studied the page for a few minutes. He gave the page back to Flashpoint after picking those he felt he could opt from taking. Flashpoint set his pen down and Red Field watched as he read over the list.

“You certainly are, ambitious.” Said Flashpoint, inserting the pause as he read that Red Field assumed he could test out of basic magical theory. He circled one course. “I wonder if you might benefit from a sample of the course material for this.”

“Oh, certainly.” Said Red Field. Somepony knocked on the door.

“One moment please.” Flashpoint called to the pony as he tossed his pen onto the table.

“We’re short a few participants for the second wargame.” Said a lieutenant standing outside. “Lewerc doubled the number of officials earlier tonight and a few squads need reinforcing.”

“Oh.” Flashpoint had planned on opting out of the wargame and Red Field watched his shoulders slump. “Nopony else could cover for me?”

“No sir, sorry.”

“All right.” Flashpoint said with a sigh. “Which squad do I go to?”

“Squad eight is down to two members.”

“Great, thank you.” Flashpoint said shortly. He shut the door and turned back to Red Field. “Red I’m going to need to cut our time short tonight. I was not planning on participating in the game and I have quite a lot of paperwork to do now that I won’t have time during the wargame.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” Red Field said, gathering up his papers. “Hope I don’t run into you out there.” He added with a smile. Flashpoint was pushing aside his college applications and set a few files on his desk.

“Give those courses another look, you might want to tone back how much you’re planning on skipping.” He said as he started to read an accident report from Beast.

“I will, thank you.” Red Field said. “Have a good night.”

The storm teetered over the base the day before the game.
Red Field awoke that morning in darkness. The barracks lay in a sleepy grey-black equilibrium. He walked to the door and looked out at the weather. The base sat under a sky filled with bloated and waiting rainclouds. Somepony stirred in their bed.

“Hey, what’s up Red?” Asked Siplinski, yawning and tossing off his blanket.

“Not much.” Red Field said, shutting the door on the lackluster morning.

“I got the day off.” Siplinski said, stretching his back. “I don’t even know what I want to do. Especially since I’m all done with my first textbook.” Siplinski had passed his last test with an 82, giving him a B minus for the course. “Maybe I’ll just spend the whole day in bed like Full.”

Full Wing lay on his side, snoring lightly.

“I’m sure Rain’s going to have everypony in bed early for the game.” Red Field said, returning to his bunk to put on his CCUs.

“Haha yeah.” Siplinski said. “Have you uh, thought any more about the spotter thing?”

“Yeah.” Red Field said. “I’m starting training with my team next week. That’s when I formally give my decision,” Red Field pulled on his uniform, “so far you’re the only candidate.”

“Awesome.” Siplinski hopped out of bed. “I gotta go get breakfast, do you want to come?”

“Sorry, I’m busy actually.” Red Field said.

“Oh okay, cool dude.” Siplinski gave him a thump on the shoulder. “See you tonight.”

The air was tight with pressure and the humidity from Macmillan forest looked to stay the entire day on account of the hovering storm clouds. Red Field grabbed an apple from the mess hall and went to the officers’ quarters. The door opened as Red Field went to knock and Flashpoint nearly walked into him. Flashpoint carried a satchel and his uniform was wrinkled.

“Oh, Red!” Flashpoint took a step back. “I am terribly sorry, I’ll have to curtail our meeting this morning, I’m swamped.”

“Oh it’s no trouble.” Red Field said. “I’ll come back later.”

“Well.” Flashpoint looked at his watch. “I have a few minutes, come in.”

“Oh, thank you, are you sure?” Red Field asked as he stepped inside.

“Yes of course; I think we were still kicking around the list of courses you wanted to test out of.” Flashpoint said.

“Yes.” Red Field gave him the list, which he’d checked several times. “This is my final list.”

“Oh.” Flashpoint saw that Red Field had not removed any classes. “If I may make a suggestion. These two classes are a bit tougher than you’d expect.” He circled two introductory magic courses. “You haven’t taken any magic classes before so it’d be good to familiarize yourself before-”

Somepony knocked at the door.

“Yo, Flash, we need you at Barracks Twelve.” Red Field recognized Agent Orange’s voice. “They’re having chain of command issues and you need to meet with them.”

“Sorry.” Flashpoint said to Red Field. “All right, I’ll be right out.” He called to Agent Orange. “We should still have time tonight to meet.” He said as he walked to the door. “Just give that list some more thought.”

Red Field did give the list more thought, though he’d already made his decision. He’d suffered too many long and pointless hours in Rockvale High, needlessly listening to a lecture on a subject he could easily teach himself for him to want to risk taking a class he could skip.

He went back and ate breakfast. The mess hall held a few other ponies and he listened to their conversations. They were talking about the game. One of them mentioned how Squad Thirteen had attempted to bribe Squads fifteen through twenty to focus their attacks on Squad Six. One of the ponies was bragging about how he’d flown into the camp on the same flight as Red Field. The other ponies all listened intently to his description of the quiet and unassuming little unicorn who went on to be a killer.

One of them mentioned that they needed to get their gear for the game and the group stood to leave. Red Field had forgotten that the second wargame took place with firearms converted to fire paint rounds and he followed the ponies outside. The group walked toward the squat factory of Maremont.

Inside the armory, the work stations and benches were lined up facing the door. The workers stood behind the row of desks and supplied rifles, as well as lengthy descriptions of the punishment meted out to anypony who misused their weapon, to the ponies who’d entered. Red Field walked up to the first bench. The pony behind the bench did not wait for him to speak.

The pony leaned back, grabbed a rifle from a stack and laid a KKAT with a blaze orange tip on the bench.

“You’ll get mags and ammo before the game.” Said the pony.

“Excuse me but I don’t think this is my rifle.” The pony was already looking around Red Field and at the next in line. “I’m a UAT sniper.”

“Speciality shit’s at the end of the line.” Said the pony, pointing to the very end of the row of benches. “Next!” Red Field walked down the row of benches. The last pony was checking a list and didn’t look up as Red Field approached.

“So what are you? Medic? Did anypony tell you what rifle you needed?” Asked the pony.

“I’m a sniper.” Red Field said. “Is there a longer-range training rifle?” The pony flipped through his list and squinted in thought before rifling through the rifles under his bench. He set a dirty plastic case before Red Field.

“We haven’t had a sniper in a wargame in a while,” said the pony, opening the case, “this is what we got.”

Inside the case lay a Maremont M63. The M63 was an obsolete rifle that Gale Force Company had replaced with the Kitty Kat at the first opportunity. Save for the extra four inches of barrel, the M63 could not be said to be more of a “precision” weapon than the KKAT.

“Probably need a scope or something,” said the pony, “let me get my supervisor and see what there is around here.” He went to the office of the shop. Red Field looked down at the archaic rifle. The flash hider was orange both from paint and rust. He couldn’t recall if the M63 even had a chromed bore. The only “precision” aspect about the gun was the elongated barrel, which only affected muzzle velocity and didn’t make it any more accurate than a Kitty Kat. If the gun was as old as it looked, its rifling might be gone from firing.

How had such a piece of shit gotten catalogued as a sniper’s training rifle?

“Well then.” Agent Orange stood behind the desk now. “I hear our resident sniper needs a sniper rifle for the big game.” Agent Orange set a small cardboard box on top of the rifle. “Think I have something here.” He opened the box and lifted out a narrow black scope. “How about that?”

The scope had a plain duplex reticule and the glass bore a filthy brown tint. The tube felt like it was made of aluminum and the rear lens had a small scratch along the outer edge. Given the eye relief and fixed 3 power magnification, the scope was clearly a scout scope. The scope was also clearly a piece of trash.

“Oh don’t worry, it comes with mounts.” Agent Orange flipped the box over and two rusty clamps spilled onto the old rifle. Even the pony who’d summoned Agent Orange was nonplussed by the terrible combination. Agent Orange pushed the rifle forward and Red Field had to keep it from falling from the bench. “See you tomorrow.” Said Agent Orange, turning and walking back to the office.

“Sorry, that sucks.” Said the pony across from him. Red Field tried returning to the front of the line to ask for a KKAT, but the workers had already marked him for the M63. He left the workshop with the M63 and the pathetic scope.

He sat atop his bunk, clicking the adjustment knobs of the scope. He’d taken the rifle to Site and the two had spent a few hours attempting to recover the quality of the old gun. They’d mounted the scope, then Site had tuned the trigger, removed the old flash hider and recrowned the barrel. He also gave Red Field a compact suppressor.

“How do you know where it’s zeroed?” Asked Full Wing, who sat on the bunk across from Red Field.

“I don’t.” Said Red Field. “I’m trying to find the maximum adjustments for the scope, then I’ll set it to the middle so I’m as close as possible.”

“You’re shooting these?” Full Wing asked, picking up the box of paint rounds Site had given Red Field.

“Yeah.” Red Field said. Full Wing opened the box and removed a round. The casing was shiny aluminum and the bullet was a blunt shank of rubber filled with paint. “Max range is a hundred and fifty meters.” Red Field said, setting the elevation on the scope.

“That’s not that far.” Full Wing said. “How are you going to snipe?”

“No idea.” Red Field said, setting the windage to the center. Full Wing set the box of cartridges on Red Field’s bed.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Full Wing asked.

“This thing is a piece of shit, and Squad Thirteen outnumbers us three to one and it’s likely they’ve cheated in some way. It’s not a fair fight to begin with.” Said Red Field.

“That’s why you’re supposed to pull the upset.” Said Full Wing.

“That’s the plan.” Red Field said with a sigh.

“Have you and your friend talked at all about a post for me?”

“Not yet, but tonight I’ll make sure.”

“Red, do you have your shit?” Black Rain entered the barracks carrying a bandoleer of ammo and a rifle.

“Uh, you mean my rifle?” Asked Red Field.

“Yeah.” Black Rain tossed his gun onto his bed. “You gotta pick up your rifle for the game.” He saw the M63. “What the shit is that?” He grabbed the rifle from Red Field. “What the hell?” He peered down the scope then looked back at Red Field. “Who the fuck gave this to you?” Red Field had barely finished Agent Orange’s name when Black Rain tossed the rifle. It nearly landed on the cheap scope but Red Field managed to catch the gun before it hit the ground. “Fuck that motherfucker, I knew he’d pull some shit like this. Red, with me, we’re going back there and getting you a real Goddamn rifle.”

Red Field trailed behind Black Rain, who marched for the doors of Maremont with a tightly focused rage. Red Field disliked the rifle, and Agent Orange, but he certainly didn’t feel as upset as Black Rain.
Maremont was nearly empty when they arrived. Black Rain pushed aside two of the benches and made his way through the work floor.

“Rain, need something?” Agent Orange and a few other ponies crowded around the door to the office.

“The hell I do.” Black Rain said. The other ponies around Agent Orange were members of Squad Thirteen. They stiffened, as if ready for a fight, as Black Rain approached them. “What the fuck is this?” He thrust the M63 toward Agent Orange. “You call this a fucking sniper’s rifle?”

“What do you want me to do? Requisition a DMR from the armory to convert over to sim fire?” Agent Orange didn’t try to hide his smile. “Come on now Rain, I can’t give your little sniper the latest and greatest rifle out there. It’s what we had.” He took the rifle and chuckled. “I agree it’s old and shitty.” Red Field knew Agent Orange had been hoping for such a confrontation. “But we can’t just give him a whole new rifle, that wouldn’t be fair to the other players.”

“Bullshit.” Black Rain tore the rifle from Agent Orange’s grip.

“Hey what’s the matter?” Shadow Wings had been standing behind the other ponies of Squad Thirteen. “Can’t you shoot good without all your shiny toys?” He asked Red Field.

“Shut up you little prick.” Black Rain said.

“He brings up a good point.” Agent Orange said. “This game is about testing the soldier, not the weapon.”

“Oh bullshit-” Black Rain cocked his head and peered into the office door. “Wait, what the fuck?” He pushed aside two of the ponies and went inside. Ten plastic cases, each the size of a toaster, were stacked atop the desk. “What are these?” He started to open one and Agent Orange pulled the case away.

“Don’t touch that.” Agent Orange said. Red Field grabbed one of the cases with his horn and snapped it open. Inside the case laid a black optic contained within cut foam. The aluminum of the futuristic sight still bore the slick sheen of preservative oil.

“Holosights?” Black Rain asked. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“We’re phasing out the red dots over the course of the next year and we’re running some tests on these, this game is one of those tests.” Said Agent Orange.

“Nopony else has these.” Said Red Field.

“They only supplied ten, my squad and I will be testing them.” Said Agent Orange. Black Rain moved toward him.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Sergeant, I should remind you that I outrank you. I don’t want to have to take you out of tomorrow’s game for berating me.” Said Agent Orange. Black Rain’s jaw clenched and his right fore hoof lifted off of the concrete.

“You’re an insecure pony, aren’t you?” Said Red Field. “You’re still stacking the odds and you have us outnumbered three to one. Even if you beat us, all you’re proving is that a larger force, with new equipment can beat a smaller force equipped with junk weapons.”

“And a sniper.” Said Agent Orange.

“I’m not trained to be a miracle worker and I train to use at least semi-modern weapons, not archaic pieces of shit.” Red Field wasn’t exceptionally mad at Squad Thirteen. He knew they were a bunch of insecure stallions who’d risk nothing. He felt sorry for Black Rain for trying to reason with them. “So if you beat us, then it was because you did everything in your power to make it an unfair fight, just like everypony thought you would.”

“Then you shouldn’t have bet against us dumbass.” Said Agent Orange. Black Rain looked back at Red Field. He looked at Red Field like he’d just been abandoned.

“My bet was made with the assumption you wouldn’t be a cheater.” Said Red Field.

“Looks like your sniper isn’t too confident in his ability Rain.” Called a member of Squad Thirteen.

“Don’t beg for mercy; we’ll make it painless but we won’t let up.” Said another.

“All right Red, let’s go.” Said Black Rain quietly.

“You’re the most insecure group of soldiers I’ve ever met.” Red Field said, wishing he hadn’t spoken at all.

“Yeah, and you’re all gonna die.” Shadow Wings called as the two ponies of Squad Six made their way to the door.

Black Rain didn’t say anything as they walked back to the barracks. They’d gotten back at 1700, but only Full Wing was around. Black Rain climbed into bed and folded his hooves over his body. Full Wing asked what had happened but Red Field said he’d explain later.

Bren arrived at the barracks in a few minutes, he was eating an apple.

“What’s going on?” He asked, spaying a mist of juice. “Are we turning in early tonight to rest up for the game?” Nopony answered and he swallowed. “Hello?”

“Red doesn’t think we can win.” Black Rain said. Bren paused, then looked over at Red Field.

“Red?” He asked. Red Field’s stomach turned.

“I said if they won-”

“Which is the same fucking thing as saying they will win.” Black Rain said. Bren looked from one to the other.

“I just said I’m not trained to be a miracle worker. They outnumber us and they gave me a shit gun and that’s probably only the start of the advantages they’ve created for themselves.” He said.

Bren scraped at the concrete floor with his hoof.

“Then why did you bet that you could beat them?” He asked.

Red Field’s watch responded for him. It beeped six times, alerting him to his next meeting with Flashpoint.

“I gotta go, I have a meeting with Flashpoint.” He said. “I’ll be back in like an hour or two.” He climbed off of the bunk. “Look, we’ll talk about this when I get back.” He said as he backed out of the door. He waited for a moment for Bren to reply.
He left after Bren said nothing.

He did want to beat Squad Thirteen. The massive, arrogant barracks irked him no less than it irked the rest of his squad; he agreed with his squad on everything. His newfound college plans must have been why he didn’t care as much as when he’d made the bet.

He’d try his best; it wasn’t like he’d decided to give up. Nothing had changed since when he’d made the bet. He was only saying something they all knew was true.

Red Field reached Flashpoint’s quarters and knocked on the door. He heard somepony scuffle to the door.

“Hello?” Flashpoint looked frazzled and his uniform had received a coffee stain. “Oh Red Field.” He sounded partially dismayed and partially relieved to see Red Field. “Come in, I need to run out in a few minutes but we should clear up your class schedule.” The small room was in the dirtiest state Red Field had seen it in. Files and books laid open on the coffee table and desk. About twenty colorful sticky notes were adhered to the walls and a few to the ceiling. “I apologize for the mess.” Said Flashpoint, clearing some papers from the couch so Red Field could sit. “I had three disciplinary hearings to attend, another four reprimands to issue- we usually see a spike in misconduct in the days leading up to the wargames. Then I had my normal workload and of course, had to get ready for the game.” He pointed to a training KKAT propped up against a bookshelf. “Your UAT transfer went through and I’ve been scrambling to get the necessary signatures for that. But your college plans take precedent over all of this, don’t let my distractedness convince you otherwise.” He said, digging through some papers.

“Oh, well I certainly appreciate your assistance.” Red Field said. “I have decided to keep the schedule I showed you and test out of-”

“Red you cannot.” Flashpoint was at his desk, stapling a form together, and he did not look back.

“Why?” Red Field asked.

“You do not have the necessary education to test out of any of those classes, especially the two magic classes.”

“Oh, yes, I should have mentioned.” Red Field said. “I thought we could continue meeting and you could tutor me in those subjects. I’m sorry if I didn’t mention that-”

“You did.” Flashpoint compared two reports before looking back at Red Field. “I’m not sure what relevance my tutelage has on your education.”

“Oh, well, I thought you could help me prepare for those tests.”

“Oh goodness no.” Flashpoint stared at Red Field. “I’m not certified in any capacity and I don’t have nearly enough of the materials here.”

“Well, I was thinking that with my aptitude for learning and whatever you can provide, I could learn what I need to at least pass.”

“No, not at all.” Flashpoint turned back to his work. “My aid is only cursory, and you are ignorant of far too many concepts in those classes to pass.” A part of Red Field felt hurt, though everything Flashpoint said seemed reasonable.

“I suppose you’re right.” Red Field said after a moment. “What classes do you think I should test out of?”

“I don’t know.” Flashpoint straightened a pile of papers and turned to Red Field. “Let me see the list.” Red Field gave him the list and Flashpoint took it to his desk. He hunched over it for a few moments before somepony knocked on the door.

“Lieutenant Flash.” Said the stallion on the opposite side of the door.

“What?” Flashpoint was on the verge of shouting and the pony outside the door paused.

“I was sent to inform you that Agent Orange has equipped his squad with the holographic weapons sights for use in the game tomorrow.” The pony sounded like he winced as he spoke and Flashpoint’s shoulders stiffened.

“Tell him they are experimental equipment and he is in no way authorized to use or otherwise handle them.” Said Flashpoint in a low voice.

“Sir, I think you should tell him. He seems very convinced.”

“All right, thank you.” Said Flashpoint. “I will deal with him as soon as possible.”

“Thank you sir.” Said the pony before galloping away.

“How that moron avoids court-martial I do not know.” Flashpoint turned and gave Red Field the paper. “You could probably get away with testing out of their general mathematics, the rest are courses you need to take.” He straightened his collar. “I’ll have to cut our time even shorter thanks to that imbecile and I am sorry.”

“You don’t think I can test out of any of these other ones?” Red Field asked.

“No.” Flashpoint said. “Frankly testing out of math is a bit ambitious but I think you could probably pass.” He noticed Red Field’s surprise. “Red Field, you’re a high school graduate. These are courses for high school graduates and they’ll suit you.”

“I know.” Red Field did know, but he knew he could test out of some. He pointed to one. “Freshman Composition- I already know how to cite and research and write.”

“They teach using the Royal Library, which uses a different reference system. Plus they go a little into the nature of persuasion and the relevant philosophy.” Flashpoint said.

“Well, those all sound like things I could learn outside of the class.” Red Field said.

“All right, fine, test out of it.” Flashpoint thrust the paper toward him. “Make your choices and I’ll fill out the paperwork. I need to go deal with Agent Orange.”

A smarter Red Field might have left it at that, might have attributed the terseness of the exchange to stress. But Red Field wanted to know, and it bothered him enough to find out right then and there.

“Flashpoint, don’t you think I can at least test out of some of these?" Asked Red Field. "Aren’t my scores in Beast, UAT training and all of our interactions enough to convince you?”

Flashpoint was midway out the door and he caught himself on the frame.

“Your scores in training are very impressive relative to the standard we set at Gale Force Academy. You are certainly a capable pony with a serious drive.” He paused. “Considering skipping all of your preparatory college courses is more egotistical than ambitious.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous to say the least. You’re a recent grad and I know you’re excited for academia.” He laughed a little. “To say it better: you’re not a prodigy, thus you need to take those classes.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, we can talk more then.”

Red Field wasn’t a prodigy, of course he knew he wasn’t. But he hurt. His mind lashed and struggled against an invisible pain, trying to find a thorn or barb to pull out and destroy.

He’d been foolish to try and skip so many classes; he simply hated hearing that he’d overestimated himself. His eyes stung. He’d pricked himself with the thorn. He looked down at the list. It wasn’t egotistical to think he could test out of introductory psychology.

Egotistical.

Flashpoint had chosen such an ugly and demeaning word. Why?

Red Field blinked and felt a tear run down his cheek. Flashpoint must have known how hurtful it sounded to call his friend’s aspirations egotistical instead of overambitious. Red Field traced the barb back to Flashpoint. He had known it would hurt Red Field, he’d been malicious to use that word.

Red Field looked at the quarters around him. He saw textbooks, dictionaries and notebooks. Flashpoint ought to be in school, but he’d been sent to Gale Force, allegedly by Luna. Red Field’s gaze fell on the chessboard, on the crooked and brain-dead advance the officer had set up.

Flashpoint wasn’t a prodigy either.

Agent Orange sought to stack the odds against the sniper he feared. Flashpoint had sought to knock out the self-confidence of an intellectual rival. Red Field blinked away some tears; Flashpoint was no more of a friend than Agent Orange. He crumpled up the page and threw it into the corner of the room.

He had proof of his intelligence, of being a prodigy, if prodigy was defined as having the capacity to test out of a few freshman courses.

He had plenty of proof.

Red Field left Flashpoint’s quarters. The air was swollen with pressure from the clouds above. The base was deadly silent and each step Red Field took pumped more rage into his blood.

“Hey, Red!” Somepony knocked into him as he walked toward the mess hall and Red Field cocked his hoof back to punch them. “Whoa now! Sorry to startle you!” Said Blue Streak.

“What do you want?” Red Field asked. Blue Streak looked to make sure nopony was nearby.

“A few of the guys said they saw you and that big black guy at Maremont, talking to Squad Thirteen, to Agent Orange. They said some things were said,” he laughed nervously as Red Field glowered at him, “ah, specifically that you said they, being Squad Thirteen, might be winning tomorrow, or that you thought they’d win or…” his voice trailed off, “something like that?” Red Field didn’t respond and Blue Streak searched his face, “it’s just that, you know it’s a really big bet now and if there’s bits on the line I’d like to have any insider information.”

“My official statement, to whoever would like to know,” Red Field said, “is that I will kill every member of Squad Thirteen. My official statement to Agent Orange is that he’s a shifty piece of worthless shit and I’m going to put him down like a mongrel.”

Red Field stood outside of the barracks, the M63’s thick plastic stock pushed into his shoulder. The moon was hidden behind the pregnant rain clouds and he could barely see across the compound. He waited until the nearest patrol was at least thirty meters away before he took the rifle off of safe. The plain reticule hovered a few centimeters under the light above the door of Maremont. The rifle spat a quiet hiss and the action cycled sluggishly from the underpowered round. A dull blue spat appeared on the door, just above the first. Red Field increased the elevation by two more clicks and took a third shot. His third shot hit the door handle where he aimed.
The rifle couldn’t hit consistently past a hundred and seventy meters and the action quickly caked with carbon from the filthy training rounds.

Red Field was going to kill every pony in Squad Thirteen with the M63. He was a good sniper, he was an intelligent pony.
When nopony believed in him- that was when he showed everypony.

The door to the barracks squeaked open and Red Field ducked against the wall. He’d waited until the rest of the Squad Six had gone to bed before returning. He didn’t want to deal with any of them.

“Red?” Full Wing asked. “Are you out here? I thought I heard somepony shooting with a silencer or something.” Red Field paused to see if anypony else was with Full Wing. “Red, I really need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Red Field asked, stepping around the corner and under the light. Full Wing jumped a little.

“Oh, gosh, I didn’t think you were so close.” He said.

“Yeah, I was just zeroing this.” Red Field said, resting the rifle against the door. “Did the rest of the barracks tell you about this afternoon at Maremont?”

“They said they aren’t giving up. Black Rain came up with this new plan to stay on the run the whole time and wear them out or something like that.” Full Wing looked at his hooves. “Red can I ask you something?” Red Field was getting tired of ponies asking him questions about asking him questions and he started to tell Full Wing he didn’t have time. “Can I be your spotter?”

“What?” Red Field asked. Full Wing closed the door behind him and stepped out beside Red Field.

“I read the whole book on reading wind speed and humidity and spin drift. I found it under your bed and I think I understand it all. I know Siplinski asked you and I dunno, there’s probably a ton of ponies who want to be your spotter. I know I’m not the smartest pony, but-”

“Why do you want to be my spotter?”

“I want to be your spotter so you can help me learn like you did with Siplinski. When you taught him from that book you’d always say he could learn anything if he applied himself.” The quiet patter of raindrops filled the air as the storm began. “I want to start learning to learn, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Red Field said. “It makes a lot of sense.” He looked toward the officers’ quarters. “I want you to be my spotter and I want you to start learning stuff.”

“You- you mean it?” Red Field nodded and Full Wing hugged him. “Holy shit dude thank you.” Red Field felt him choke up a bit. “I know I say this a lot but you’re my best Goddamn friend in the whole world, like I look up to you.”

“And you’re my best Goddamn friend in the whole world.” Red Field felt the bitterness welling up. “And I really want to see you succeed.”

He and Full Wing weren’t different. Neither of them had been given a fair chance by their peers. Red Field wanted Full Wing to succeed out of unadulterated spite toward the egotistical assholes that surrounded them.

He could teach Full Wing anything and he would.

Five magazines, a knife, two smoke grenades, and a canteen comprised Red Field’s kit.

His shaggy ghillie suit hid his entire inventory beneath its matted folds. Red Field felt the dull corner of a magazine press into his belly as he exhaled. He reached under his body and righted the magazine, then returned to his scope. He laid under a short canopy of ferns, his hind hooves buried in a mass of moss. The M63 was pressed into the pocket of his shoulder and he gazed down the scope and into the depression.

Under the haze of rain, Red Field could see his teammates hiding amidst the waving reeds. The storm had only grown harder during the night and the clouds obscured the morning sun. Bren and Siplinski watched the left flank and Black Rain knelt a few meters from the right edge of the depression. They laid against the incline.

He laid a hundred and twenty-five meters from them. He’d set the scope at that range and found a holdover that would work at a hundred and fifty should their adversaries set up a perimeter.

They’d waited two and a half hours since the game began.

They hadn’t heard a single gunshot. Everypony sat cold and soaked. Siplinski opened a packet of granola and popped a few clusters into his mouth. Bren yawned. Red Field pulled the stock tighter into his shoulder and scanned from eleven-o-clock to two. A bug crawled over his left hind leg. Red Field continued to watch for Squad Thirteen.
When the team had awoken to Red Field oiling their guns, Bren asked what Red Field was doing, Siplinski asked if Red Field was even playing anymore, but Black Rain saw the newly spray-painted M63 and walked over to their sniper and asked what the plan was.

They were going back to their first plan. Red Field was going to gun down anypony who came at them.

The rain built as the next two hours passed, and at lunchtime, the little reticule began to shudder slightly as Red Field shivered. In a normal game, Squad Thirteen would probably meet their demise in an extended firefight as they rushed to capture one of the shantytowns set up for the game. Only a captain like Agent Orange would order his army on a search through all of Macmillan woods in search of a tiny squad.

Siplinski finished his granola and tossed the wrapper into the reeds around him. Thunder rumbled over the trees and the crosshairs jumped a bit as Red Field flinched. The rain deafened him and he could only rely on sight to find their enemies. The forest before him, where Squad Thirteen was supposed to blindly advance from, lay in darkened, rainy solitude. Bren rolled over and unscrewed the cap to his canteen. Red Field watched Bren’s sector as the unicorn took a drink. A wet strip of the brown burlap dipped into his vision as a fat drop of water hung from a frond in his hood. His left field of view was obscured and he waited for the drop of water to swell, then drop off.

The strip rebounded out of his vision.

A hoof poked out from behind one of the trees about ten meters ahead of Bren’s position. Red Field’s heart began to pound as slid his crosshairs over the hoof. It was red and the enamel was smeared with camo paint.

“You guys have one pony, behind a tree, to Bren’s twelve, ten meters.” He said quietly into his radio. Black Rain stiffened and Bren rolled over immediately. All three ponies clutched their rifles and ducked down against the slope of the depression.

“Copy that, keep us updated Red.” Said Bren. The hoof disappeared behind the tree for a moment, then Red Field saw a svelte red pony slink through the grass in a low crawl toward the depression. Red Field was about to speak when something outside of his scope caught his attention. Directly to Black Rain’s right, maybe seven meters, crouched a pair of Pegasi, they aimed their rifles where his snout had poked up just moments before. They’d been surrounded. He saw another two ponies creeping through some brush toward where Siplinski lay. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Go go go!” Somepony shouted and Squad Thirteen descended into the depression from all sides. Both Black Rain and Bren were riddled with paintballs as they lifted their rifles. Red Field saw Siplinski scramble into the reeds as the two ponies galloped into his position. At least ten ponies filled the depression.

“Haha got ‘em!” Somepony yelled.

“No no hang on! There’s one more!” One pointed to the cluster of reeds where Siplinski hid. “In there, I saw one in there.”

Siplinski opened fire. All ten ponies focused their fire on the tiny area and the reeds thrashed and snapped as the rounds cut through them. Even from his distant hiding spot, Red Field could hear Siplinski cry out in pain.

“I’m dead I’m dead!” Siplinski shouted, holding his hooves over his head as he stood. His body was spotted with splashes of paint and he limped as he walked out of the concealment. A green earth pony cocked his head at the black unicorn and swung his rifle up. Red Field saw the puff of smoke and watched Siplinski buckle as the pony shot him point blank. Bren shouted in outrage and Black Rain fired a burst of automatic fire into the pony. In a second, he too was peppered with fire and he lifted his hooves over his face to keep from getting hit in the mouth. The pony who’d fired the double tap was shouting at him.

“Enough!” Agent Orange’s voice boomed through the storm. He had been watching from behind a tree and now crept forward to the depression. Black Rain was shouting about how the green pony was a shithead. “Shut up shut up!” Agent Orange pointed at the green pony. “No double taps, we aren’t animals.” He looked around. “We lose anypony?” The ponies of Squad Thirteen shook their heads. Black Rain still stood in the depression and Agent Orange looked down at him. “Second verse, same as the first?” He called to Black Rain. Black Rain’s jaw clenched so hard the curves of his mandible stood out. The ponies of Squad Thirteen began to climb out of the depression. “That it?” Asked Agent Orange. “Jesus that was an easy bet.” He looked around at the forest. As he did, Red Field clicked the safety off of the rifle. The thick crosshair rested on the center button of Agent Orange’s jacket.

Red Field let his breath out.

Agent Orange turned around and his eyes looked directly into Red Field’s scope. Red Field froze. Agent Orange looked over him, then shouted something up to him.

“No! Not yet!”

Red Field stiffened. Somepony was standing directly behind him. “We just got to this area.” He recognized Shadow Wing’s voice. Agent Orange nodded and waved him on. A sickly terror washed over Red Field. They’d surrounded the entire depression. They knew he was waiting for them. “All right, you two keep looking. I’m going to take middle.” Shadow Wings still stood less than a meter behind Red Field’s hind hooves.

Red Field knew Shadow Wings was watching him. Red Field knew the Pegasus was trying to trick him into thinking he was unnoticed, only to taunt him more. The ponies in the depression began to clear out. Shadow Wings waited for him to move. Red Field slid his support hoof to the magazine well of the rifle and shifted his weight to the right side of his body. Shadow Wings was probably right hoof dominant, and he’d be slightly slower maneuvering his weapon to the right. Red Field set the M63 to full auto and readied himself to roll over.

“Yeah, I’m coming, hang on.” Shadow Wings turned and walked away. Red Field felt the crunch of leaves as Shadow Wings walked away. Ahead of him, he saw that most of Squad Thirteen had left. Bren and Black Rain were tending to Siplinski, who had difficulty walking.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Black Rain said, his voice choked with rage.

“Fucking assholes, bet they feel great about shooting you at close range.” Bren said, laying some bandages over Siplinski’s leg, which bled in a few spots.

“Red, if you can hear this,” Black Rain said, his voice trembling with anger, “I heard one of them mention that they bribed a few of the other squads to hunt you down.” He sniffed and Red Field realized Black Rain was crying. “Fucking kill them all buddy, it’s all on you now.”

Red Field rolled over, swinging his rifle around and instinct aiming at whatever was behind him.

He saw nothing save for a few ferns and some trees. A flash of black tail stood out in the brown and green. Shadow Wings and two other ponies were sweeping the rest of forest behind the depression. A few other members of Squad Thirteen combed the remainder of the perimeter.

Red Field’s body stiffened with pain as he crept through the brush. He’d been laying for so long that his muscles had fallen asleep.
He crept after the three. The two ponies walked ten meters ahead of Shadow Wings. About twenty meters from them were another pair of Pegasi. Shadow Wings stopped and pulled out his canteen. Red Field crept up behind him. The wind lurched the raindrops sideways and Shadow Wings turned away from the pelting rain.

Red Field loomed up on two hooves. Shadow Wings lifted the canteen to his mouth when Red Field’s hooves locked around his neck. Red Field threw them both into the leaves and locked his hind legs into Shadow Wing’s. He could feel Shadow Wing choking and water splattered his face as the Pegasus coughed. A hoof batted at him. Shadow Wing clawed at Red Field for several long seconds as Red Field drew the rubber blade over his throat.

“You’re dead.” Red Field said, his voice shaking. Shadow Wings still struggled against him and Red Field tightened his grip. “I’ll choke you out.” Red Field whispered. “Stop it.” Shadow Wings slammed his head into Red Field’s and Red Field shook him. “I said stop it.” Red Field tightened his grip to where he could feel the throb of Shadow Wing’s arteries.
Shadow Wings dropped his grip. Red Field released his hold and threw him off. Shadow Wing’s gasped and clutched his throat. The coiling marks of blood bruising stood out on his black neck.

“Your team is next.” He picked up Shadow Wings’ KKAT and detached the magazine. Shadow Wing’s eyes were watery and he retched into the leaves. Red Field yanked the bolt out of the rifle and flipped it into his pocket. Shadow Wings collapsed as Red Field galloped away.

Red Field made it fifteen meters before he heard Shadow Wings’ contorted and hoarse voice shouting to his comrades. The nearby ponies opened fire and Red Field sprinted through the trees, his ghillie suit slapping and catching on the underbrush.

The rain picked up and the hard drops pelted his face and shoulders. Water poured down his goggles, obscuring his vision. He hit a root and fell into a patch of briars. Thorns lashed across his face. He dizzily picked himself up and looked back. He saw nothing. Past thirty meters, the forest faded into a swirling curtain of grey and green. Red Field crouched and looked all around him.

He was alone.

The storm gradually slacked off over the next hour. Red Field made his way toward the center of Macmillan forest. His face was stained with blood and he knelt in a sea of slick jack-in-the-pulpits as he smeared more paint on his cheek.

Somepony about twenty meters to his right shouted to open fire and he clung to the ground as rifle fire sprung out on either side of him. Somepony shouted to push forward and to his left he saw three sets of hooves galloping toward him. He panicked and tried to crawl away as the advancing ponies closed in on him. Paint bullets lopped the leaves off of the plants over him. The fire thudded into the advancing ponies. One set of hooves halted less than a meter from him and the pony howled in pain.

“Aagh! I’m dead I’m dead!” The pony yelled. The victorious squad whooped and ran in another direction.

“Hey, fastest route back to base is this way.” Called a referee. A hoof sank into Red Field’s shoulder. “Whoa what the fuck?” Red Field rolled over and drew his rifle on the pony. Blue Streak recoiled. “Holy shit it’s you!” He looked around to make sure nopony else saw them. “Agent Orange said they got you.” He looked up and called to the dead ponies. “Head back that way, yes, the path is somewhere over there.” He spoke in a low voice. “Squad Thirteen lost a few guys and I heard they’re headed for Town Echo to resupply and hold out for a while.” He pulled a paint grenade from his belt and dropped it beside Red Field. “Wait a couple minutes before you move, the other squad is going to stick around for a bit. I got a thousand bits on you, make me rich.” One of the fallen ponies complained that they still couldn’t find the path and Blue Streak jogged away from Red Field.

Red Field waited half an hour before he finally rose to his hooves. The rain had all but stopped, but the skies were still black with clouds. Town Echo was directly in the center of the forest; it had likely already seen heavy fighting. His best option was to keep moving and maintain a low profile. Squad Thirteen’s strongest adversaries were the other squads.

Red Field picked up the paint grenade and stuffed it into a pocket.

He wouldn't wait.

Red Field spent another hour searching for a landmark to pinpoint his location. The sounds of fighting had ceased and Red Field’s stomach grew tighter and tighter with each step. He looked at his watch and saw it was 1600. He caught sight of a small group of ponies. Two of them were seated and eating lunch while a third provided a poor watch.
Red Field crept around them and continued on his way. He’d left his MSRPs with his deceased Squad and only carried his canteen, which was now half full. He spotted one of the watch towers of outpost Bravo and turned himself in the direction of Town Echo. He sped into a careful jog through the forest and arrived at the town within a few minutes.

Town Echo wasn’t really a town. Four buildings arranged in a square (and bearing an uncanny resemblance to downtown Rockvale) stood in a dirt clearing. Four separate paths led into the town and a shallow well sat in the intersection. The town was perhaps fifty meters in area. Red Field circled the town from a distance and surveyed it through his scope.

It was deserted.

He drew his knife and hacked down a few saplings. He whittled their bark off and entered the town. One building was a shack, with only a few pieces of sheet metal for walls. Another was a single story “store” with two entrances, front and back. Another was a doctor’s office with a few old medical supplies and barred windows. The final building was a squat, two story structure with a large, empty room on each floor. Red Field peered down into the well, it was only three meters deep and full of scum-covered water. He had no idea from which direction Squad Thirteen would advance, how many were left, what their fighting state would be, or what they would even do when they arrived.

Red Field set up in twenty minutes.

He lay in his hide, seventy meters from the town. This time he’d built a proper hide. He’d dug it deeply into the ground and covered it with brush. His rifle was an innocuous branch covered in other branches. His upper body was a mound of earth.

He waited another hour, and his stomach began to hurt. The crosshair in the scope wobbled as his stomach cramped. Another half an hour passed and rain began to fall again. He grew chilled, and the crosshairs were now looping a large figure eight around the well. Squad Thirteen could have been killed or decided to bypass the town altogether. Red Field closed his eyes and tried to think of where else they might have moved to.

A twig bent and snapped behind him. Ahead of him, seven ponies made their way out of the trees and surrounded the town. Behind him came the crackling hoofsteps of two more ponies who completed the formation. Both crept past him and toward the metal shack he overlooked. The rest of the ponies shuffled up against the buildings and waited for their teammates to get into position.

Agent Orange stacked up with Force Multiplier behind the second story building. The squad trained their weapons on the windows and doors of the town. Agent Orange lifted his hoof and the squad advanced. They had slipped up to the entrances of all four buildings when Red Field’s first round struck the mud near the well.

Squad Thirteen rushed into the buildings. A rumble rose from the shack, along with a fine blue mist as two of the ponies hit the bent sapling tied to the pin of the grenade suspended from the ceiling. Red Field drew his crosshairs on the doors to the doctor’s office. He fired three rounds which shattered the barred windows and forced the panicked ponies into the back room. He fired another two rounds into the open back door of the store and two more by the front door. Red Field then aimed into the second story window of the final building. The ponies bolted up the stairs. Red Field let his breath out and his lungs went to equilibrium. The gnawing of hunger and cold faded as he willed the thick crosshairs to stillness.

He struck the thin sapling from which hung one of the smoke grenades. As he did, one of the ponies in the store peeked out of the back door. He snapped onto the pony’s green mane and fired two rounds. He didn’t bother to see if they hit.
Smoke began to billow out of the windows of the two story building as Red Field reloaded. Another ten seconds passed before the first panicked and suffocating pony ran out of the door. Red Field shot him in the neck, the second in the head, the third in the head and the fourth in the leg. A fifth jumped from the second story and Red Field shot him as he fell.
The dirt crumbled from Red Field’s back and the plants tumbled off of him as he stood. He swung his rifle around to see if anypony still hid in the forest.

Squad Thirteen had entered the town in full force. He sprinted around the town until he faced the store. He’d tipped over all of the shelves, and the ponies laid beneath the window and against the back wall. He shot the first, then squeezed off two more rounds which struck the hooves and withers of the ponies huddled under the window. He heard the pop of fire from the doctor’s office and a few paint rounds struck the trees to his right.

“Spotted him! Fifty meters to our six!” A few more rounds buzzed past him and he dropped to the ground. One of the ponies still inside of the two story building crouched just inside the rear entrance and fired at Red Field. “Counter attack on his position!” He heard shouting and the thud of hooves. He rose to a low crouch and aimed at the advancing ponies.

Two ponies galloped in his direction, but neither saw him amidst the undergrowth.

He hit one and felt the bolt lock open inside the M63. The second pony fired a burst of automatic fire in his direction and sprinted to close the gap between himself and the unseen sniper. Red Field turned and ran a few meters before dropping onto his back. He frantically pulled another magazine from his vest as the second pony bolted toward him. Knocking the empty magazine free, he latched the second into place and struck what should have been the bolt release but was instead the blank left side of the receiver.

He’d forgotten the M63 didn’t have a bolt release.

“Fuck, he dropped down around here! On my position!” Red Field lay three meters behind a log, and the pony’s hooves slammed into the rotting wood. The mud churned as the pony blindly fired a long burst into the ground on the opposite side of the log. He heard the pony panting for breath as the gun fell silent. The other pony ripped open a magazine pouch and crouched, fishing for a reload when Red Field mantled the log.

“Drop it!” Red Field shouted. The pony threw his rifle at Red Field.

“I surrender, I surrender!”

Red Field racked the charging handle of the M63 and shot the pony once in the hoof before taking off into the woods. He ran hard, waiting to hear the shouts and fire from the counter-attacking remnants of Squad Thirteen. Reaching a thick poplar, he dropped to his belly and waited for the charge.

He saw nothing. The pony he’d shot picked up his rifle and was rubbing his hoof. Red Field looked back at the town. Nopony had followed him. Squad Thirteen had less than five members remaining and his best option was to wait for a larger force to eliminate the crippled squad.

He stood and crept back toward the town.

The town had fallen silent. The ponies he’d killed sat around the shack. They watched him return to the outskirts of the town. Red Field glowered down at them, waiting for them to call him out.

None spoke.

Red Field scanned the store. Paint trickled down the walls and off of the ceiling of the shack. Only the doctor’s office and apartment were left. The smoke had dissipated from the apartment and he saw somepony had thrown the grenade into the well. He pulled the second smoke grenade from his vest and threw it in a long arc over the town. The canister bounced off of the well and gave a sparking puff. Red Field slipped up behind the doctor’s office as the town filled with smoke. He could hear the ponies on the other side of the wall.

“Copy that, he’s got smoke in the middle of the street- I can’t see across to you.” Said one into a radio. “Hey! Crossdraw, keep watch on that window! What’s the plan captain?” Red Field thought for a way inside the building. The front was covered and the roof was solid.

The mortar between the bricks rolled and crumbled as his hoof rubbed against it. Years of weathering rain and mold had weakened the structure. Red Field drew his knife and inserted the blade into the soggy paste. The black tip sank into the mortar and he began to push it along the length of a brick.

“We got to make a push.” Said one of the ponies.

“We lost Cannelure and Drop Free doing that. We need to wait until it gets dark, then move when he can’t see us.” The two ponies began to bicker and the one who’d spoken on the radio told them to shut up.

“We aren’t doing anything until we get the word from Agent Orange.”

“This guy’s UAT right? We need to be on guard, he could be getting ready to blow up the wall.” Said one pony. “We’re easy targets in here.”

“He’s not going to breach the wall; they don’t give explosives out for this game. Just keep your eyes on the entrance and he can’t get us.”

“He could still be right outside.”

“He’s not, snipers don’t do that.” Said the first. “He’s in the woods somewhere waiting for us to do something stupid. We can wait longer than he can.” Red Field finished cutting a brick free and slid his knife back into its sheath. He lifted up his rifle and clicked it to full auto. He nudged the suppressor against the loose brick.

The magazine was empty before the brick fell to the floor of the doctor’s office. The ponies inside whinnied and shouted in terror as he fired into the cramped office. He pulled the rifle from the hole and reloaded.

“Want more?” He shouted, dropping the M63’s bolt.

“No no! You got us!” Shouted the leader. The ponies inside stampeded out of the doctor’s office.

“Don’t shoot! We’re dead!” Red Field slammed into the wall of the doctor’s office and the weak structure crackled. He slammed into it again and broke into the room. The pony who’d been on the radio with Agent Orange still sat in the room, nursing his shoulder, which bled from the close range fire. He looked up in fright as Red Field got onto two hooves.

“I’m dead I’m dead!” The Cavalry pony held his hooves over his face. Red Field pointed to the door.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah sure!” The pony said with a frantic nod. Red Field’s body was drenched with a mixture of rainwater and sweat that seemed both boiling and freezing. His vision pulsed and throbbed with each beat of his heart. He felt like he was going to vomit, and yet at the same time, he felt more focused than he’d ever been in his life. He knocked free his magazine and loaded another, forgetting he’d already reloaded.

He slumped over the counter of the doctor’s office and set his sights on the dissolving smoke cloud, toward the apartment where the last member of Squad Thirteen hid. He was finishing all of them.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the group of ponies he’d just eliminated join their fallen squadmates at the shack. They pointed at him. They were all saying the same thing:

How absurd it was that such a small and pathetic-looking pony had beaten all of them. He’d show them, he’d show all of them how wrong they’d been to ever talk down to him.

He stood up from behind the counter and walked out of the doctor’s office. He shouldered his rifle and fired a burst into the thin cloud of smoke. The last folds of smoke dissolved as the bullets cut through them. He could see inside the open door. He fired another burst and continued to advance.

All Agent Orange had to do was peek out and take a single aimed shot.

Red Field burned inside. As he closed the distance between them, Red Field started to shake. He would gun down Agent Orange. He’d shoot that piece of shit until the captain cried. His magazine ran out and he drove in another, continuing his steady string of fire.

“I surrender!” Agent Orange didn’t sound frightened, but he did sound certain. Red Field seemed to wake from a dream.
He didn’t know what to do. He stepped to the left side of the door and crouched. He tasted the sooty smoke and his mouth was dry. The world tilted and he felt as if he might collapse. “I’m coming out.” Said Agent Orange loudly. “Okay?”

“Throw your rifle out first!” Red Field shouted back.

“Yeah, fine, here you go.” Agent Orange’s rifle flew out of the door and landed in the soft mud with a splat.

“And your sidearm.”

“I don’t have one, they don’t issue them for wargames.” Agent Orange said. A rubber knife landed beside the rifle. “That’s it.”

“Fuck you. I said throw your sidearm.”

“I told you I don’t have one.”

“Stay there for fifteen seconds.” Red Field backed away from the door and ran to the shack. The ponies of Squad Thirteen moved out of the way. “Come out!” Red Field shouted. He steadied his crosshair on the door.

Agent Orange looked unsuitably clean. His uniform had a few spots of mud, but otherwise he looked like he’d just stepped out of his barracks. He looked around for Red Field. He spotted Red Field pressed against the shack and nodded to him. Red Field rose to his hooves and walked toward the captain. He trained his rifle on the orange pony’s forehead and his hoof took up the slack on the trigger. Agent Orange rose to two hooves as Red Field reached him.

“Well, you got me.” He said, holding his free hooves up.

“Now I did.” Red Field jabbed Agent Orange’s chest with his rubber knife.

“Yep.” Said Agent Orange with a shrug. He looked away from Red Field. “We got holed up in those buildings. Dunno why I thought it was a good idea to even come here.”

Red Field punched him across the face.

“How’d your plan work out?” He shouted. Agent Orange, unused to standing on two hooves, toppled into the mud and Red Field kicked him.

“Hey stop it you shithead!” Agent Orange said, shoving Red Field’s hoof away and trying to rise.

Red Field dove onto Agent Orange. Agent Orange pushed him away and Red Field punched him in the face, pressing the captain’s head into the mud. Red Field drove his hoof into Agent Orange’s belly.

“I beat you and your worthless team.”

Agent Orange tried to shove him off and Red Field punched him again. Somepony grabbed Red Field from behind and pulled him off of Agent Orange. They rolled Red Field over and their hoof slammed into his chest. Red Field grabbed the pony’s leg and pulled him to the ground. A moment later he was on top of the second pony. Squad Thirteen surrounded him and two more ponies grabbed him. He fought out of their grasp and leaped back onto two hooves.

Red Field drew his knife.

“Stop! Stop!” Agent Orange stepped between Red Field and the Cavalry ponies. His uniform was covered in mud and blood ran from his snout. He swallowed and looked at his squad. “He won. We can be civil about this, the fight’s over.” He looked to Red Field. Agent Orange’s chin dripped blood and his mane was slick with mud.

“You won, okay? You won the bet; we’ll tell everypony tonight. It’s over now. Okay?” Agent Orange eyed Red Field’s knife.

“Sure.” Said Red Field. He flipped the knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You’re insane. Orange, you have to tell somepony.” Said one of the ponies as they watched him depart. Red Field’s grip on his rifle tightened and he prepared to swing around and fire on them.

“Yeah, he’s UAT, they’re crazy motherfuckers.” Agent Orange said, sounding like he was trying to maintain his composure. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

It was over?

Red Field stopped just outside of the town.

What should he do?

His head pulsed with a headache. He sat down at the foot of a tree and took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t eaten all day and the world rocked under him. The storm had finally died out and his watch showed 1800. He grew sick and dry heaved into the brush. Red Field closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He’d rested for just a few minutes when he heard hoofsteps over his shoulder.

“Shit, I don’t think this is the right way.” Said a pony.

“Okay, pull up here and let’s check the map.” A group of three ponies crouched down fifteen meters from him. Red Field rose and drew a bead on one. The scope bounced and dipped as he tried to steady himself against the biting hunger.

“God, we’re all strung out.” Said the one holding the map. “Did we lose that other squad, the one with that Flash guy?” Red Field shot him. The other two ponies barely made it a step before he hit them as well. “Ow! What the hell was that?” Asked the first pony, wiping some paint from his shoulder.

Red Field’s stomach cramped and he ground his teeth.

“Give me your food.” He said as he approached the group. They looked into the bushes and at the sniper staggering toward him. “I need your rations and canteen, you don’t need them anymore.” He said. The forest swirled into a hurricane of brown and green as his vision throbbed.

“What? What are you talking about?” Asked one. He grabbed the closest pony by the shoulders.

“I said give me your food.”

“Whoa! Chill out!” The pony reached into his pack and tossed out a packet of clover. Red Field looked to the other two.

“You too, whatever you have.” They emptied their packs and built a small pile of energy bars and ration packets in the wet leaves. Red Field pulled the canteen off of pony before him. He downed the warm water in a few swallows that strained his throat.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” Asked one. The cut from his first encounter with Squad Thirteen had reopened and blood ran down his cheek and into the collar of his ghillie suit.

“Your nose is bleeding too.” Said another.
Red Field felt his nose. A trickle of blood ran into his mouth. He must have hit it during his fight with Agent Orange.

“I’m fine.” He picked up the bag of clover and tore it open with trembling hooves. “Get back to base.”

“Yeah yeah, sure.” Said the one with the map. They looked at him with a mixture of worry and fear and began to shuffle away. They were walking back through the forest when he shouted to them.

“Where did you see Flashpoint?” Asked Red Field.

“Uh, he was with a squad of like three guys at that big pond.” Said one.

“The one that feeds Victor Charlie?” Red Field asked.

“What’s that?”

“The Goddamn river.” He shouted. The ponies’ eyes grew wide in terror and they looked at one another.

“Yes, yes that was it.” Said the pony with the map. They all nodded to this and Red Field turned back to his food.

The storm launched a final assault on Macmillan. It began as Red Field lay devouring the food. By the time Red Field got up, the storm’s attack reached full force and a mist of rain hung over Macmillan. The sun had set and a milky moon cast watery light into the trees. He could see perhaps fifteen meters into the darkness.

Red Field galloped through the empty woods. He could barely see the plants ahead of him and he traveled on memory toward one of the sources of Victor Charlie. As he ran, the air raid siren wailed out of the base.

The game ended in an hour.

He picked up his pace. Pops of gunfire rattled over his left shoulder. Red Field ignored the sound and bolted onward.
His hooves began to splash through standing water. Ahead of him lay the pond, its surface writhing with raindrops. The pond had swollen to double size, turning the surrounding woods into marsh.
A dull, yellow glow shone on the opposite shore. A small lamp stood atop a smooth stump. The stump sat under an improvised shelter made from branches. A few papers lay atop the stump, next to a pen.
Flashpoint sat behind the stump. He read over each page and held his canteen with one hoof. His rifle lay beside him and his paintball goggles were pulled up onto his forehead.

Red Field looked around for the other two ponies in Flashpoint’s squad. One lay against the trunk of a tree, asleep. The other leaned beside him. He looked out over the pond in tired disinterest.

Red Field lowered the crosshairs onto Flashpoint’s flank. He let his breath out and felt the rain knock against his body.
He’d been fortunate all day. He’d taken out Squad Thirteen, found an easy source of food, and now Flashpoint was within range. If Red Field didn’t notice his peculiar streak of luck when it began, he noticed it when it ended.

The rifle clicked.

He ejected the round and pulled the trigger. He ejected another two rounds then lowered his rifle. The cheap training rounds' primers had died in the moisture. The paint bullets had saturated with water and gone flaccid. He went through each magazine, looking for a round that was still intact. The shrill double burst of the alarm rang out over the forest signaling a half an hour left in the game. The sleeping pony awoke and grabbed his rifle. He conferred with his comrade before jogging to the opposite side of the small shelter. He crouched in the reeds and took up guard.

Flashpoint slipped on his goggles but continued to work.

Red Field walked into the pond. His rifle was strapped tightly to his back and he clutched his knife between his teeth. His overworked muscles lost strength in the cold water and his soaked suit pulled him downward. Red Field crawled sluggishly through the murky depths. He surfaced for breath once, his head popping up amidst the splash of raindrops. He was midway across the pond. He could see the granite color in Flashpoint’s mane. Red Field dove back under.

He pulled himself ashore. The reeds and cattails bowed to him as he crept toward the shelter. It stood just a few meters from the swollen shoreline of the pond. Red Field slid up the shore. He took the knife in his hoof before lunging into the light.

Flashpoint was writing something onto a form and Red Field kicked his foreleg to push it off of the stump. The bone broke and Flashpoint’s foreleg bent into an obtuse V.

Flashpoint looked up and their eyes met.

Red Field’s hooves sat in a cold film of rainwater. The detention cell leaked above his head. He’d sat for so long in the fine, cold mist his legs had gone numb.

Silence entombed him.

He sat on a bed no different than his bunk back in the barracks. The smeared and milky light of the moon shone through the single window above his head and illuminated a crooked square of concrete before the locked door.

Red Field sat with his back against the wall.

He could still feel the tingle in his hoof from where he’d kicked Flashpoint. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment.

He would be kicked out of Gale Force. He wouldn’t get his tuition for the Academy.

Red Field closed his eyes and lowered his head into his hooves.

In the seconds after breaking Flashpoint’s leg, Red Field had made all of the connections regarding the consequences of his actions.
He’d let his temper throttle him without considering what it might push him into doing. Now, sitting in the cell with no more distractions, Red Field could no longer hold back the thought.

He’d destroyed his future.

The cell faded into a grey blur as his eyes teared. He’d go back to Rockvale, he’d probably become a shaft inspector with Elroy.

He’d kill himself before that.

The mist of the rain cooled the beading sweat on his heck and he got up.

He began to pace.

He needed to be rational. He needed a plan. He should start with his court martial.
How would that affect his future? Would it become a mark for his entire life? Could he expunge it?

Red Field took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned and paced back.

He heard the door at the end of the hall close and a clopping parade of wet horseshoes moving toward his cell. He sat back down on his bed and took a deep breath. He needed to make a plan for going home. No sense in wasting his time trying to defend himself during the trial.

Somepony outside the door spoke, they sounded a bit like Blitzkrieg.

A mare spoke and Red Field looked up. He stopped breathing as the key clicked in the door. The single tumbler snapped and the door swung open.

Red Field drew back.

Two black horseshoes ran up a pair of long blue legs that disappeared into the darkness on the other side of the threshold. One lifted hoof landed in the cold pool of rainwater and Luna stepped into the tiny cell with him.

“Red Field?”

Red Field knew next to nothing about the second Princess of Cantorlot. After the Blast he’d heard the speculation about her involvement in Celestia’s death. But Red Field didn’t have much of an opinion of Luna. Terror wasn’t an opinion, so Red Field’s views didn’t change.

She could only take a single step into the tiny room and stood directly over him as she did. Red Field stood on two hooves and Luna smiled.

“I understand you are the newest member of Gale Force’s UAT.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Please, call me madam, or ma’am if you prefer.”

“Yes madam, sorry madam.”

“I understand you recently got into some trouble.” She gestured to the room around them and laughed, like he’d gotten into some trouble with firecrackers.

“Yes madam, I-”

“First time?”

“Yes madam.”

“Well, as a member of the most capable military force in existence, you are probably going to butt heads with other such ponies.”

“Yes madam.”

“As acting commander of Gale Force Company, I hereby absolve you of all consequences and judgment for your actions.” Red Field didn’t have time to comprehend this. “Are you prepared to conduct operations on behalf of Equestria, soldier?” Luna drew slightly closer. “You are going to help our nation in her greatest hour.” Luna set a hoof on Red Field’s shoulder. Her horseshoe was cold from the rain and the wetness sank into his skin. He didn’t dare blink.

“Yes madam.”

“Good.” She turned and exited the cell. “It’s time we got started.”

A unicorn with a grey body and wearing a dark grey overcoat waited in the hallway and walked with them. His face had the slight frown of a pony not suited to talking out of line. His steps landed in an automaton march. He said nothing to Red Field as Luna led them out of the tiny detention building and into the rainy night. Luna did not introduce him and Red Field and the silent pony walked side by side after her.

The base was lit by the brilliant white floodlights of the guard towers, but the grounds were deserted. Nearly everypony was in bed after the game. Luna led the trio to one of the officer’s houses. She let herself in without knocking.
The grey pony stepped ahead of Red Field and followed her, leaving Red Field to close the door behind them.

The low murmur of ponies drifted from the kitchen. Red Field followed the grey unicorn into the room.
Blitzkrieg, along with Bombs Away and a few other officers stood around a table covered with maps and notes. Red Field recognized a few members of the UATs with them. Everypony saluted as Luna entered.

“Do we have any other copies of these terrain maps?” Lewerc wore a wrinkled uniform as he climbed the last few stairs out of the basement, which led directly to Luna. “Oh, madam.” He said, realizing the room had gone silent, save for him.

“We’ll be fine on standard topographical.” Luna said. Lewerc set the maps down, before walking to the table and taking his place beside the other officers.

“Is this everypony pertinent?” She asked politely. “Well then, I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here today.” She laughed, but none of the stallions followed suit. “Last fall, my sister Celestia was assassinated by a yet unknown Conspiracy. I am here now, we are here now- to find and bring those responsible to justice.” Luna looked over the group. “You are the strongest asset we have in tracking these criminals down and I am prepared to utilize you to bring justice.” She pointed to the two commanders. “Blitzkrieg and Lewerc will retain operational control of their respective divisions, however I will direct our resources. Commander Bombs Away will be advising me directly. I will make it clear that I am the final authority in all matters.” A few officers nodded. “Now then, let’s get to work.” She set her forehooves onto the table.

“Our first operation is the capture of Lieutenant Chrysalis, or queen Chrysalis as she has calls herself now. I trust you have all been briefed on her current status.” The soldiers, all except Red Field, nodded. She put a hoof on the shoulder of the silent grey unicorn beside her. “Good, my agent Nacht will brief you on the specifics of Chrysalis’ whereabouts.”

“Lieutenant Chrysalis leads one of the last groups of changelings left in Equestria. They’re mostly the survivors of her prior battalion, with whoever else she picked up from the remains of the changeling population.” Nacht’s voice was as flat as his expression. “Her current forces number between fifty and one hundred and they are inhibited in terms of capability and force projection. We do not believe her to have acted alone in the bombing. Her forces are much too small to capitalize on the attack. However we do know that the individual who placed the explosives of the Blast was a changeling.” He picked up a marker from the table and circled an area near the Frigid North. “She and her ilk have been predominantly nomadic after her failed coup at Princess Cadence’s wedding, however she’s recently built a small fort up here. She’s the only known changeling leader at present.” He set the marker down on the table. “Your objective is her capture.”

“Any questions?” Asked Luna.

“When do you want it done?” Bombs Away stood closest to Luna and chewed on his cigar.

“As soon as possible.” Luna said.

“We can move tonight, hit them while it’s still dark.” One of the UAT ponies said.

“Make it happen.” Said Bombs Away. The ponies began to shuffle about as they started to plan out the attack.

Red Field looked around for somepony to ask for context. Red Field was so scared of this ignorance that he approached Bombs Away, who was directing the other UAT leaders.

“Sir.” Bombs Away looked up at him. The stallion’s brow was beading up with sweat and he nursed the wet log of his cigar like a pacifier.

“Good, a recon colt.” Said Bombs Away, noticing Red Field’s patch. “Get your team together, we’ll need you for this.” He thumped Red Field on the shoulder “Go now, all of you. Get whoever else is on base and head to barracks. Tell Midlothian to brief you on the terrain.” He pushed Red Field toward the door.

Several other UAT ponies bustled out of the house. One of them looked back at him.

“You’re recon right, new guy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Get your shit from the armory and grab your spotter. We’ll meet you guys at the chariots in ten.” The UAT pony and his cohorts galloped off in all directions as they searched for any other UATs on base.

Red Field tried not to wake anypony but Full Wing. Full Wing moaned upon being shaken and Siplinski flipped on the light. The other members of Squad Six awoke and Black Rain told them to turn the damn light off.

“Red!” Siplinski jumped out of bed. “We heard you broke Flashpoint’s leg.”

“Yeah Red, what happened? Did you get in a knife fight with him?” Bren asked, wiping some sleep from his eyes. Full Wing groaned and pulled the covers tighter around himself. Red Field shook him harder.

“I can’t talk guys.” Red Field said. Full Wing finally opened his eyes and squinted up at Red Field.

“Oh, geez, Red, did you win?” He asked sleepily.

“It doesn’t matter, you need to get up and come with me. Get your uniform on.”

“Hey what the fuck is going on?” Black Rain put a hoof on Red Field’s shoulder. “What happened out there? Who’d you piss off?”

“No one. Full Wing and I have to go now.”

“Hold on, you need to tell us what’s going on.” Bren stepped in front of Red Field. “What happened with Flashpoint?”

“Guys, I can’t talk. UAT is doing something and I need Full Wing to come with me.”

“Why?” Siplinski asked.

Siplinski’s dark eyes met Red Field’s and Red Field saw a look of confusion and hurt.

“Fuckin’ knew it.” Black Rain clopped his hooves. “You guys are always doing something during the war games. It’s UAT business, you guys don’t need to know.” He said to Bren and Siplinski. “And you don’t need to tell anypony about it either.” He said, pointing at Red Field. “Just tell me, did you really break Flashpoint’s leg?”

“It was an-”

“Fuck yeah Red.” He looked to Full Wing, who was sleepily tugging on his uniform. “Hey, hustle up, your sniper needs you.”

“Ugh, hang on.” Full Wing buttoned up his jacket and shook his mane out of his eyes. “Do I need my books and stuff?” Full Wing hadn’t even started his training. He shouldn’t be deployed at all.

Neither of them ought to be deployed.

“No just follow me.” Red Field started toward the door.

“Red?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field stopped in the door. Black Rain hit Siplinski on the shoulder.

“Shut up, you’re just slowing him down.”

“I’m sorry.” Said Red Field, trying to look away from Siplinski’s gaze.

Site was dazed and groggy, but didn’t complain upon Red Field’s appearance at his barracks. He pulled on his uniform as they jogged toward the shack of the armory.

“What do you need?” He asked, rifling through his keys as they reached the door.

Red Field had no idea what supplies he’d need for a raid in the north.

“Uh, just my rifle and Full Wing’s gear- standard spotting gear, no LLRP.” Said Red Field. Site shook his head as he jabbed the key into the lock.

“Your rifle’s not finished yet.” He pulled open the door, slapped the lights on, and began to click open the various weapon cases scattered around the room. “If you need precision I have a few bull barrels I still have to thread. I’ve got two semis with good headspace ready to go. What kind of operation is it?” Asked Site, opening the case of a submachine gun.
“It’s a,” Red Field hesitated, not sure what to tell the gunsmith, “it’s a raid of sorts.”

“Take this.” Site snapped open another case. He pulled KKAT’s longer, more precise cousin, the DMR, from the cut foam. “Grab that bandolier on the shelf behind you.” Site pointed to a tan bandolier filled with magazines. “First five mags are match, the rest are AP.” He held out the rifle to Red Field. “Zeroed at a hundred, drop table’s on the stock.” He looked to Full Wing, who was marveling at the room full of guns. “Are you his spotter?”

“Yeah, can I get one of-”

“This is yours then.” Site took a stock KKAT with a thin red dot sight and tossed it to Full Wing. “Your spotting stuff’s by the door.”

“What about my ammo?”

“They’ll have ammo at the staging area.” Site turned back to Red Field. “I’ll have your rifle done by tomorrow. If you have any special shit you need done then tell me as soon as you find out. Stay safe out there.” He nodded to Red Field, then turned to his workbench.

The soft clink of Site’s mallet was silenced as the door to the shop closed. Red Field pointed to the enclosure of chariots.

“That’s where we’re headed.” He said, starting to gallop.

They arrived at the chariots before anypony else and Red Field told Full Wing what he knew about their operation. Full Wing received the news of their assignment with all of the tact and composure that Red Field had come to expect of him

“Dude, we’re going after Chrysalis. That’s really really crazy.” Said Full Wing for the fourth time. He paced back and forth through the wet gravel, his satchel bumping his wing with each step. “Like, what even- I mean, are we seriously going to kill her?”

“We’re just trying to capture her.” Red Field said, trying to sound as informed as he could.

“Dude, she’s got like an army of those like rotten pony things.” Full Wing stopped and his eyes widened. “Dude, are we going to have to like kill anypony?” He looked at Red Field in horror. “I can’t do that dude, like, I’ll seriously quit right now if we have to.”

“The sniper is first at the ready?” Luna asked pleasantly. Both froze.

She had somehow appeared behind them.

“Good to see one of our most valuable soldiers taking his duties seriously. I can tell that business about you getting upset earlier tonight was just an isolated incident.” Red Field still cowered internally upon seeing her, but Full Wing’s rich blue face grew ashen.

“You didn’t say she was here.” Full Wing turned and took a single galloping step toward the gate of the enclosure before Luna spoke.

“Full Wing.” He stopped, his back still turned to her. “I apologize for scaring you.” He turned his neck so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. “I make a point to know the names of everypony under my command- you do know I am ultimately in command of Gale Force Company?”

“No.” Said Full Wing in a whimper.

“Well, I haven’t been around to discharge my duties so I cannot blame you for the confusion.” She chuckled. “Am I so unattractive that you keep your back to me?”

“N-no.” He shuffled around to face her, but kept his eyes to the ground.

“You seem on edge.”

“I guess so.”

“Why is that?” She asked. Full Wing swallowed and took a few short breaths.

“Cause I don’t want to kill anypony, or get shot at. I-I guess that makes me a coward, I’m sorry.”

“It makes you a person.” Luna approached him, then knelt and put her hoof on his shoulder. “I don’t expect every one of my soldiers to be exited to gallop into battle; I only expect them to gallop despite their feelings.” She put her hoof under his chin and lifted his head so their eyes met. “I am proud of ponies like you Full Wing, for having the courage to fight for Equestrian justice.” She shook his shoulder gently. “And so I’m going to tell you to stop talking. Your mouth is betraying the courage I know the rest of you possesses and causing your hooves to second guess you.” She saw the terror in his eyes and smiled. “Look at it this way, you’re going to be with him.” She pointed to Red Field and Full Wing, eager to avoid looking at the Luna, focused on his partner. “Nopony will be shooting at you, assuming he does his job correctly. And you shouldn’t need to shoot at anypony, assuming he does his job correctly.” She looked back at Full Wing and tugged his chin so that he looked back at her. “Now, I don’t see there being much pressure on you at all.” Luna directed her gaze to Red Field and he recalled how much she scared him. “And of course, I don’t doubt that you’ll perform to the highest degree Red Field.”

“Thank you madam.” Red Field said.

“I am proud to have you both working with me. You are both obviously committed to our goals and for that I thank you.” Luna stayed with the two until the UATs began to return to the chariots. Luna waited until everypony arrived before she spoke.
“Many of you have experience conducting operations beneath me and I am glad to see you. But it appears that there is a new generation of UATs before me. I am glad to see that as well. To you I say: yours is a noble and elite distinction among the defenders of Equestria and tonight you are going to add another act of service to the UATs’ lengthy history. Tonight we are beginning a campaign against a Conspiracy born of the wicked desire to see Equestria destroyed. Tonight we are taking the first steps in delivering justice which has been nearly a year coming. Good luck, and I await your success.” Luna gave a salute to the stallions and started back toward the officer’s quarters.

“Teams one through eight, you guys are meeting in room two. Eight through recon, room one. We’re mobile directly after briefing.” Bombs Away exited the house and passed Luna. Following his lead, the UATs mounted the chariots. Bombs Away called down to Red Field and Full Wing, who hadn’t moved since Luna had spoken to them. “Up here with me. I’ll get you to Recon.”

The chariots formed a tight formation as they flew from the main base to the secretive compound deeper in the forest. They cut through the damp air just above the trees, rustling the wet leaves. The UATs reached the base within a few minutes.

The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed quietly as the soldiers took their seats in the planning room. Red Field and Full Wing sat with the rest of Recon in the second row. Nopony spoke as they waited for the briefing to begin.

Wildcat chewed his hooves lightly and Blackout adjusted the cuffs of his uniform. Locked Breech had a notebook open before him and wrote a few lines onto a blank page. Chesterfield ran his hoof quietly over the scratches and dents in the pressboard table.

Red Field sat between Locked Breech and Full Wing.

Red Field and Full Wing had landed and met them outside of the planning room. They had gotten no introduction and Red Field was pretty sure they didn’t know Full Wing wasn’t Siplinski, or that their sniper had assaulted an officer earlier that night.

“Good evening gentleponies.” Midlothian carried a thin file folder and strode up to the lectern at the front of the room. He set the folder atop the lectern and looked up at them. “I was supposed to be leaving for retirement tomorrow, or today actually since it’s past midnight.” He picked up a remote and clicked it once. A projector hanging from the ceiling whirred on and the smooth white wall behind him became the colorful mural of a map. “But you aren’t out till you’re out and I’m one of the few guys with experience up in this area so here we are.” He pointed back to the map, which was mostly white. A few veins of rivers and some ponds were scattered throughout the image, and green forest was visible on the bottom edge- but most the map showed snowy tundra.
“According to the information provided by Princess Luna’s sources, Queen Chrysalis has erected a-” somepony chuckled and Midlothian stopped talking. He shook his head and smirked. “Y’all need to grow up.” Red Field didn’t know how anypony could joke during the planning of a raid. “Anyway, she’s built a small outpost or something similar right in here.” He reached out into the map, casting a long shadow over the snow and pointed to a small black patch just a few centimeters above the line of green on the southern border. “This is an older map so the permafrost may have shifted a little but we’ve been told it’s still within the snow, well, snowy woods at least. As you know our objective is the capture of Queen Chrysalis for interrogation regarding the Blast. Now, it’s worth mentioning that she’s still in command of between fifty and a hundred changelings, so this will be a true raid.”

“What’s our ROE on this?” Asked one UAT leader.

“Bombs says loud and safety first.” Midlothian shrugged. “We have next to no intel and the Princess would like this done tonight so take out anyone that presents a problem.”

“What kind of weapons?” Asked another pony.

“Again, no intel. I would say expect the worst, full small arms, possibly some booby traps. The only spells that I know they can deploy are deception-based and you’ll be hitting them fast enough that those shouldn’t matter. Also, remember that their whole “changing” bullshit takes like three to five days to activate, so you shouldn’t run into any of that.”

“How big is the compound?” Somepony asked. Midlothian sighed and shook his head.

“Goddamn, wish I had better intel for you guys. Although that Nacht guy did say Chrysalis had bad relations with pretty much everypony out there so it’s unlikely her camp’ll be very big. After her banishment there couldn’t have been many places for her to turn.” The room grew quiet and Midlothian waited for any more questions. “All right, so since we have no idea what the base looks like, no idea what our opposition is running, and no time to find out, we’ll be running an adaptive plan today.” He picked up a marker and drew a lopsided half-circle around the trees denoting the location of the alleged base. “Majority of the other teams are going to push straight through from the south, clearing everything they see as they go.” He pointed to the group ahead of Red Field’s. “Team Nine, you guys and team Ten will be dropping down on the flanks, you’re pulling security. You’ll be no more than two hundred meters from the edge of the walls or whatever is being used to mark the camp. Once we find the AO, you’ll drop down and move to positions you determine as you go. I know you know what security is but I have to go over it: Your job is to shoot anything that tries to run away.” The team ahead of Red Field’s nodded. “’Cept if it’s Chrysalis, then kneecap her or something.” He laughed here, along with the other two teams. “Now, where’s Recon?” He noticed Red Field and turned his attention to the last group. “You guys are rear security, we’re going to have full coverage on this op so you guys will be directly in the line of whoever the other teams are flushing out. You’re still on security too, but you’ll most likely get the majority of any runners. Those other guys know you’ll be in the line of fire for them so they’re going to go light on the trigger, you guys need to honor that and keep them safe from any shit they might run into.” Midlothian pointed at Red Field. “Especially you Red, this doesn’t read like a bad op, but it’s your first time and you’ll be providing close fire support.” Red Field shrank down in his seat as the UAT ponies looked to him. “Just check the boxes as you go.” The almost-retired sniper looked around the room. “That goes for all of you. Most this shit you’ll figure out when you get there. You’re shoving off in thirty minutes so gear up for cold weather.”

Everypony rose out of their seats and the first two teams began to discuss plans immediately. Recon team, however, didn’t seem to care much about their apparently vital role.

“Chesterfield, grab the parkas from storage.” Locked Breech said. “Rest of you get your gear and meet at the chariot.”

“Make sure mine doesn’t smell like crap this time.” Wildcat said to Chesterfield.

“You stole mine last time so what do you care?” Asked Blackout.

“Don’t make my last day here suck gentleponies!” Called Midlothian as they ambled out of the briefing room.

The air grew progressively colder and colder as they flew. After forty minutes of flight, Recon team was well within the icy grip of the Frigid North. Red Field had read about the absurd extremes of weather that coexisted in Equestria, so the sudden temperature drop didn’t catch him entirely by surprise. The chariot rocked back and forth in the frigid air and the stock of the DMR pressed into Red Field’s chest. He adjusted his grip on the rifle and the muzzle scraped the floor of the chariot.

Full Wing looked up at him.

The pair sat on the floor of the vehicle, both had started to shiver from the wind and had taken refuge behind the thin metal walls of the black vehicle. Locked Breech flew their chariot, which was the last in the formation.

Red Field’s stomach kept turning. Part of his mind still tried to digest the Princess’s presence and desperately sought to uncover a solid emotion toward her. However the impending mission dominated Red Field’s mind.

He was probably going to have to shoot someone. Within three or four hundred meters behind that person would be other UAT ponies and he would have to try to keep them out of the line of fire. He would have to make sure he was watching every single exit point of the yet unseen compound.

“So you’re Siplinski?” Wildcat asked Full Wing. Blackout and Locked Breech sat up in the cockpit of the chariot, leaving the sniper team, Chesterfield and Wildcat in the rear of the vehicle.

“Uh, no, I’m Full Wing. Why do you ask?”

“Cause he fuckin’ told us he was bringing a pony named Siplinski as his spotter.” Wildcat pointed at Red Field.

“I changed my selection.” Red Field said before Full Wing could speak. Wildcat raised an eyebrow, then nodded.

“Well if there’s one time I like last minute decisions it’s when we’re on a live fire op and the decision is about who’s going to be informing the guy shooting over my head.” He nudged Full Wing. “Can you tell the difference between my ass and a changeling?”

“Haha yeah I think.” Said Full Wing.

“Great, you’re a pass in my book.” Said Wildcat, pulling the parka hood over his face.

The chariot rumbled through a patch of turbulence.

“Where are we?” Wildcat called up to the front of the chariot.

“We should be within fifteen kilos.” Locked Breech called back.

“Wake me up when we get there.” Wildcat buried himself in his parka.

Wildcat napped while Chesterfield asked Full Wing about himself. Full Wing shivered as he spoke and Chesterfield tossed him a hoofwarmer. Red Field closed his eyes and went over the ballistic alterations of freezing air on .343 trajectory.

Locked Breech called for Wildcat to get up. Red Field, already on edge, stood with the medic and waited for their next instruction. Full Wing stood a second after him.

“That looks like it.” Locked Breech said as they flew over the tundra. The permafrost had been pushed back and a meager patch of thin woods stood edge of the formerly frozen grasslands. “Should be right down there.” The snow had receded just far enough that anything in the patch of trees melded into the distant blot of brown.

“Recon team this is Team Six, we’re positive on a mass of buildings in the AO with changeling presence. Head to your position and ready up, we’re good to go in thirty.” Said one of the team leaders through the radio. Locked Breech gave his acknowledgement.

“Looks like we’ve got a job.” Said Blackout.

“Load up and get your gear on, we’re going to hoof it two kilos to the point of observation.” Blackout said, pulling a white parka over his body. Wildcat did the same and Red Field searched around for one of his own. He panicked as everypony but he and Full Wing donned the white outfits.

“Hey.” Chesterfield held out a small parka for Red Field.

“Thank you.” Red Field said. Chesterfield nodded and held another out to Full Wing, who thanked him as well.

“You colts get a pass since it’s your first time.” Said Chesterfield.

“I dunno, maybe we make them carry our gear.” Said Wildcat, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

They landed atop the crisp, dead hoarfrost. The black chariot stood out amidst the sea of snow drifts and Red Field worried that two kilometers wasn’t enough distance between them and the changelings. To the north, the snow continued, and the distant walls of the Crystal Kingdom shimmered faintly in the distance. Behind them, just a few kilometers away, sat the browned, then slowly greening grasslands of Equestria. Locked Breech zipped his parka up and completed the squad of fluffy soldiers. He checked his rifle before starting to jog toward the trees. Without a word, Recon followed.

Red Field ran in the center of the group. His pack, tied securely between his shoulders, moved and shifted only slightly. The DMR, however, flopped and bumped him no matter how hard he tugged at the sling. Each step dug the rounded bells of the scope into his shoulder. The charging handle occasionally stabbed his side, reminding him that he was charged solely with killing.

The run took only eleven minutes. Full Wing was winded and a bit of his bandage had unwrapped. Wildcat helped him tighten the wrapping again. Locked Breech halted the group about four hundred meters from the first of the candlestick trees and they laid down atop a particularly tall mound of snow. Red Field squinted into the trees, searching for movement.

“Set up here, make it fast. Dig in and blend in.” Said Locked Breech.

“Hey, is this angle good?” Full Wing looked up at Red Field from in a small bowl he’d dug into the snow. He had set up his spotting scope, pointed it toward the trees. He fumbled with the lens caps with frozen hooves.

“That works.” Red Field took the DMR from his back and tossed it into the snow. He started to dig himself a small divot in the bare snow. He barely felt the brittle frost scrape at his fetlocks.

“Lotta open out here.” Blackout laid a white tarp over the group. “Are we sure they’re not going to get behind us somehow?”

“We’re not sure of anything.” Chesterfield said as he laid a white rag over the muzzle of his KKAT.

“Christ.” Blackout said, shaking his head and beginning his own foxhole in the shallow snow.

Red Field and Full Wing laid beside one another in the center of the small firing line.

Red Field unstuck as he performed the routine of setting up for fire. He loaded the DMR and settled the rifle into the snow. In the few minutes he spent readying himself, Red Field grew numb. Numb to the cold and numb to his feelings.

“Uh, see that like stump thing?” Full Wing asked. Red Field flipped open the scope covers and scanned the tree line, looking for the first of the markers. He focused on a frozen stump a few meters from the edge of the first trees.

“Yes.”

“Okay so that’s three-fifty- like within a few meters.”

“Got it.”

“First, no second tree, the one with that knothole.”

“Got it.”

“Three seventy-five or so.” The rest of Recon laid silently as Red Field and Full Wing continued ranging their position. Red Field grew self-conscious as everypony listened to Full Wing’s informal vocabulary.

“First building, Four thirty-three I’d say.” Three buildings were visible. All three were sturdy log cabins that looked like they’d belong in a nice resort somewhere. Two had black, sooty chimneys poking from their roofs and the third looked like a supply shed. None had any windows or doors facing the team. “Second building, three four, er, I mean four fou-”

“All teams this is Bombs Away.” The radio’s volume was set too high and it startled everypony. Locked Breech scrambled to turn it down. “Entry teams are advancing on the compound.” Red Field’s breath picked up. He shouldered the DMR and looked to the southern edge of the trees.

Red Field glanced around the trees, trying in vain to spot the advancing group of UATs.

How could he not see anypony moving through sparse woods?

“Anypony got eyes on our guys?” Asked Chesterfield.

“Yeah, Red, where are they at?” Asked Blackout.

“I can’t see anypony.” Red Field continued to look back and forth. Somepony wearing a woodland uniform leaped over a low lying log on the left side of the building closest to them. “I got one of our guys.”

“Who is it?” Asked Wildcat.

“Guys cut the chatter,” said Locked Breech in a low voice, “Red, just keep watch for anything black and with holes. Rest of you keep eyes out for movers on the sides.”

The pony in Red Field’s scope crawled up to the wall of the building and stood. The soldier, who Red Field saw was a white unicorn like himself, crouched on the side of the building. Red Field looked for other ponies. He could only see the one. The tiny figure shook some mud from his tiny carbine. He looked like he was out of breath and he glanced over his shoulder and along the wall behind him.

Red Field felt like a strange voyeur watching the stallion creep along the side of the building. He pushed his aim to the opposite corner of the wall and readied himself to kill anything that might attempt to sneak up on his unnamed comrade.
His anxiety eased a little as he took a job protecting somepony rather than killing somepony.

“Fuck me, my glass is fogged.” Blackout muttered. “Siplinski, er, Full Wing, do you see anything?” Red Field glanced over to his partner and saw Full Wing squinting at the lens of the spotting scope. His tongue was out and his brow was a mess of wrinkles.

“Uh, no, I don’t see a thing.” Said Full Wing. Red Field checked his scope.
The soldier had left.

“Red, what’s going on?” Locked Breech asked.

“I don’t see anything either.” Red Field replied.

“What do both of you see?” Locked Breech spoke calmly but Red Field could tell that he and his skills were being questioned.

“I can see the rear of those three buildings and the gaps between them. They’re blocking the rest of the base sir.” Full Wing said.

“Should we displace?” Blackout asked. “I can get started on a low trench, head right with Cat?” Red Field continued to parse the small space he could see between the cabins. Nothing moved and he grew uneasy at his helplessness. His gaze flashed to the bases of the trees. They sat on a slight incline that positioned the compound just above them. He should have checked the topographical map.

“Yeah, start digging now.” Locked Breech said after a moment.

“Roger that.” Blackout rolled over and started to scrape at the snow. Locked Breech tapped Chesterfield on the shoulder.

“You’re security; something’s up.”

“Got it.” Chesterfield rolled onto his back and adjusted the sling of his rifle.

“All teams this is Bombs Away, we’ve secured the compound.” Said Bombs Away over the radio and Blackout stopped digging.

“Wait, what?” Chesterfield asked.

“This is Recon- did you say you’ve secured the compound?” Asked Locked Breech. The group waited a few moments.

“Recon team this is Command.” Bombs Away said. “You heard right, suckers didn’t even know what hit ‘em.” He didn’t sound pleased and he barked a few orders to somepony before speaking again. “Need you to bring your transport by to load up some intel, see you in a few.” The radio deadened and the group looked at one another.

“That was fucking fast.” Wildcat said, sitting up out of his cover.

“I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it’s deserted?” Said Blackout.

“You can find out when we get there.” Locked Breech pulled the tarp from over the team’s gear. “Right now let’s hustle and get our transport over there.” He pointed to Red Field and Full Wing. “You two, go with Chesterfield and head over there now and see if they need any help. We’ll meet you over there.”

Once more, the world passed by Red Field in a haze. He’d only picked up his DMR, shaken the snow off of the bipod and slung his satchel over his shoulder when both Full Wing and Chesterfield took off toward the trees. The snow gushed by under Red Field’s hooves.

Dawn broke over the arctic landscape and Red Field entered a comatose state as he ran; he’d been awake and combat-active for almost twenty-four hours. Flashpoint, Luna, the mission, digging the hide and watching the lone UAT all seemed to fall into the distant and unremarkable past.

The changelings’ base wasn’t any more than the three buildings Red Field had first seen. They passed by the first of the narrow, sickly trees and reached the cabins. Patches of filthy snow dotted the muddy ground of the forest and only a few hardy plants poked out of the ground.

A horde of UATs swarmed the buildings. Some dragged crates out of the cabins, some radioed the events of the raid to the base, and a couple officers huddled in a group and talked over a map. Everypony had a job and the camp looked like the backstage of a theatrical production.

Bombs Away stood by the door of one of the cabins, directing the opening and sorting of the crates. Chesterfield walked over to him, followed closely by Red Field and Full Wing.

“Sir, excuse me.” Said Chesterfield. Bombs Away opened one of the crates being bussed out of the building and rooted around through it. He picked through some patched clothes. Chesterfield paused, waiting for Bombs Away to notice the pony beside him. “Excuse me sir.”

“What is it soldier?” Bombs Away looked up, he’d lit his cigar and the end glowed red in the cold air. He looked tired.

“How did the raid go sir?” Asked Chesterfield. Bombs Away nodded to the pony carrying the crate, who in turn set it amidst the growing pile next to the door.

“How did it go?” Bombs Away laughed, sending a few dusty embers into the air. “Sergeant, it went like a damn stop and frisk. Our guys just walked up and told them to put ‘em up.” He pointed to the pile of crates. “And now we’re digging through their laundry like there’s some secret to be found.” A UAT pony carrying a small barrel labeled “bacon” accidentally bumped into Bombs Away.

“Sorry sir.” Said the pony. Bombs Away gave the pony a pat on the shoulder.

“Not your fault you’re sleepy soldier.” He pointed to the pile. “Just put it with the others.” He stopped the pony. “Make sure you tell your CO to get good photos of everything for the Princess.” He turned back to Chesterfield. “Intel from that Nacht jackwagon made this place sound like the stronghold of Sombra.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Sure as hell ain’t a stronghold, and I sure wouldn’t call those nubs ‘enemy combatants’.” He gestured over Chesterfield’s shoulder and the three Recon ponies looked behind them.

Nine changelings sat against the wall of one of the cabins. Their legs were stretched out before them and two UAT ponies stood over them with KKATs. The changelings’ heads were bowed and they seemed to sink into the mud like aging statues.

Red Field was fascinated with them, but Bombs Away’s booming voice pulled him back.

“Queen’s not here and those idiots aren’t saying much.” Bombs Away shook his head. “Looks like we busted up a little outpost of some pretty subpar bad guys. We’ll put ‘em through the wringer but it doesn’t look like she’s been here in a long time.”

“Is there anything we can do sir?” Chesterfield asked.

“Sure, you can load up your chariot with this crap and take it back to base per Luna’s orders. I can tell you right now there’s nothing we’re going to find out. But the Princess wants it done by the book.” He shrugged. “Can’t blame her for being a bit fanatical, that Blast is going to make everypony a suspect to her.”

“Isn’t that the first step in a proper investigation?” Red Field’s spine tingled from her voice. Full Wing yelped and took a few steps away as the Princess approached the group.

Bombs Away bit into his cigar.

“Your majesty, I wasn’t aware you’d be in attendance.” He said. “How did you-”

“I wanted to personally observe your operation and interpret the results for myself.” She bowed her head. “If you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Not at all your majesty.” He said. “We’ve got the situation in hoof. You’re in no danger.”

“Madam, please.” She said. Luna walked to the small pile of crates and barrels and lifted the lid of one of the round barrels labeled “bacon”. She glanced inside, then turned back to Bombs Away. “Are those the only prisoners?”

“Yes madam, they’re not saying much. They aren’t in the best shape. We’ll-”

“Is this the largest building you found?” She asked, knocking her hoof against one of the cabins.

“Yes ma’am, we just found some supplies and-”

“Thank you.” Luna said, walking toward the cabin. “You, sniper, mind lending me a hoof in here?” She asked, looking to Red Field. Red Field’s blood ran cold.

“Yes of course.” He said. Luna opened the door of the cabin and stepped inside. Red Field tried to see into the unlit interior of the cabin.

“Go.” Bombs Away shoved him forward. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Red Field stepped into almost complete darkness and lost sight of Luna. The door shut behind him and his stomach rolled as he fell into total darkness. Red Field’s eyes slowly adjusted and he saw several anemic candles lit the walls. A few bunks lined the walls.

Something clomped just ahead of him and he flinched.

“Apologies.” Luna stood in the corner of the room. She gave the wooden floor another kick. Red Field tried to stop himself from trembling as she took a few steps and kicked the boards below her. “I just need somepony here in case I need help lifting something.” She kicked again. “Your name is Red Field correct?”

“Yes madam.”

“Well Red Field, I am sure you are just as surprised as those stallions out there to see me.” She walked past him. “As I said I’m here to find those responsible for the death of my sister and the plot to destroy Equestria.” She stood next to him and threw a kick into the floor. “You seem to have a trustworthy air about you.”

“Thank you madam.”

“You are welcome private. Is this your first operation with your Urban Assault Team?”

“Yes madam.”

“Well I certainly don’t want to take any time away from your integration and training, but I was wondering if you would indulge me in a favor. I need a pony to help me with some matters related to the investigation.” She glanced down at him. “My assistant Nacht usually aids me with this sort of thing, but I need a few extra hooves in this instance. Of course, if that wouldn’t trouble you.”

“What do you need help with?” Asked Red Field, hoping he could find a reason to avoid her.

“Just some investigative matters. I’ll speak with you more when I have something.” Luna raised her hoof and stomped the floor. She tilted her head, then the room glowed dark blue as she launched a thin spell. Red Field trembled as the energy passed around his hooves. Luna waited until the spell covered the floor, then dropped another kick.

The boards made a hollow clunk. Luna took a few steps past Red Field and pulled at a knothole.

Luna swung a trapdoor open and Red Field lifted his rifle. The door opened away from him and he watched Luna’s face as she peered into the hole. She cracked her jaw and Red Field took a step toward the trapdoor.

“Get up.” Luna said. Red Field listened for a response. He tensed sharply as Nacht passed him. How had he gotten inside?

A greyish-black changeling climbed out of the trapdoor. Her wings were cracked and full of holes and she wasn’t much larger than Red Field. Luna took the changeling by the shoulder and pulled her up. An airy cry of pain filled the room. The changeling nearly fell and Nacht grabbed her other shoulder. His horn glowed grey and its energy wrapped around the changeling’s neck.

“You may leave now Red Field.” Luna said as she and Nacht walked the weak creature to one of the bunks. “Please tell your commander that I do not wish to be disturbed. I would like him to compile a list of locations where he suspects Chrysalis might be hiding.” She looked up. “I’ll be in touch about that investigation.”

Bombs Away thumped Red Field on the back as he closed the door to the cabin.

“What’s she up to soldier? Looking for breadcrumbs?”

“Y-yeah. Something like that.” Red Field said.

Blackout nearly gave Red Field whiplash as he shook him.

“Red, goddamn it Red, we’ve got formation in five.” Red Field pulled his face from the lumped pillow and tried to regain full consciousness.

They’d returned from the raid and Red Field had been so exhausted he’d simply picked a bunk in Recon’s quarters and laid down to sleep. He’d forgotten about Flashpoint and what might come of his actions in the wake of Luna’s return. He’d been awake for far too long to consider much of anything. Even as Blackout awoke him, Red Field was still barely capable of grasping much past exhaustion.

“For fuck’s sake,” Blackout pulled Red Field from the bed, “get your CCU’s on and get the fuck out to the grounds.” Blackout pulled Red Field’s uniform from beneath the bed and threw it into his face.

Red Field pulled the uniform on, his eyes crusted with sleep, before staggering after Blackout.

All of the UAT teams had assembled in the tiny yard within the UAT compound. They stood at a fierce attention and Red Field wondered what the matter was. He yawned as he pressed in between Blackout and Chesterfield.

“What was his problem?” Locked Breech asked Blackout, who gave a shrug. Locked Breech looked down at Red Field. “Princess Luna called us here to meet a VIP; how did you sleep through that?”

“I’m sorry sir.” Said Red Field.

“Don’t be sorry, be glad she’s late.” Locked Breech said as he drew back into attention.

Red Field looked forward. The slate colored officers’ building stood in front of them and Bombs Away burst through the door after a minute of waiting. The commander was pulling on his uniform and stopped for a moment to punch his foreleg through one of the sleeves.

“Teams one through five on deck for shoving off.” He pointed to the team beside Recon. “Eight, you guys are QRF for the first op we run.” Bombs Away began to button his uniform. “Recon, hope you enjoy double jeopardy because you’re up for overwatch on three more potential operations.” He realized he’d skipped a button and cursed as he undid them again. “Princess Luna has informed me,” He paused until he finished re-buttoning his jacket. Straightening his collar, Bombs Away looked up at the UATs. “Princess Luna has informed me we are now officially in a state of search and destroy regarding a Conspiracy to overthrow Equestria. We are not certain on many of the specifics of this Conspiracy, but we believe them to be well-organized and well-funded. They can be anyone, ponies, changelings, diamond dogs, gryphons.” He took a deep breath and held it, puffing out his chest a bit. “Gentleponies, I’ll be honest with you and say that this looks to be a bit of a campaign. However let me assure you the juice is worth the squeeze: Princess Luna believes that the Conspiracy is responsible for the Blast.” He paused and Bombs Away’s eyes narrowed at the UATs. “If we have even the slightest chance of catching the fucksticks who perpetrated the worst act of domestic terror in our nation’s history, you can bet your sorry asses we’re going to go to hell and back to get that chance.”

A chariot flew overhead and everypony looked up to see the black aircraft halt above them. Red Field could see Luna’s dark mane billowing off of the side as the chariot descended. The chariot touched down and the door clanged open.

“Madam, excellently timed.” Bombs Away said as he hurried to the chariot. Luna stepped down and he gave her a stiff salute. “I was just giving a preliminary briefing to the troops.”

Luna wore a dark blue uniform in digital camouflage. It fit her perfectly and the fabric stopped exactly at the tips of her black metal horseshoes. She looked around at the assembled ponies.

“Good to see you all.” She said. “The initial attack that took the life of my sister was committed by a changeling, almost assuredly a mercenary, rather than a close affiliate of this Conspiracy. I’ve recently learned that the mercenary is likely hidden somewhere in the Rail Mountains.” Nacht stepped out of the chariot and stood beside her. “Our judicial operations will accordingly begin there.” She looked down at Bombs Away. “Is there somewhere we can speak to the entire unit?”

“Of course, we have a briefing room.” Said Bombs Away.

“Excellent, take us there please.” Luna said. “UATs,” she called to the entire group, “I’ve brought in a specialist to educate you on the current situation of the mountains. Please treat him courteously.” She looked back to the chariot. “We’re ready for you.”

A pair of thick furry ears rose up in the chariot and a single grey paw took hold of the side of the vehicle. The svelte, tall figure of a diamond dog climbed out of the chariot and hopped to the ground. He looked to Luna.

“Where would you like me to give the presentation?” His voice, though more similar to a pony’s than Red Field had expected, was raspy and much higher than those of the stallions’ at Gale Force.

The dog’s eyes were a luminous gold and glistened like gemstones. His long arms, which reached down his slender body and a little past his waist, mesmerized the squat ponies.

“Follow this gentlepony right here.” Luna said, pointing to Bombs Away. Bombs Away seemed just as surprised by the dog as UATs, and he gave a little “uh” as he beheld the dog. He pointed to one of the brick buildings.

“This way- right this way.”

“Thank you.” The dog’s smile exposed two rows of very white and unsettlingly pointed teeth.

The UATs murmured to one another as they shuffled into the briefing room after Luna and her guest.

“Good day!” Everypony in the room looked to the lectern at the sound of the dog’s scratchy voice. “My name is Khyber, I am a foreign relations officer for the federal forces of security, the primary armed forces of the country of Mohs.” He smiled, exposing his shard teeth. “Don’t worry, I’m housetrained.” The UATs were too enraptured by the canine to give him a polite laugh. Khyber cleared his throat. “Princess Luna has informed me that you will be conducting a number of operations in the nation of Mohs, regarding the search for and extradition of criminals responsible for an assassination taking place last year.” Luna, who sat in the front row, nodded to this. He nodded in response. “I understand that you’ve already taken some preliminary actions early this summer. However now that you’re going to be operating in an occupational capacity, I have been sent here to inform you of the situation of Mohs, and give a little cultural sensitivity training.” His toothy smile reemerged. Khyber held his paws together and looked around the room. “You’re commandos,” he said, “you don’t much care for cultural sensitivity.” He waited for a laugh, then turned to face the presentation screen behind him. “A bit of background for my country.” He clicked the remote and map flashed onto the screen. “At its birth, Mohs was an odd nation.” A series of lines and curves squiggled over the screen and covered some of the depicted land. “This is the underside of the Rail Mountains- the country of Mohs. Either name works.” He pointed to the squiggles. “Some hundred years ago, the indigenous packs of dogs native to the area started what is now commonly associated with Mohs: Tunnels.” The map bemused Red Field. None of the tunnels seemed to go anywhere, or at least, anywhere efficiently. Khyber seemed aware of this. “Initially, the tunnels were rather shallow, and relatively confined to specific purposes. Most of them were breeding chambers.” Red Field heard Blackout give a subtle groan of disgust. “And some meat farms.” Khyber looked back at the UATs. “In its early years, Mohs was like a series of tubes: Everything had a purpose, and the majority of the dogs viewed it as just a fraction of their lives. The majority of life took place on the surface.”
Khyber clicked to the next slide.

The squiggles had bloated and further overlapped.

“As time went on, the dogs began to discover that tunnels offered more than just a niche property. As more minerals and ore were discovered under the Rail Mountains, some of our larger businesses found themselves obligated to gain tunnel land to prove their relevance. In this stage, Mohs- the underground portion, was growing into its role in our society.” He paused, and saw the bored expressions of the UATs. “In much the same way as your great princess became a cultural identity, our tunnels made us who we are.”

“I think they understand.” Said Luna. Khyber advanced to the next slide. The tunnel portions had tripled in size; now the majority of the mountain was covered, or rather underscored, in tunnels.

“At this point in our history, we diamond dogs have closely identified with the underground. Nearly every aspect of life takes place in some form down there. While we maintain the majority of our villages and farms on the surface, more and more diamond dogs claim that the tunnels are their identity.” He paused, seeing their ongoing disinterest. “For how many of you, am I the first diamond dog you’ve seen?” He asked in a louder voice. “Come on, show of hooves.” A multicolored forest of thick hooves grew into the air. “I’ve been a liaison for my country for about seven years now, and one thing I’ve noticed about you ponies is that you get quite uncomfortable with foreigners, especially of the two legged kind.” He clicked the remote and a strange, monochrome image flashed up on the screen.

It looked like a very grainy radar image. Red Field stared at it a moment, then realized it was an ultrasound.

“My mate is a month pregnant.” Khyber pointed to the image. “We have six puppies on the way and expect at least five to live. She and I have been married just over a year now and are looking to move outside of a military base once she gives birth.” Khyber paused and stepped away from the lectern. “I like reading pony literature, and have a hobby of woodworking. In addition to liaising between our governments, I also work as a mediator for the many ethnic groups in Mohs and spend quite a lot of time settling disputes over everything from land ownership to possession of offspring. I make a bit above average and can easily be described as a more progressive dog in terms of my political views.” He waited a second. “But I am not special. I can name dozens of dogs with my level of education and training, and I can name hundreds of dogs who I’d trust wholeheartedly with just about anything in my life. An issue with the ponies who’ve come to my country has been their continual desire to see difference between our cultures, and the patience to discover confirmation of this.” Khyber grew quieter and Red Field and all the other UAT members unconsciously leaned a bit to hear the dog’s voice. “Our cultures are not alike. I won’t say they are. But diamond dogs are people, as much as ponies are people.” He pointed to Luna. “My countrydogs and I are allowing her and yourselves into our nation with the knowledge that you may create a conflict we are not affiliated with, but may still be hurt by.” He paused, and Red Field saw the slight frown of frustration on the dog’s face. “It is not asking too much that you understand who we are before you do so.”

“I think you’ve made your point.” Luna said, after a moment of silence. “Please give them a rundown of the dogs they’ll encounter.”

“There are no specific diamond dogs.” Khyber turned and pointed back to the screen. “Mohs is home to numerous species of dogs all with the common affinity for tunnels and usually diamonds as well. The term diamond dogs refers only to the citizens of Mohs.” He pointed to himself. “The first kind of dog you’ll probably run into is a dog like myself: A Silicite. Silicites are the most common dogs in Mohs, we are usually thinner, and generally more levelheaded than the other dogs. Most dogs are like me: they want a normal life and have pretty fair views of the world.” He advanced to the next slide, which showed a hulking dog wearing a helmet and shouldering a pickaxe. “The Underdogs are more of the iconic diamond dog. They are usually more upper body than anything else. You’ve probably seen them poking around the surface every now and then. Usually a pronounced overbite, they wear collars and traditionally red vests. Underdogs are no less intelligent than anyone else- though the ones near the surface don’t give that impression. One thing you ought to know about underdogs is,” Khyber paused and gnawed lightly at one of his fingers, “they aren’t technically dangerous to be around, and quite a number of them are very interesting and safe people.” He chuckled. “But if somebody commits a crime, or kills another dog, it’s not a bad guess that an Underdog is to blame.” He advanced to the next slide, which depicted a mountain.

“Burrowing Chalcedonies are a small subset of the population, however they’ve made their way to a place of relevance in Mohs so they merit explanation. They’re more commonly known as bronies and they are a bit of an idiosyncratic group. Their single most defining trait is that they are a communal society. Bronies have caused many problems in Mohs. They are a peculiar group, and their peculiarity makes them difficult to handle. They are not dangerous, generally. They tend to be smaller in size than most other dogs, though there aren’t many photos of them to show you I’m afraid. They live in their own community in one of the eight mountains of Mohs. Their characterizing features are pacifism, acceptance, and difficulty integrating with other dogs. They’re about one, to one and a half percent of the population, yet for a number of years, they were involved in almost half of the crime in Mohs, almost always as victims. Since they retreated into their mountain, they’ve all but vanished from day to day life in the rest of the country. It’s not very likely you’ll have anything to do with the bronies, as they’re almost assuredly uninvolved with the Conspiracy. However they are subject to numerous stereotypes and slander and I want to make it clear to you that they are not a threat to your safety, so long as you stay away from their territory.”

“Please continue.” Luna said, a slight impatience in her voice. Khyber bowed his head to her.

“Of course, I apologize for the interruption. Moving on, while gryphons do comprise a small portion of the population, they usually see themselves-”

“These stallions have quite a lot to do today. Please explain the civil war.” Khyber paused, and his eyes flitted to Luna, then the UATs, then back to Luna.

“There isn’t a civil war; didn’t you tell them that?” He asked in quiet dissatisfaction. He looked back out at the UATs and the dog’s shoulders slumped. “I see you may have been misinformed about the current political status of my country.” He became formal once more, but his words were compressed and Red Field could tell he was growing frustrated. “There is not a civil war.” His smile grew taut as he looked around the room to see how hard that belief would be to erase. “There are sporadic and isolated incidents of violence or terrorism caused by numerous ideological groups seeking to further their own ends.”

“How is that different than a civil war?” Luna asked.

“No one admits to being the face of a revolution. Some groups are mercenaries, some are real terrorists and some are just, complicated.” He chewed his black lower lip. “There are a number of gangs and outfits we’ve managed to identify, though their membership and leadership is so nebulous most of our information simply involves names and logos.”

“You have a problem with random acts of terror?” Bombs Away asked.

“Yes.” Said Khyber.

“Well, we have a lot of solutions for that.” Bombs Away crossed his forelegs. “A universal truth I’ve found is that the ideological efficacy of a group of individuals tends to be inversely proportional to how many of them you shoot.”

Khyber did not laugh.

“I think I can conclude this presentation. I’m sure you’ll get more ‘actionable intel’ from the field officers you are assigned to when you enter Mohs.” Khyber said. He clicked off the projector and set the remote on the lectern. “I’ll need all of the team commanders to come up here and sign this form indicating that I disseminated the appropriate information.”

“Is that all? Did you want to tell us anything about these terrorist groups?” Asked Luna.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Khyber said shortly. “The field officers should give you better information.” He looked back to the UATs. “Please come up here and sign this. This form must be completed before my government will authorize any military presence in Mohs.”

The UAT leaders rose out of their seats and made their way up to where Khyber stood. The UATs began to murmur among themselves in the meantime.

“Bet on us being on first rotation.” Wildcat whispered to the other Recon members.

Recon team, minus Locked Breech who was attending an officers’ briefing, took their rations to their quarters and began a discussion on the possibility of being deployed to Mohs. Recon team’s quarters were twice the size of Barracks Six and were furnished like a college dorm. Red Field and Full Wing sat beside one another on a purple couch, Wildcat and Blackout sat on opposite ends of a card table, and Chesterfield sat on a loveseat.

The senior members of Recon team bored of talking about Mohs within a few minutes and began to ask both new ponies about themselves. Blackout led the questioning, and of the three veterans, he seemed the most interested in the new sniper team.

“Why’d you switch spotters on us?” He asked Red Field.

“Well, it was a bit sudden. I was going to tell you formally, but then Luna arrived and I-”

“I’m not asking about that.” Blackout took a sip of his water and continued to stare at Red Field. “Why him? What was wrong with your other guy?”

“Well, I saw potential in him. He studied the material without any prompting, and he’s shown to be very capable.” Said Red Field.

“More capable than Siplinski?” Asked Blackout. Red Field didn’t answer immediately.

“I can’t really speak to their comparability. Full Wing recently lost his position with Airborne-”

“So you felt sorry for him.” Said Chesterfield.

“Full Wing and I have grown very close, and I felt we made a better team than Siplinski and I, who were not as well acquainted.”

“So why wasn’t he your first choice?” Asked Blackout.

“I didn’t know until recently that he was interested. When I saw that he’d studied the material before asking me, I felt his confidence warranted the position.” Red Field said.

All three ponies took this in and he tried to discern their next question.

“Your buddy sure talks you up.” Said Blackout, now focusing on Full Wing. “You going to leave him pissing in the wind or are you going to back all of that up?”

“Yes sir.” Said Full Wing. “I mean, yeah, I read the whole book and did all of the exercises like twice.”

“That’s nice.” Said Blackout. “You look like some jock straight out of the Wonderbolts training camp. Heard from a few ponies that you about shit yourself when Luna showed up.” Full Wing swallowed. “Gotta say, if it looks like a bitch, and it talks like a bitch…” Blackout shrugged. “All that’s left is for you to act like a bitch and I’d say the science is settled.”

“I’m sorry, she’s just scary you know?” Said Full Wing.

“You know, we deal with scary things in our line of work.” Said Wildcat. “Did that cross your mind?”

“Hehe, yeah guys, I’m sorry.” Full Wing said. “Just wasn’t expecting her to show up is all.”

“You didn’t do UAT basic like Red.” Said Blackout. “You’re just a walk-on? Plan on picking it up on the job?” Full Wing made an “uh” and Chesterfield pointed at the sniper team.

“We’re a close group and we’re always nervous about change.” He said. “You’ll forgive us for being a bit nosy.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, Jesus.” Blackout said. “All we’re saying is: You two have to prove yourselves, and pretty fucking well if you want to work with us. This ain’t some clopper bullshit where all you have to do is run and shoot and not lose your gear. UATs do work, and it doesn’t take much to get dead.” Both initiates nodded. “Red, you seem solid enough and I doubt you’d pick someone who is as dumb as Full Wing looks. I’m definitely not a hundred percent on that last minute change of spotter shit, but if you can pull your weight and keep your head you’ll make it just fine.”

“Jock still needs a nickname.” Said Wildcat.

“Oh, yeah, he missed the meet and greet.” Said Blackout. “Now your buddy here had to put on a little show for us when he first showed up here. Now we call him Idiot’s Mate or something.” He chuckled. “Hell of a show seeing him make Mauser look like an idiot with that checkmate or whatever. Now we just need to get a name for you.”

“Bitch.” Said Wildcat. “First thing we found out about you is that you like to talk like a bitch around mares that scare you.”

Both he and Blackout laughed and Full Wing lowered his eyes.

“Don’t worry you can change it.” Blackout said, still laughing. “Once you prove you aren’t a bitch. But for now, we’re going to know you as our little bitch.”

“How about something else?” Asked Chesterfield quietly.

“What? Aw shit, forgot.” Wildcat said, his grin fading. He motioned to the tan pony. “Chesterfield’s our resident religious nut, can’t say naughty words.”

“If we aren’t calling him bitch, then you come up with something.” Blackout said to Chesterfield. “And it has to be equally or more funny.”

“The guys back on my highschool flight team used to call me Chicken Wing.” Full Wing said.

“Bitch please.” Blackout said, and both he and Wildcat began to laugh.

“How about Duck?” Chesterfield said.

“Duck?” Asked Wildcat. “What the hell kind of a name is that?”

“You know, walks like a duck, looks like a duck-” Blackout was in the process of saying that name sucked when Locked Breech entered the room. He carried a satchel of briefing materials.

“Oh hey! Breech, we’re finding a name for the jock.” Said Blackout. “What are your thoughts on Duck?”

“It’s fine.” Locked Breech looked at Red Field. “Red, I need to talk with you.” He spoke shortly, and had a sobriety to his voice.

“Yes sir.” Red Field said. Locked Breech looked at the rest of Recon.

“Get Full Wing filled in on our gear and callsigns. It sounds like we’re going to be moving out soon.” Locked Breech said.

Red Field stood and the captain pulled him into the hallway of the barracks.

“Private, why did I just get word you assaulted Lieutenant Flashpoint?” Said Locked Breech in a low voice. “First thing he said was you attacked him while he was doing paperwork during the wargame. He’s in the medical bay being treated for a broken leg.” Red Field shrank down against the door. “Private I don’t need to know much else about the situation. Assaulting an officer, far past the bounds of a wargame isn’t something anypony on my team does.” Locked Breech struck his shoulder. “Hey! Look at me.” Red Field looked up. “I said I don’t need to know anything, because there isn’t a reason strong enough to justify that kind of behavior.” He glared at Red Field for a few moments. “But Princess Luna seems think there is.” Locked Breech let a long, tense breath. “And she has ordered that you remain with our team and that we overlook this incident.” He pulled Red Field close. “But we’re going to disregard that second part. So right now, tell me exactly why you broke Flashpoint’s leg.”

“I was angry.” Red Field said. Shame crept over him and the explanation sounded much worse when given to his commanding officer. “We’d had an exchange where I felt degraded by him and I was still upset over that.”

“He couldn’t seem to find any reason you’d be so angry.” Locked Breech tilted his head at Red Field. “Do you mind telling me the specifics of this ‘exchange’ that left you so violently upset?”

“He and I disagreed over what classes I ought to take for my first year of college.”

“And you broke his leg?” Asked Locked Breech. Red Field started to lower his eyes again. “Private I am very skeptical of your capacity to function as a soldier, much less a UAT member. You’re with us because Princess Luna orders it. I’ve never dealt with somepony as dangerous as you, and neither have they.” He pointed to the door to Recon’s quarters. “So right now, you’re going to go in there and explain to them exactly what happened.”

“Yes sir.” He tried to step around Locked Breech but the captain blocked him.

“If you pull anything like that under my command I will kill you myself.”

“Yes sir.”

The ponies of Recon team were still arguing over what they ought to name Full Wing. Red Field stood under the door, not wanting to call attention to himself.

“Red here has something to say.” Locked Breech shoved Red Field forward.

“What’s up Fool’s Mate?” Asked Chesterfield. They waited for Red Field to say something and Red Field tried to think of a proper introduction for his admission. He waited too long and Locked Breech stepped up beside him.

“Something happened the night Red Field joined us.” He struck Red Field’s shoulder. “Just launch right in.” Recon waited for Red Field to speak.

“Excuse me.” Nacht stood in the doorway. “The Princess has requested the presence of Private Red Field and his assistant.”

“In regards to what?” Asked Locked Breech.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Nacht said. “She would like them as soon as possible.”

“Of, course.” Locked Breech pushed Red Field toward the door.

“We’ll have them back sometime late tonight, or tomorrow at latest.” Nacht said as Full Wing scrambled after Red Field.

“I’d like any further requisitions for my ponies to be made in advance.” Said Locked Breech.

“I’ll let the Princess know.” Said Nacht, his flat voice camouflaging what might have been sarcasm. “Please, come with me.” He said to the sniper team.

Red Field heard the other ponies asking Locked Breech about his announcement as the door closed behind them.

“Where are we going?” Asked Full Wing.

“Princess Luna will inform you of your tasks as they present themselves.” Said Nacht. “Please keep your questions to a minimum.”

The trip to Cantorlot was as smooth as the slabs of decorative granite expertly placed around the Mae’s stable. The Maes’ had a beautiful stable, not just by Rockvale’s stunted standards. It was two stories, with an expansive basement that had also been expertly finished by some of the best interior decorators in Equestria.

For some reason, Red Field thought about the Maes as he sat in the back seat of Luna’s chariot. Red Field knew the Maes basement was well furnished because in the days before their attempts at explicit bribery, Affirmative Action’s parents had tried to “subtly” allow Red Field to bed their daughter. A thick beige couch with cushions had been placed next to the heating duct, which sat above an end table on which stood a gramophone with several custom-ordered records of dubstep and whatever else colts Red Field’s age listened to.

They hit their first patch of chilly air but the black aircraft barely bounced from the turbulence. Red Field felt his tiny SMG slide forward off of the seat beside him and he tugged the black sling to keep it stable. He didn’t want to look at the gun.
The KK-109 was a close-quarters weapon, a weapon for shooting ponies at close range with a lot of bullets that would cut them into raw meat.
Snipers weren’t given KK-109s for operations. But Luna’s “favor” didn’t show any signs of being a normal operation.

Red Field thought back of the time when Affirmative Action had dared him to drink a flight of wine to “see what happened”; this was the night her parents had told the pair they were going to a show and wouldn’t be back till very late.

Nacht looked back at Red Field and Full Wing.

Something about the blank-faced stallion sitting next to Luna made Red Field wonder if he’d made the correct choice by not getting drunk and impregnating a mare he disliked in exchange for an exorbitant tuition to the school of his dreams.

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Nacht said, his steady voice just barely audible above the whistling wind. Nacht looked first at Red Field, then Full Wing. “You’ve had training on that?” He pointed to the KK-109 that Full Wing had clamped to his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, like I know how-”

“School him on it.” Nacht said, pointing to Red Field. He turned and faced forward once more. Red Field and Full Wing looked at one another. They said nothing, then Red Field picked up his weapon and held it between the two.

“This is the fire selector, now on this-”

“Dude I got it, it’s okay.” Full Wing said, flicking his onto full auto. Red Field was certain Full Wing didn’t know the difference between burst fire and fully automatic and he tried to explain more. “Luna’s gonna handle all of this, we’re just along as like, muscle.” Red Field glanced up front to make sure neither of the two heard him, then leaned in close.

“There’s a warrant out for her arrest, she’s a suspect in the Blast. Why are you so quick to trust her?” He whispered. “You aren’t suspicious of her at all?”

“If she was going to do something bad, she’d have already done it.” Red Field glanced up to the pair once more.

“Do you think it’s possible that she’s using us to do something bad?” He whispered. Full Wing shook his head and clicked his KK-109 onto safe.

“We’re probably just here to scare somebody.” He said softly.

Red Field felt very alone. He attributed Full Wing’s confidence in Luna to blunt stupidity. Though he probably would have felt more alone had he known about the effect Luna’s presence had on “less complicated” ponies.

“When we arrive, I need you two to follow me and Nacht closely.” Luna looked back and saw the sniper team pressed together. Full Wing eased away from Red Field and Red Field sat upright. “There are quite a few antechambers and halls to my sister’s palace. Do not speak with anypony you see; I will handle any interaction.” She pointed to the submachine gun slung over Red Field’s chest. “Keep that on safe, we’re not looking to start any fights.” She turned away from them and began to speak to Nacht.

“See dude?” Full Wing nudged Red Field. “She’s got this.”

Red Field didn’t doubt that Luna had this. Only he didn’t know what “this” was, or if he should even be involved with it.

Though he didn’t dare move from his seat, Red Field could tell they were flying over the capital by the radiation of light that surrounded the aircraft. He saw the oily yellow glow of the masses of streetlamps pass over Luna’s dark blue countenance and the pale white of electrical lights on Nacht’s face. The air was slightly warmer above Cantorlot and the minute turbulence of the night air fell away and the chariot grew still. A silence so encompassing and uncomfortable even Full Wing noticed, came over the group. The Pegasus cleared his throat softly and Nacht looked back at them. He looked at Red Field, then Full Wing, then turned and faced forward again. Red Field swallowed and moved his KK-109. As the black polymer of the stock shifted from his lap, he felt the cold kiss of sweat.
The gun had been sitting his lap for some time.

The chariot bumped, sending a shiver through him. They had landed?

The chariot slid a bit, then Red Field tilted forward as they halted. Luna set her hoof on Nacht’s shoulder.

“No altercations.” Her order sounded less like a military command and more like an order for a particular kind of sandwich. Nacht nodded, then, setting one hoof on the side of the chariot, swung himself over the side of the vehicle. His hooves clacked onto what sounded like stone and Red Field heard him walking away.

“What is your team name?” Luna looked back at the pair and Full Wing and Red Field exchanged looks.

“Uh, what do you mean madam?” Asked Full Wing. Luna smiled almost kindly.

“You are a sniper team, don’t tell me you haven’t thought up some terrifying name for yourselves. You know, you probably can’t tell by looking at me.” Luna laughed softly. “But I used to serve in a team of scouts many years ago, scouts for the very first iteration of the Equestrian military that is. We were the Night Watch.”

“Oh well we’re the Night Raiders.” Full Wing said.

“Isn’t that a coincidence?” Said Luna.

Red Field disliked the interactions between Luna and Full Wing. Full Wing resembled a soggy lump of clay spinning atop a pottery wheel and the Princess needed only to nudge him for him to become whatever she desired.

“What was your job back then?” Full Wing asked. Luna had an eerie smile, one quite a lot like that of a cat about to devour a mouse. The smile grew with her interest and as she tilted her head to Red Field, he felt like very nervous mouse.

“I was trained to ascertain information for my superiors so they could make informed decisions. That was my first role.”

“Oh that’s cool.” Full Wing said. “That’s a lot like what we do.”

Luna laughed, along with Full Wing and the nervous mouse.

“Madam.” Nacht’s dull voice came through the side of the chariot and she looked over her shoulder.

“Excellent work Nacht.” She pointed to the two. “Follow me.”

They’d landed atop one of the massive towers jutting from the palace. Of the few pictures Red Field had seen of the palace, only one had focused on the bulwark. Without a good reference point besides an oversized “Wish you were here”(the picture had been from a card sent by Affirmative Action when she’d taken a trip to Cantorlot and invited Red Field to ‘guard’ her hotel room) he’d had difficulty ascertaining the size of the towers. He’d assumed they were around twenty meters in diameter.

His hooves landed on the slick marble as he mantled the side of the chariot and he realized the tower was closer to fifty meters in diameter. Nothing besides empty space stood between him and the crenelated walls. He uneasily looked for any guards.

“This way.” Luna stood over a trapdoor painted a shade of grey similar to that of the marble. The door, entirely unfitting to the otherwise regal construction, had only a single steel handle and keyhole. The tiny needle of a lock pick still protruded from the hole and Nacht popped it out as they reached the door.

“It’s going to rain tonight, the guards usually go inside when it rains.” Luna said as Nacht lifted the hatch.

The trapdoor led to a cramped and cool stairway lit only by the tainted glow of a yellow floodlight. The “Night Raiders”’ responsibility of escort was now effective and Red Field tugged Full Wing along with him as he shuffled past Luna. Nacht still led them and Red Field felt like a colt walking behind him.

“This floor.” Luna said after they’d descended two flights, Nacht opened a doorway on the left side of the stairwell. Red Field tightened up as he followed Nacht into a narrow hallway. Thankfully Full Wing recalled his duty and faced the other direction as Red Field checked the right side of the hall.

“There should just be a few walkers tonight. But I’m glad the Night Raiders are taking their duty so seriously.” Luna said, stepping around Red Field.

Red Field pressed the stock of the KK-109 tightly into his shoulder and kept the bobbing red dot over the closest doorway. They walked for ten minutes, though a series of hallways and once through a foyer. Air conditioning quietly hissed through vents on the floor, but besides the four, nopony appeared to inhabit the palace. Red Field kept the muzzle of his weapon pointed where it needed to be pointed for him to be said to be doing his job, yet he wondered what he’d do if they ran into one of the royal guards.

Nacht continued in his bubble of silent focus and Luna certainly didn’t seem troubled about their surroundings.
Maybe they were just “muscle”- tasked with whatever small responsibilities the vague term connoted. Luna was still a Princess and she wasn’t exactly trespassing.

But she’d picked a lock.

“This one.” Luna stopped at a door, which differed from the others. Most of the doors they’d passed were thick wooden works of art. However Luna stopped before a plain metal door similar to the hatch atop the tower. Nacht began to pick the lock and Luna caught Red Field’s unease. “Queen Twilight changed the locks after the Blast. I guess we cannot call her rule without action.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I should have asked for a key.”

Red Field took a moment to register the sight of the guard rounding a corner further down the hallway. The royal guard looked up as Red Field drew his submachine gun.

“Hey!” Even in panic, Red Field knew this wasn’t standard communication for a UAT escort force. “Hey! Uh, hey!” He half-shouted in the quiet hall. The guard jumped a little as he saw them. He stood double Red Field’s size and looked as if he wouldn’t have any trouble subduing all four of them. Red Field clung to the mass of plastic and metal capable of equating the confrontation.

The guard carried a spear and instantly held it back to throw a jab into Red Field. The stallion beneath the sheen of golden armor looked as panicked as Red Field.

“Oh, Centurion.” Luna walked toward the guard and the stallion took his eyes off of Red Field. “Sorry.” Luna laid her hoof over Red Field’s weapon and pressed it downward. “I apologize for this. My guard here is fresh out of training and doesn’t want to look sloppy.” The guard said nothing and continued to stare at her. “I am looking for the-”

“Madam.” The lock clinked and Nacht swung open the door. The door opened to an empty elevator shaft. Luna seemed disappointed and she focused again on the guard.

“Queen Twilight moved the statue garden?” Asked Luna. The guard said nothing. Nacht quietly closed the door and stood beside Red Field. Full Wing, who was supposed be covering the opposite end of the hallway, looked over his shoulder and back at them.

“This is not a confrontation.” Luna said, the command of her steady voice cutting through the silence.

“She moved it to the eastern wing.” Said the royal guard.

“Thank you.” Luna said.

“The elevator with-”

“I remember, thank you.” Luna said with a polite nod. “Don’t worry, this is all of us.” With that she started down the hallway toward the guard.

Red Field was certain either Luna or the guard would make a furtive movement as they neared. His heart began to pound as the princess walked around the royal guard. However the stallion bowed his head as she passed by and Luna didn’t seem to mind his presence.
Nacht followed after her, then Full Wing. Finally, Red Field lowered his submachine gun and walked by the guard. Red Field glanced at him as he passed. The guard still looked at the floor.

“This way.” Called Luna and Red Field hurried after her.

“She moved the garden; I suppose that’s something. Although the east wing is still the one of the first places our enemies would look were they to find it out of place. I suppose she doesn’t have the best of military advisors.”

Luna addressed nopony.

She now walked ahead of the group. After five more minutes of walking, they reached another metal door. Nacht knelt before the slit of the lock. This time Luna stood next to him, tapping one hoof.
The lock clicked and Luna swung the door open as soon as Nacht stood.

“There we are.” She said. “Everypony inside.” The doorway led into an elevator car more industrial than royal. The car had not been designed to accommodate three ponies and an Alicorn. Red Field and Full Wing pressed against one another and huddled between Luna and Nacht and the door.

The elevator bore ten rows of eight buttons; Luna pressed three of the buttons simultaneously and pulled the door closed. A light above their heads came on and Red Field’s stomach turned as the elevator fell.

Red Field could tell they were free-falling by the brief yet intense period of relaxed gravity they experienced as the car accelerated. The car quieted and they only heard the twang of cables overhead.
Red Field glanced over at Full Wing and saw that his partner was still at ease. Full Wing's shoulders were slumped back and he even looked a bit sleepy. Nacht stood behind Full Wing and Red Field stood just in front of Luna. Her breath made no noise and without looking back, he couldn’t tell she was behind him.

Gravity tugged at Red Field as they slowed to a halt. They stopped with a jolt that knocked his submachine gun into his chin. Luna reached over Red Field’s head and opened the door.

Red Field beheld an abyss of nothing. The light of the elevator shone out from the car and exposed a concrete floor stretching into darkness.

“Night Raiders, why don’t you take point?” Luna’s soft voice was so close to Red Field’s ear it felt as if she were speaking into his thoughts.

“Uh, all right your majesty.” Even Full Wing had grown a little apprehensive of their destination.

Nopony moved and Red Field realized he was the de jure leader of the Night Raiders. With the princess at his back, and a void to his face, Red Field stepped out of the elevator.

The clack of his hoof on the concrete went out and took an instant to return. They'd stopped somewhere very expansive.

Red Field took a single step away from the car and stood on the edge of the light. Red Field heard a light hissing and his ears twitched. The hissing came from above him. Full Wing dismounted the car and stepped out behind Red Field.
Something caught Red Field's snout as he took another step and he flinched backward. Red Field looked up. His eyes, which were growing more and more acclimated to the darkness, recognized a shape.

The form of a pony loomed over him from atop a pedestal. Red Field recoiled, falling back into Full Wing. Full Wing, also on edge, spooked. He shoved Red Field back toward the pony and their opposed forces lost their balance and the Night Raiders ended up in a pile on the floor.

Red Field looked up and saw another pony on another pedestal, standing just to their left. He panicked and struggled get back on his hooves.

“What what?” Full Wing whispered. The slings of their weapons had tangled and Red Field ripped the pair of dangling SMGs from Full Wing. Full Wing attempted to stand, and as he did, his hefty hoof caught Red Field’s leg. Red Field’s head struck the concrete and sent a buzzing shock through his skull. Red Field’s vision reeled and Full Wing writhed under him.

Luna launched a spell, casting a white glow out into the darkness. A maze of pipes, a few leaking steam, became visible overhead. Red Field looked to where the pony had been.

The tall, grey silhouette of a pony atop a pedestal gazed blindly down on the Night Raiders. The pony was a Pegasus with outstretched wings. He had his hoof cocked back like he was about to strike somepony just ahead of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Red Field saw another statue standing above him.

Dozens of statues stood in the area illuminated around them.

“Oh my God!” Full Wing caught sight of the statue and threw Red Field off.

“It’s quite all right, I doubt he’s very quick on his hooves.” Luna said as she disembarked from the car. She was now speaking louder than Red Field had ever heard her speak, and her laugh echoed through the cavernous room. She set a hoof on Full Wing’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I assumed you knew what a statue garden was.” Nacht stepped over Full Wing and offered his hoof to help Red Field up.

“Uh.” Full Wing got to his hooves and grinned. “Yeah, hehe, just, scared me is all.”

“Mm, well, he certainly was a scary pony.” Luna said, giving the base of the statue a pat. She looked back at Red Field. “Are you all right?” Red Field nodded. “Excellent.” She motioned to Nacht. “Get to work.”

“Yes madam.” Nacht turned and walked in another direction.

“Now then.” Luna used her horn to pick up and untangle the KK-109s. Giving each to the Night Raiders, she pointed out into the darkness. “We have something to do as well.” She started off in another direction. “Please follow closely, it’s easy to get lost down here.”

The light from Luna’s horn only extended about ten meters. Countless cold statues appeared around them and in turn faded into darkness as the three passed through the forest of figures. Most of the statues were ponies, most were unicorns. Nearly all were stallions, but Red Field saw a few mares amidst the figures. Occasionally they passed by Gryphons or even dragons. Many of the figures stood in the same blank stance and wore the same passive expression, not unlike Nacht.

Luna led them at a brisk pace, but after just a minute or so, she stopped. Red Field stood beside a hefty dragon statue and was studying the pedestal to find an inscription or plate.

“Listen to me.” Luna turned to face them. “I am about to do something that has not been done in earnest for nearly a century.” She set her hoof on Full Wing’s shoulder and focused her attention on him. “I am doing this. Not you.” He nodded a little. “You will not speak to him, you will not give him any more attention than what is necessary.” She pulled him forward, almost tipping him off balance. “You will not do anything.”

“Y-yes your majesty.” Full Wing said, shrinking down a little. Luna released him and looked to Red Field.

“All you will do, all I have brought you here to do, is shoot him if need be.” Said Luna, more to Red Field.

“Yes your majesty.” He said on instinct.

“It’s madam please.” She turned and started off again.

The statues fell off in a few steps and they came to an empty expanse in the garden. Scrape marks led out of the expanse and to the bases of the nearby statues, as if somepony had moved all of the statues away from something. As they entered the empty region, a pedestal several times larger than the others poked into the light.

Red Field stopped once the figure came into view.

They stopped a few meters from Luna, who stood directly at the base of the statue.

“Do not fear Night Raiders. This is our plan.” Red Field knew no plan involving the chimera standing over them was a good plan. Luna walked back to them. She paused, looking from one to the other. She pointed to Full Wing.
“Please fight Private Red Field, just for a few moments.” Red Field was still processing that statement when Full Wing shoved him to the ground. “You don’t need to hurt each other, just a few seconds of roughhousing will do.” She turned and walked back to the statue. Red Field kept his eyes on the statue as he got up.

“Dude I don’t want to piss her off. I’m sorry.” Full Wing put his hoof on Red Field’s shoulder and pushed Red Field back to the ground. Red Field’s bruised head hit the floor again and sent a surge of pain through his skull. Despite his panic, Red Field hurt enough to try and escape Full Wing. He rolled away from Full Wing and stood up. Full Wing caught him by the shoulder and threw him to the ground again.

Red Field felt trapped in a nightmare. Surrounded by the looming figures of unknown ponies and dragons imprisoned in the basement of the royal palace, he struggled to keep from being assaulted by Full Wing. His skin burned and sweat soaked through his uniform as they fought. Full Wing gave him another kick in the flank and Red Field tried to scramble away. Full Wing grabbed him again and Red Field took hold of his knife.

“That’s enough.” Luna called. “Night Raiders, over here please.” Red Field limped after Full Wing, who galloped over to where Luna stood. “Please stand by.”

A crack, no more than a millimeter in size, appeared on the knurled claw of the statue. All three watched as the crack let off a hiss. A tiny piece of stone cracked off and fell to the floor. The crack slashed upward and tripled in length. Red Field had split his lip during his momentary beating and he desperately wiped away the blood as the statue began to vibrate. The crack shot up the leg and body of the figure and spawned a series of other cracks that branched over the stone. The cracking and crumbling grew louder and more fragments of rock tumbled from the statue. Red Field could feel his legs growing weak as the first tones of Discord’s patchwork body became visible from under the marble.
He drew the KK-109 into low ready. Full Wing braced himself as if he planned on tackling the emerging creature. Yet Luna stood ahead of both of them, gazing patiently up into the statue’s face.

The last of the stony prison fell off and crumbled into mist at the base of the pedestal. Discord remained in the position he’d been frozen in. Standing with his shoulders shrugged and mouth twisted into a small frown of “not bad”, Discord stared straight ahead and into the blackness of the garden.

A drop of blood fell from Red Field’s chin and stained the floor.

Discord’s unblinking eyes waited a moment, then slid down and focused on Red Field. Discord’s snout rose into a grin.

“Why hello hello.” His purring voice sent shivers through Red Field. He continued to stare at Red Field as he sucked in a slithering breath. “I presume I have you to thank for my freedom?” The absurd beast towered over Red Field from atop the pedestal and his poorly dilated eyes made Red Field feel as if he were gazing into an abyss.

“I freed you.” Luna said. Discord jumped down from the pedestal.

“Yes, thank you Luna, just a moment.” He stepped around her and moved toward Red Field. Full Wing sidestepped and abandoned his position beside Red Field. About half a meter stood between Red Field and Discord and the chimera extended his bird leg to cover the distance in a single step.

Luna grabbed Discord by the arm and jerked him back to her.

“I’m here to speak to you.” She said, pulling him away from Red Field. Discord kept his head stable and allowed her to pull his body and exceedingly long neck back to her all while he continued to stare at Red Field. Then, without any indication he’d grown bored of Red Field, Discord swung his head back to Luna.

“Goodness!” He said as he took a step back in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Luna, you’ve changed- and certainly not for the better!”

“I need information from you.” She said. Discord nodded.

“Of course of course.” He produced a tub of cream obtained from hammerspace and popped off the lid. “Here, this is eighty percent Shea butter with aloe and essential moisturizers. Ought to help change you back to how you looked before I became a giant chess piece.”

“Stop babbling, it pains me when you do that.” She said.

“Ohhhh.” Discord set his claw beneath his chin and frowned. “Well.” He hopped up and took a seat on the pedestal. “You must be very desperate to come to me for answers; I’m more of a questions and irrationality personality.”

“I said to stop.”

“Just want to admire the art?” Discord knelt on the pedestal and pressed his hips outward.

“Stop.” The dark mist of Luna’s magic clamped Discord’s mouth shut and she narrowed her eyes at him. He shrugged and she released him. “I need information on changelings.”

“Did you already chat with Lieutenant Chrysalis? Isn’t she their supreme commander or some such?”

“She knew nothing.”

“What a surprise.” Discord lowered himself to the ground and spread himself over the cold concrete. His plumed dragon tail flicked a bit and Red Field inched away from the cottony tip. “It’s been so long since I’ve stretched out.” A tiny crabapple tree grew over Discord and he tugged free a squat green apple that looked like a potato. Crunching down, Discord rolled his eyes in thought. “Now, that dark one. The one with the crystals, or was it rock candy?” He said, his mouth full of the sour fruit.

“I spoke with Sombra.” Luna stood over Discord, though this didn’t faze him.

“Well, who does that leave?” He asked in slight exasperation. “I’ve been on ice for quite some time and surely you don’t think I’d have anything to do with those nasty beasts.” He said before taking another bite of the apple. His bushy eyebrows jumped and he propped himself up on his elbow. “Or maybe you do.”

“Changeling mercenaries, who do you know?”

“I knew five.” Discord returned to munching his apple. “Two are dead, I think.” He rolled his eyes as he thought. “Really, all of them are dead when you think about it. Aren’t we all-” Luna pulled the apple from his claw and threw it on the ground.

“Changeling mercenaries and their whereabouts.” Luna said. Discord stood.

“Wherever mercenaries are sold.” He replied, sounding irritated. “Where anyone who knows anything knows to look to find anything or anyone. You know the place, if you know anything at all.” He yawned and waved her off. “Go, have fun on your witch hunt. I’m glad to see you’re keeping busy,” A grin alit on his face. “Oh!” He clapped his claw and paw. “Would you let me draw up the charges? I’m so good at drivel and nonsense!”

“Sombra and Chrysalis are dead.” Luna said. “So is whoever I find with those mercenaries.”

“Well look at you, back to the extrajudicial legislation! Who died and left you in charge of everything?” Discord asked with a flagrant throw of his lion paw.

The gushing patter of his own heartbeat rose in Red Field’s ears. He realized he was holding his breath. An infinitesimal smirk bent the edges of Discord’s mouth upward. The smile wavered and Red Field couldn’t tell if Discord was terrified of the response the joke would elucidate, or eager for it.

“You make such an effort Discord.” Luna said.

“I try.”

“It’s a shame you were a statue during all of this.” She said.

“Isn’t it?”

Red Field’s hooves felt cold and lighter. He looked down and saw the KK-109 had left his grasp. He looked up. The submachine gun was in midair, flying toward the Discord and Luna.

A burst of spattering gunfire exploded in the quiet garden. The popping gunshots tore into Red Field’s ears. The muzzle flash blinded him and he ducked clumsily behind one side of the pedestal opposite Discord. He struck Full Wing, who’d already crouched behind the pedestal.

Full Wing shoved his gun into Red Field’s hooves and Red Field nearly dropped the weapon. In an instant he returned to his senses and swung out from behind cover. He set the weapon to full and had already applied five pounds to the seven pound trigger as he drew his sights onto the first thing he saw in the gloom.
Luna stood, still staring at Discord. Discord stared back at her. Red Field saw his SMG floating between them. Smoke curled up from the barrel and casings scattered the floor a few meters from the gun.

A series of holes perforated Discord’s thin brown trunk. Purple blood, with an oily sheen poured from the holes and pattered onto the concrete. Discord looked down and nodded at the wounds as if they were somehow satisfactory.

“So she’s really dead?” Discord asked.

“Almost a year ago, explosives placed by a changeling impersonating a guard.” Luna said. Discord pulled his head back, as if Luna had just told an off-color joke he found distasteful.

“The coronation of the dark queen takes place in the darkened statue garden of Equestria’s worst criminals?” Luna fired another burst into Discord. The machine gun recoiled and tore a gash up his body. Red Field clutched Full Wing’s weapon, not sure what he should do.

Discord took a few steps back, though he still looked very much at ease. He wiped some blood from his nose and cocked his head.

“You aren’t queen?” Luna emptied the rest of the magazine into Discord’s body. Red Field’s skin began to crawl as bits of Discord’s body were torn away by the stubby firearm. The weapon clicked and Discord chuckled, flashing bloodstained teeth. “Takes more than that to kill me.” Luna took the magazine from Red Field’s weapon and reloaded. Discord laughed. “Didn’t you plan an ornate execution for me? Whatever happened to that?” She drew the KK-109 up again and fired again. Most of his flesh was torn away and the few internal organs in his shank body were mutilated or destroyed. Discord shrugged again and fell to the floor. Blood had already pooled around him and he coughed as he pressed himself up on his elbows.

“Centuries of hating me and it comes to this?” His purring voice had grown soft. Luna threw the KK-109 back toward her cowering soldiers and knelt beside Discord.

“Centuries of hating your jokes.” Her horn glowed and she dug around in the remains of the chimera’s body. Discord laughed, coughing a little blood onto her.
“You're terrible at controlling yourself. Can't change who you are I suppose.” Luna gripped something and blood surged out of Discord’s mouth. Red Field's ears flattened as he heard a pop and Discord gasped involuntarily. Veins stood out on his gaunt neck and the color began to drain from his face.

“I have three hearts.” Discord’s voice was now a whisper. Red Field heard something and looked over his shoulder. Full Wing sitting on the ground. His face was pressed into his chest and he was crying. His muscular shoulders shook with sobs and his entire body shook. “You’re such an angry person Luna, would it kill you to smile?”

Luna reached a sharp horseshoe into Discord’s body and dug around. Red Field’s jaw clenched as she stopped and began to crush something. Discord choked and his legs twitched a little as the flesh gave way. A spider web of veins stood out in purplish threads all over his body and Luna searched for his final heart. Discord’s arms trembled and he began to sink to the floor.

“You,” he took a breath, “wonder why nopony thought to make you the bigger sister.”

“God, stop it. Please.” Full Wing said between sobs. Discord flicked his head at Full Wing.

“You lead soldiers like that? Were the Shadowbolts too fierce for the new Luna? Are you still as dumb and mute as you used to be?”

“The Shadowbolts served their purpose.” Luna leaned toward him. “And I have nothing to say now, because nopony likes saying anything after a bad joke.” The spasms of Discord’s legs and arms stopped and a long, hollow breath drifted from his bloody mouth a moment after the final pop.

Full Wing kept sniffling and Red Field realized he too was crying. Luna rose and walked away from the corpse and toward Red Field. She glowered at him and Full Wing.

“Pst.” Luna walked past him and over to Full Wing. She hadn’t said anything and Red Field saw Discord’s head had risen from the puddle of blood. His eyes were blackened and his mouth was now just an inky maw of blood. He looked directly at Red Field. “Would you believe I shagged her?” The corpse asked with a grin.

The pedestal on which Discord had stood lifted into the air, then tipped toward him. The head was still grinning at Red Field as the base of the pedetal crushed it into the concrete. Discord’s body twitched a little as the stone landed, then grew still once more. Purple blood splashed outward and dotted Red Field’s hooves. Luna knelt beside Full Wing.

“Get up soldier.” She said.

“I-I can’t, please.” Full Wing said. Luna pulled him up and shoved the empty gun into his hooves.

“That is no way to represent your company.” She pointed off into the darkness. “The elevator is that way. Hold the car.” Full Wing’s face was stained with tears and once he caught sight of Discord’s mangled body he started crying again. “Go!” Luna shouted, shoving him away from them.

The garden echoed with the Pegasus’ sobs as he galloped into the darkness. Red Field was wiping his face as Luna set her hoof on his shoulder.

“Red Field.” He couldn’t meet her gaze and simply tried to stop the tears from running. “I’m sorry to rough you up tonight.” Luna said. “I apologize for having to expose you to such a terrible monster. However monsters are your enemy and you can only grow used to them.” A few of his tears hit the concrete. “For being a new soldier, you did well.”

“Thank you your majesty.” He said, trying to regain his composure.

“Thank you.”

“Madam.” Nacht emerged from the darkness and walked past the dead chimera. “I am finished. What did you learn?”

“Nothing that we couldn’t have presumed.” Luna said, starting after Full Wing.

Red Field clutched his unloaded KK-109. His tears had given way to a clammy coldness and sickly anxiety and he shivered in the humid garden. His trembling translated into the thin walls of the elevator car and an audible rattle grew as they crowded once more into the car. Full Wing sat in the corner of the car, with his hooves tucked up to his chest. He cried softly and his KK-109 sat beside him. Luna ignored him and Nacht gave her something as he took his place beside her. Luna turned her attention to functioning member of the Night Raiders.

“Private Red Field, effective immediately I hereby promote you to the rank of specialist in accordance with the professionalism demonstrated on tonight’s operation.” Red Field heard a tiny click. Luna tossed whatever Nacht gave her out of the car. It hit the ground with a sharp clack and Red Field made out the shape of a grenade rolling out into the garden. Luna pushed the button for the top floor and the doors slid closed. The elevator whirred upward and after a few seconds, a series of thuds and rumbles reverberated up the shaft after them.

“Red Field.” Luna wiped at some of Discord’s blood, which had stained her leg. “With my sister gone, we’re not going to host a menagerie of villains in our basement.” She glanced back at Full Wing. “Equestria might not be used to violence, but our enemies are.”

Red Field vomited twice on the trip back to base. Luna continued to fly through the moonlit night while the sniper of the Night Raiders retched over the side of the chariot. Full Wing continued to cry quietly.
They reached the base a little past 0100. They’d landed in the main base of Gale Force.

“Madam.” Nacht’s voice was still flat, yet it bore the faint impression of an opinion. “Is this the best course?”

“What else am I to do but hunt for justice?” Asked Luna, looking down at him. Nacht could match Luna’s gaze, even if he didn’t look particularly cognizant.

“Mohs has never been our friend. If our enemies are out there, we may never find them.” Said Nacht.

Luna looked back at the “Night Raiders”.

“We’ve got Gale Force with us now.”

"Approximately 40 percent of the population of Mohs lives on the surface of the mountains, or within a hundred meters of the surface. However no official census has taken an accurate measurement of the distribution of population density throughout Mohs’ terrain. Because dogs near the surface are more active than those at a deeper level, estimates of their numbers tend to be high."

Active.

Active.

Active in the sense they were physically active? Were those at the lower levels lazier and more lethargic? Active in the sense they participated in more political discourse and thus represented themselves better? Why wasn’t that clarified in the text? Did “active” have an additional definition to the diamond dog culture? Why use a native definition in a pamphlet published for foreigners?

Red Field turned the pamphlet over and reread the title.

"An outsider’s guide to the layers of Mohs"

The cover art showed a topographical illustration of the Rail Mountains, only the layers were marked in negative increments to denote the depth of the tunnels.

Locked Breech had brought back the pamphlet after the officers’ meeting. Khyber had left a stack of them. Only Red Field cared to read it.

Recon team was on the first deployment to Mohs. They were to fly to a base in Mohs and establish contact with the Federal Forces of Security: Mohs’ primary military force. From there they’d gather intel on the “Conspiracy” and where its membership might be hiding.

Recon’s mission was about as basic and limited as Red Field could fathom.

He hadn’t told the rest of the team of his attack on Flashpoint. They’d gotten word of their mission the morning after Red Field and Full Wing had returned from their trip to Cantorlot. Bombs Away had accompanied the two back to their barracks and wished them good luck on the start of the campaign. Bombs Away singled out Red Field and told the new sniper he was getting a trial by fire and given his performance in UAT basic, he wouldn’t melt.

“Where’s this place at again?” Asked Blackout. He sat next to Locked Breech, his rifle at his hooves. Chesterfield and Wildcat occupied the next row of seats while Red Field and Full Wing sat together against the crates of supplies.

“On a cliff on mountain five. No more information than that.” Locked Breech pointed to the reddish spell snaking through the air ahead of them. Luna had cast the navigation spell just before they’d left. According to Nacht, their maps were outdated and the base probably wouldn’t appear on print.

“Any dogs supposed to be up there?” Asked Wildcat.

“It’s their country, so yes.” Said Locked Breech.

“No I mean the base.” Said Wildcat.

“No, this is one of our old bases.” Locked Breech said.

“Chess, you and me check perimeter once we get there.” Said Wildcat.

The veterans of recon team continued to ask curious, flitting questions while Red Field and Full Wing sat quietly in the back seat. Red Field read and reread the pamphlet six times, then began to break down what he thought he’d learned. He began textual criticism of the book, hoping the pamphlet would suffice as a gospel on the anthropomorphic canines.

Sixty percent of the dogs lived underground, mining and tending farms of some sort. The other forty percent on the surface traded between mountains. Of the eight mountains, one was commercially owned, another a commune, while the other six were residential and agricultural.

Red Field wondered how an entire mountain could be commercially owned.

Red Field first tasted the dry, cold air as he conducted his thirty-third reading of the pamphlet. He looked up. The furry, pined incline of a mountain loomed just a few hundred meters to the right of the chariot. Red Field had never seen a mountain before. He looked out and saw eight of them.

The Rail Mountains resembled a tightly fit fortress of circled mountains or the jagged remains of a decaying tooth. The mountains were arranged in a lopsided circle and between the mountains lay swooping valleys and gulches. Red Field shifted to the other side of the chariot, which faced inward to the circle of mountains. He was disappointed to see the center of the mountains was just a large swath of forest. He'd partially expected a great city.

“Where do you think the dogs are?” Whispered Full Wing, who’d scooted over to Red Field. The mass of pines and scrub obscured their view of the ground and Red Field looked in vain for any movement below.

“I don’t know.” Red Field said. He didn’t like that he didn’t know.

“All right, we’re coming up on it.” Locked Breech called back to them. “When we land, we’re supposed to find the enlisted barracks and drop our gear off in room 308.”

Everypony crowded to the front of the chariot and looked for their base.

The mountain before them bore several cliffs jutting from the forested incline. Atop one of the larger cliffs stood a walled compound. The wall was constructed of concrete and fortified with rebar. Vines grew up the walls and the road leading out of the base was patchy with weeds. Thankfully, the structures still looked solid and the wall didn’t have any holes Red Field could make out.

“Looks tiny.” Said Blackout.

“We’ve never had a full scale operation in this place so I doubt we’d have a full scale base.” Locked Breech tilted the chariot up. After a moment of ascension, Red Field could see into the base. Three buildings, four stories each and arranged in a U sat inside the walls.

They landed in the center of the U. As they touched down, a familiar gray haze lifted around the chariot. Wildcat smacked his lips in disgust.

“The hell is that?” He asked.

“Rock dust, get used to it.” Said Locked Breech, climbing out of the chariot. “Grab your gear and let’s find building three, shouldn’t be too hard for you monkeys.”

The other ponies shouldered their packs and followed him. Red Field pulled his backpack and rifle case over his shoulder before hopping out. His hooves landed with an all-too-familiar crunch. He stood in about two centimeters of crushed granite and slate chips.

“Let’s see.” Locked Breech looked from one building to the next, before pointing to the one which overlooked the cliff. “That one.”

Full Wing walked close to Red Field, who walked behind the other ponies. He glanced nervously around the base. Full Wing had said very little since the night before and kept close to Red Field.

“How long has this place been derelict? We should sweep for transients.” Said Blackout, who kept his rifle at low ready. Locked Breech shrugged.

“Command made it clear we’re working alone for the majority of our time and that nopony comes up here.” He reached the door and gave it a nudge. It was unlocked and he entered. “We’ll check anyway.”

“Let’s do that ASAP.” Wildcat said.

The door led into a very narrow hall, so narrow they walked in single file. The corridor was darkened, and Locked Breech took a flashlight from his pack before continuing. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a rough concrete, and their hoofsteps clacked through the hollow building.

“Should be a power switch somewhere in the main room.” Locked Breech said, leading them deeper into the building. Red Field’s skin was already crawling by the time they passed out of the hallway and into an open room. “Okay, this is the,” Locked Breech read from a note, “assembly room slash briefing area. Just says the power switch is in a panel on the wall.” He held up his flashlight and pointed it into the darkness. “Spread out and try and find it because we need to get the power on before we do anything else.”

The group dispersed into the room. The other ponies and their lights drifted away from Red Field and he rooted through his pack.

He hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight?

“Hey.” Full Wing produced a light and gave it to Red Field. “Let’s stick together okay?”

“Yeah.” Red Field said, clicking the light on with trembling hooves.

Recon team swept along the walls in search of the electrical panel. Red Field and Full Wing walked close together, Red Field held the light out ahead of him like a sword and they slid carefully down the wall.
A hum vibrated through the floor and both froze. Something clicked and the room flooded with white light.

“Whoa.” Chesterfield said, covering his eyes. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Wildcat laughed as he pushed closed an electrical panel set into one of the walls.

“Did I scare anyone?” The group had almost spread to each of the four corners of the room. The room was empty and the team looked around at the space for a second.

“No, and thanks for nearly blinding me.” Locked Breech said, blinking several times. He ran a hoof through his mane. “Lights are on, now we check out our quarters.” He looked up from the paper and toward Red Field and Full Wing. He pointed toward them. “Right down there.” Red Field’s stomach turned as he saw he’d walked past an open hallway without noticing.
The hallway led to a stairwell leading up three floors. At the top of the stairs was another corridor spanning the length of the building.

“Room 308.” Locked Breech said as they started down the hall. The lack of windows in the hall and the bright white light gave the stony building the sterile chill of a hospital. Locked Breech stopped at a door a few paces down the hall. The rest of the team crowded around him. “Right here.” He said, giving the door a push.

It rattled a little and he pushed harder.

“Lock’s probably rusted.” Blackout said.

“Full Wing, why don’t you give me a hoof with this?” Asked Locked Breech, preparing to kick down the reluctant door. Full Wing shuffled up to the door. “Count of three we kick.” He counted down and the pair slammed into the door.
The door submissively popped open as if it had just been playing a prank and the combined force of both ponies threw it all the way back on its hinges, banging it against the wall. The bang spooked Red Field a little.

An unfitting and somehow sinister warmth slipped out of the room and the sharp, rusting odor of metal waited for them. Five cots, or rather the skeletal frames of cots, sat stacked in a corner. A few pipes overhead ran around the single light bulb in the center of the room. A window, covered in black plastic, was inset on the wall facing inward to the base.

“The hell is that smell?” Asked Blackout. Red Field grew further spooked as his sweating hooves told him of something awful nearby.

“Oh my God!” Cried Full Wing. Everypony turned and Chesterfield and Blackout drew their hoofguns.

Above the door and extending partially along the wall was a long, smearing stain. It was a rich black, with a few spidery veins of dark purple running through it. The stain glistened like mucus and Red Field couldn’t tell if it was moving.

“What the fuck.” Blackout said under his breath. Everypony shifted away from the door and toward the center of the room. Red Field stared at the putrid mess as his mouth filled with spit.

“What is that?” Asked Chesterfield, squinting at the stain.

“Hell if I know, but I can tell you-” Began Blackout.

“It’s mold.” Locked Breech said over Blackout. “Tell me we are not getting scared of mold now?”

“That don’t look like any mold I’ve ever seen.” Chesterfield still held his hoofgun.

“It’s mold for God’s sake.” Locked Breech pointed above the door. “That pipe is rusty, see that?” One of the pipes running above the door bore the earthy, orange hue of rust. “It had water sitting in it for so long that it started to leak.” He gestured to the stain. “Water runs out and mold starts to grow since there’s no airflow.”

Recon said nothing and Locked Breech stepped back to the door and looked at them.

“Look, we’re on edge here, I understand that.” He stepped in front of them. “I agree that this is a creepy place, all this concrete and it’s been shut up like a tomb. But it’s just a building, an empty building. We’re here to do a job. In a few hours we’ll clean this place up and it will be just as familiar and miserable as our barracks back at Gale Force. But let’s not let our feelings mess with our perception.” The ponies mumbled their agreement. “Forever one team.”

They repeated the phrase in unison and he nodded.

“Let’s start unstacking those cots and getting them arranged. Blackout, Wildcat, Full Wing, your hooves please.” He pointed at the pipes above them. “Country colt, check around the rest of the ceiling and walls and make sure there’s no more leaks or dangerous wiring.” He pointed to Red Field. “Sniper pony, go see if that smell is coming from that mold. Then take a look at the door and see if we broke the latch.”

Blackout and Wildcat began to converse with one another as they lifted the cots off of the pile. They made bets on how soon they would see the first spider and what size it would be. Locked Breech began to educate Full Wing on how to alert his teammates to something without making them think Nightmare Moon had returned.

Over the next few minutes, the group began to settle.

Red Field studied the mold, still perturbed. He reminded himself of the very scientific and rational explanation for the slime. He wouldn’t let his visceral emotions mess with his thinking. He crept toward the mold, not wanting to get too close, out of fear he might breathe in spores. He halted just under the doorframe and took a sniff. The odor filled his nose and he coughed.

“Yeah, it’s coming from here.” He called to Locked Breech.

“All right, check out the door and then I’ll send you and somepony else to find some bleach.” Said Locked Breech.

Red Field pulled the door toward him and inspected the latch. The metal was worn and a few bits of dusty metal fell out of the mechanism.

“I think it’s broken.” He said, poking the latch.

“Is it broken or is it just rusted?” Locked Breech asked. Red Field looked back at the latch, wondering about the difference.

“Uh, I can’t tell.” He said.

“Check the part of the wall that it locks in to, does it look like we broke the channel?” Said Locked Breech, growing impatient. Red Field peered at the chink in the frame. It looked rusted, but somewhat sound. If they’d opened the door without causing visible damage, the door probably still worked.

“Hey Fool’s Mate!” Blackout called. “You could expedite your research by just checking if it closes and opens normally.” The other ponies began to laugh and Red Field’s cheeks burned.

Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Red Field pushed the door closed. It clicked shut, and the latch held under some tugging.

“Hey! I think it’s fixed!” Chesterfield said.

“Better repeat the experiment, make sure your results aren’t a statistical oddity.” Said Wildcat. Red Field, thoroughly embarrassed, opened and shut the door several more times.

“Okay, I think it’s good.” He looked back at the group. “Full Wing, why don’t you follow me and we can go look for something to clean with?” Any unease he had toward exploring the building had given way under the pressure of shame and he wanted to get away from Blackout and Wildcat as soon as he could.

“Yeah, go with him and find some rags and some cleaner to scrape that crap off with.” Locked Breech pointed to the door and Full Wing hurried over to Red Field. Red Field hoped the search would take a while.

“Get an inventory of any supplies stored here while you’re looking.” Called Wildcat.

A gray figure had filled the doorway. It stood at double Red Field’s height and atop its shoulders was a lopsided head from which pointed two nicked ears. A pair of luminous yellow eyes with hair-like slits for pupils matched gaze with Red Field. The being had a smashed-looking snout with a black puck of a nose.

“Howdy neighbor!” Its mouth opened into a grin and rows of uneven and jagged teeth appeared under the dog’s curling lips.

Red Field recoiled. Full Wing cried out again and everypony looked to the door. Recon, save for Red Field and Full Wing, drew their weapons.

The dog yanked its head backward.

“Whoa now!” He held up his paws, which were tipped with needled nails. “Hang on a sec!”

“Hey what the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck back!” Shouted Blackout, holding a bead on the dog’s chest.

“Excuse me?” The dog said, turning its attention to the black pony.

“Quiet.” Locked Breech said to Blackout. He turned to the dog. “Excuse me sir, what are you doing here?” He asked, keeping his pistol aimed just below the dog’s large feet. The dog, who’d stepped away from the door and into the hall, looked to Locked Breech.

“We heard something in this building and wanted to make sure nobody was messing with Equestria’s property.” Said the dog.

“Who are you and how did you get access to this base?” Asked Locked Breech. The dog waited for a moment, as if they would recognize him, then rolled his eyes.

“No one told you about us? I apologize then, my country is run by assholes.” He pointed to his grey chest. “I’m captain Fo, I oversee security operations in this area of the mountain.”

“Fo?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Yes, Fo.” The dog said, as if the name shouldn't be surprising.

“Let’s see some ID.” Blackout said. Fo looked to Locked Breech as he recognized which of the pair was the commanding officer.

“Do you have identification?” Asked Locked Breech in a calmer voice. Shrugging, Fo reached into the breast pocket of his vest. He pulled out a laminated card and held it out to Locked Breech. He looked over the rest of the team as Locked Breech studied the card.

“I’m sorry for startling you.” He said to Red Field. Even after blinking, the dog’s eyes remained in their disturbing state of wideness and one of his teeth stuck out on the right side of his mouth.

Red Field didn’t reply, but stared back at the dog, trying not to look terrified.

“Sorry about that.” Locked Breech gave the card back to Fo. He turned to the rest of Recon. “He’s law enforcement.”

Wildcat holstered his hoofgun first, then Chesterfield followed. Blackout lowered his gun, but did not holster it. Locked Breech pointed to him.

“Put that away.” Blackout didn’t move and Locked Breech started toward him. “I said put that away.” Blackout holstered his gun, but kept watch on the dog. Locked Breech stopped a few steps from Blackout.

“I’m sorry to have surprised you all.” Fo said as an uncomfortable pause fell. “The last teams of ponies we had operate out of this base kept to themselves.” He pointed down the hall. “My dogs are outside.” He smiled again, and a few more of his teeth rose up his lips. “They’d love to meet you.”

“Ah, I, suppose we could do that.” Said Locked Breech.

“Gentleponies, hope I can call you that, this my own personal squad of Government Mountain Arbitration and Law Enforcement officers.” Said Fo, leading them out of the barracks and into the yard.

As they stepped outside, they saw the door to the building opposite theirs had opened. Ten dogs sat under the shade of the other barracks. They wore thin black vests and most of them carried pistols stuffed into their belts. One of the dogs knelt next to the ponies’ chariot and inspected the wheels. All of them looked up as the ponies exited the building.

“More mercenaries?” Asked the dog looking at their chariot. “Are they going to talk more than the other ponies?”

“Sirs please.” Fo held his paws up. “These ponies have business to attend to. Can we hold a civil introduction?”
The group of dogs, who'd started to amble toward the middle of the yard where Fo and Recon stood, mumbled they could. Fo turned to Locked Breech. “This is-” He trailed off and motioned for Locked Breech to introduce himself.

“I am captain Locked Breech of Gale Force Company.” Locked Breech said. “This is my team; we’re coming back to check on this base.”

“Who’s the colt?” Asked a dog, pointing to Red Field. Fo smiled.

“Let’s let our guests-”

“That’s Red Field.” Locked Breech said. “He’s our designated marksman.” He flicked his head toward the dogs. “Go say hi Red.” Red Field’s skin crawled as the canines’ yellow and green eyes focused on him. He took a few steps toward them.

“God he’s small.” Said a dog.

The dog who’d singled him out held out his paw.

“Red Field? Interesting name.” He stood several centimeters taller than Red Field and his head was a bit more rounded than those of the other dogs, giving him a slightly less unsettling appearance. “Natick, civil relations officer.” Red Field held out his hoof and Natick shook it. Red Field flinched as the dog’s nails clacked against his hoof. “Always happy to meet one of Equestria’s soldiers.”

“Thank you Natick, at least some of us understand etiquette.” Said Fo. “Do you ponies have a medical officer?”

“Here.” Wildcat held up his hoof. He stepped forward, but not up to Red Field, who stood uncomfortably between the two groups. Fo looked through his dogs.

“Good good, where is-”

“Right here.” A dog shorter than the others, stepped forward.

“Hi, I’m God.” The dog said, offering his paw to Wildcat.

“Uh, hi.” Wildcat shook the dog’s paw slowly.

“I figured I'd use the name since no one else was." The dog didn't bother waiting for a laugh and shrugged. "If you need anything, come by our building.” Said God.

“God is our medic.” Said Fo. “He’ll share supplies with you, if there’s any you need.”

“Do you have different worm meds?” God asked Wildcat.

“We don’t have, those.” Wildcat tried to extricate his hoof from God’s grasp.

“They don’t get worms you dumb shit.” Called one of the other dogs. God looked at the group behind him.

“They might from bad meat you dumb fuck.”

“They don’t eat meat you dumb-”

“I imagine the ponies will receive the majority of their supplies from their country. We will provide the necessary supplies for all of our joint operations.” Said Natick. “And anything you might need in a pinch.” He motioned to God. “I think you’ve acquainted yourself well enough.”

Wildcat retreated from the other medic.

“The majority of our joint operations won’t require anything.” Fo said. “Not unless the shit really hits the fan.”

“Excuse me, I don’t know that we will be conducting any joint operations.” Locked Breech said.

“That’s just a general term, we don’t have anything major planned. Since your group is so small we’ll probably just go on some patrols and stuff like that.” Said Fo.

“I’m sorry, I think you must be mistaken.” Locked Breech said. “We are just here to search for Equestrian criminals.”

“That’s entirely fine by me; you do you.” Fo scratched at some of the coarse fur on his neck. “It makes no difference to me what your operations consist of, so long as you assist us in ours.”

“Why would we do that?” Asked Blackout.

“Because our agreement stipulates mutual military assistance.” Fo raised a dark eyebrow. “You have read the agreement?”

“I was not aware of such a contract.” Said Locked Breech. “Can you provide evidence of such an agreement?”

One of the dogs whistled.

“Shut up.” Fo said without looking back at his dogs. “Well Captain Breech, I’m not sure what to tell you. We’ve always been provided with military support from you ponies whenever your nation has happened to operate within our borders.” Red Field sensed Fo’s friendliness was both conditional and thinning. Red Field took a few steps back and joined the rest of Recon.

This movement deepened the rift between the two squads.

“What kind of operations are you referring to?” Asked Locked Breech after a moment.

“Law enforcement.” Said Fo. “Like always.”

“I apologize for my ignorance of such operations.” Said Locked Breech.

“Your predecessors seemed to understand-” Began Fo.

“I am not my predecessors.” Locked Breech said.

“You’ll play by their rules.” Said Fo. “If you don’t want trouble.”

“Excuse me please.” Locked Breech looked back at Recon. “Do we have a line to the Princess?”

“We can get set up for that.” Said Wildcat.

“I will contact my superiors regarding this agreement.” Locked Breech said to Fo.

“Why don’t you?” Said Fo quietly.

“Let’s set up comms in the room.” Said Locked Breech, ushering Recon back toward their building.

“Need any help?” Asked one of the dogs.

“No thank you.” Locked Breech said.

Wildcat and Blackout knelt on the floor, piecing together the oversized typewriter.

“The fuck are we going to do if Luna tells us they’re lying?” Blackout asked.

“I counted ten of them, looked like they all had pistols.” Chesterfield said as he unpacked the team’s weapons.

“Yeah, they’re armed, saw that.” Wildcat said. “Goddamn it, why the hell didn’t we know they were here?”

“Get that up and running and let’s get a line to the Princess.” Locked Breech stood by the door. He did nothing, except rub at his chin occasionally.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Blackout dropped his wrench and a bolt rolled across the floor. “Those dogs are creepy as hell.”

“Full Wing, give Blackout a hoof.” Said Locked Breech. Red Field and Full Wing both stood doing nothing.

“Goddamn it I got it.” Said Blackout.

Full Wing paused, Locked Breech nodded him on and the Pegasus knelt down and began to arrange the pile of remaining bolts. Blackout looked at him, but said nothing and continued to build the typewriter.

“Red, look for something to do, you’re going to lose your mind sitting around like that.” Locked Breech said. Red Field nodded and didn’t think to mention "nothing" was exactly what Locked Breech was doing.

He went to the window and peeled back the plastic.

The dogs had armed further. Some carried rifles and shotguns and most had holstered sidearms. They’d donned brown tactical vests stuffed with magazines or loose ammo. They’d moved a bit closer to the building and Fo stood in the center of the group, conversing with them.

One of the dogs looked up at the window. His eyes were a rich blood red and a pair of yellowed fangs protruded from his upper jaw. He saw Red Field. The dog lifted his paw and held out two of his bony fingers. In a quick slicing motion, he drew them across his throat.

Red Field moved away from the window.

“Fuck.” He said softly.

“What?” Wildcat looked back at him.

“They’re geared up, and they look like they're ready to fight.” Said Red Field.

“Goddamn it.” Blackout said, throwing down his wrench.

“Black, back on comms.” Locked Breech said.

“Breech those things are psychotic.” Blackout said, checking his hoofgun.

“They’re rough.” Locked Breech looked down the hall. “But we’re not doing anything without comms.”

“They’re too Goddamn close.” Blackout muttered as he knelt and snatched up the wrench. Red Field wiped some sweat from his brow and began to pace.

“How much longer?” Asked Locked Breech.

“’Bout a minute.” Wildcat said. Locked Breech nodded, then looked to Chesterfield.

“Chess, ammo count.”

“Got about five thousand loose. About five hundred each in mags.”

“Okay.” Locked Breech said, scratching his chin.

“Done.” Said Wildcat, sliding a piece of paper into the finished typewriter.

“Message: Contact made with local law enforcement, they claim we are to take part in joint patrol operations. Please advise on further action.” Locked Breech said.

The keys of the typewriter clacked like a tiny machinegun as Wildcat bulleted out the message. He tore the page off of the machine. The paper ripped in half and he cursed.

“Easy.” Said Locked Breech.

The keys rattled once more and Wildcat wrote the message again. He took the paper and gently removed it from the typewriter. He rolled it up and stuffed it into a bottle. His horn glowed a bright white as he launched the message.

The bottle dissolved and the room fell silent.

“Could take up to an hour for a reply.” Said Locked Breech. Blackout walked over to where Chesterfield was arranging their weapons. Blackout picked up his Kitty Kat and slapped in a magazine. He began to pile up a few magazines and started stuffing them into his vest. Locked Breech watched him, but said nothing. Red Field had begun to pace farther and farther.

He walked almost into the far corner, then turned and started back toward the door.

“Red get away from the window.” Said Locked Breech. Red Field looked at the window, then eased away from it.

“Cat, help me move these cots so we can barricade the door.” Said Blackout, donning his vest. He looked up to see if Locked Breech would contradict him.

“On it.” Said Wildcat, dragging a cot from its place against the wall.

Full Wing still sat beside the typewriter. He played with one of the extra bolts, scraping it along the concrete floor. He breathed through his mouth and looked catatonic with fear.

The dogs outside reached the punchline of a joke and they laughed. Their sharp, guttural laughter sounded like they were tearing the flesh off of something.

“We’ll send Red and Full Wing to the roof if need be.” Said Locked Breech, drawing his hoofgun. “The rest of us will hold the stairs.” The joke was compounded in a secondary punchline and a louder, more violent wave of laughter broke out.

As the dogs’ laughter died down, something magical popped above Red Field. Locked Breech snatched the bottle out of the air and yanked out the cork. Everypony looked to him as he pulled out the page.

“We’re to render assistance.”

“Are you shitting me?” Asked Blackout. Locked Breech tossed the paper to the ground, where the magical parchment melted away.

“Apparently Luna forgot to mention them.” Said Locked Breech, gazing at the window.

“They’re geared up for something.” Chesterfield said.

“They’re law enforcement; they’re supposed to be militarized.” Locked Breech walked over to where Blackout and Wildcat had been distributing the ammo. He picked up his rifle and a few magazines. “Let’s load up and see what they need.”

Red Field took the DMR. Full Wing carried his rifle and his spotting equipment. They carried enough gear for a long range patrol. Red Field’s hooves shook as he tightened the ceramic plates to his chest.

What kind of trouble did the police of Mohs usually encounter?

A few of the dogs had laid down in the dust and only Fo and Natick walked to greet Recon as they exited their barracks. Fo said nothing and simply raised his eyebrows as the groups met. The few dogs talking hushed and the quiet, windy ambience of the mountain filled the silence.

“Where is the patrol taking place?” Asked Locked Breech.

“The mountain.”

Red Field couldn’t tell if Fo was gloating or unintentionally obtuse. Either way, the answer made him further mistrust the dog.

“Can you show me the region on a map? What are we patrolling for? Any known problems?” Asked Locked Breech.

“We’re not going far, just to a couple villages. We’re patrolling for bad guys and criminals.” One side of Fo’s black mouth twisted upward. “And if we knew about problems, wouldn’t it be an attack and not a patrol?”

“There isn’t usually trouble.” Said Natick. “This is a lower crime mountain.”

“Lower?” Asked Blackout.

“Yeah.” Said the dog named God. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour.” Said Natick. “You won’t need all of that, just pistols should be fine.”

Recon carried KKATs.

They walked behind the dogs and to the front gate. Fo produced a key and unlocked the thick metal doors. Two of his dogs slid open the gate. Blackout gave a displeased sigh to this.

At first the ponies took an unintentional and awkward lead before realizing the dogs conducted their patrols with a certain degree of leisure. They slowed down and began to walk amidst the group of diamond dogs.

Fo chuckled as they slowed down.

“So this is your first time in Mohs?” He matched stride with Locked Breech.

“Yes.” Said Locked Breech.

“It’s a great place as long as you like guns, drugs and shit food.” Said God.

“I’m sorry nobody told you about us.” Said Natick. “I imagine it was a bit odd finding us in your base.”

“Khyber probably told them all about our nice country and offered them timeshares.” Said Fo. The dogs around him laughed. “Let me explain things to you ponies. Mohs needs defense from itself more than it needs defense from other countries.” He pointed to the other mountains. “At the top of each of our mountains, save for Brony Mountain, is a big base full of scary dogs with guns. Those dogs occasionally come down the mountains and kick ass when necessary. The Federal Forces of Security, or FFS, is the reason this whole country hasn’t collapsed into anarchy. Besides the military up in those bases, there’s beat cops like us.” Fo motioned to his squad. “We’re the Gmales. We do most of the policing and don’t get paid nearly enough. There’s a hell of a lot of mercenaries around Mohs, there’s even an entire town of them on mountain four; they do a lot of security as well.”

“Your relations officer downplayed the number of dogs with guns.” Said Blackout.

“Bet he did.” Said Fo. “Just ‘cause we’re not in a civil war doesn’t mean we’re not always fighting. You’ve got groups like the Wraiths or the Crazies, who are just idiots that like to stir up trouble. Tillage is always looking for legal ways to shoot people, and sometimes I think the Bronies are too. Then there’s the Grimdarks.”

Red Field had been watching the road as he listened. They’d wound a kilometer down the road without seeing anyone.

Red Field’s heartbeat picked up as he noticed movement.

Ahead of them was a dog with a shovel, digging a hole next to the road. Natick nudged Fo and Fo spotted the dog.

“Watcha doing?” Asked God, walking ahead of them. The dog looked up.

“Oh, uh, just digging a connector to a friend’s tunnel.” Said the dog, straightening upon seeing the group of ponies and Gmales.

“That’s not legal this close to the road.” Said Natick.

“What tunnel?” Asked Fo.

“Uh, just a friend’s.” Said the dog. “He’s got a little mine further down the mountain. We were gonna meet up and use my tunnel to move the gems a bit faster.”

“Do you have an ID?” Asked Natick.

“What kind of gems?” Asked Fo. “Do you have an example on you?”

“Oh yeah sure.” The dog dug into the breast pocket of his vest. Blackout drew his pistol quietly. The dog tossed Fo a dirty, violet rock. “Found a little vein of amethyst.” Said the dog anxiously. “We were going to dig them out this week-”

“Told you there were gems on this mountain.” Said Fo, tossing the rock to God.

“I didn’t say there weren’t gems, I just said there weren’t many.” Said God.

“Oh there’s not many.” Said the dog hastily. “It’s like maybe a kilogram total.”

“Then why would you dig another tunnel?” Asked Natick.

“There’s more than that. He’s just scared of us taking a sampling from whatever’s down there.” Said Fo with a nod to the dog. He extricated the amethyst from God’s paws and pocketed it. “Have fun with your mining.”

He started walking again.

The ponies shuffled past the dog, who took a few steps away from them.

“Move that to the other side of the road.” Said Natick, pointing to the hole. “Go at least a hundred meters down the mountain.” The dog nodded and scampered across the road, carrying his shovel with him.

“Big arrest, big problems.” Said Fo. “Little arrest, little problems.” He looked back at the ponies. “No arrest...”

They walked for another half an hour. The sun had already slipped behind a mountain and its rays were cut apart by the trees on either side of the road. The patrol passed a convenience store operating out of a wooden shack the size of Red Field’s house. Fo had bought a pack of beer with the amethyst and all of the Gmales, save for Natick, were drinking. The thin air of Mohs dried Red Field’s mouth and he felt along his vest for his canteen.

He’d put a magazine pouch where his canteen usually went.

“Full, do you have any extra water?” Red Field asked.

“Oh, hey, have mine.” God unzipped a pouch on his vest and tossed Red Field a worn aluminum bottle. Full Wing looked at Red Field, holding out his own canteen. “What, something wrong with mine?”

“No, not at all. Thanks.” Said Red Field. He slipped the bottle into his pack and trudged onward, ignoring his thirst.

They crossed a bridge, under which ran a clear creek. Fo sighed and leaned against the railing.

“We should have left earlier.” He said, looking down the mountain. “What are we supposed to check down in Mica?”

“They were complaining about some drifters getting drunk and pissing on buildings.” Said Natick. “Also a welfare check on that puppy.”

Fo finished his beer.

“Drifters come and go, right? That’s why they’re drifters.” He tossed the bottle off the bridge and it fell for several seconds before shattering on some rocks in the creek bed. “That pup is probably fine.”

“Talcum had a robbery a few days ago too.” Said Natick. “We’re supposed to take a report on that.”

“We’ll get to that.” Said Fo. He looked back at the ponies. “I’d hate to have you out all night.”

“We don’t mind sir.” Said Locked Breech.

“Well, I do.” Said Fo. He started back up the road. Natick sighed and followed after him.

Red Field only carried his carbine. The DMR, along with Full Wing’s spotting equipment, was stuffed into the cargo hold of the chariot.

“Oatmeal or porridge?” Full Wing tore the top off of a cardboard box of MSRPs as he sat down next to Red Field. Red Field pulled the plate carrier tight to his body and shrugged.

“Whatever is fine.” Red Field said.

“All right, I’ll give you porridge.” Full Wing laid the packet on Red Field’s lap.

“Ay, pass up the food.” Wildcat called from the front seat of the chariot.

“Just a sec.” Full Wing pulled out his packet of breakfast and lobbed the box up to the front seat. “When are we leaving?”

“Just as soon as Chester finishes ‘petitioning for our safety’.” Blackout said with a laugh.

“What?” Asked Full Wing. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Makes plenty sense.” Wildcat chuckled. “Well to Chester at least.”

“Knock it off.” Locked Breech said as he made a preliminary check of the chariot. “And give me the clover.”

They’d awoken at 0700, but only a tiny sliver of the golden sun made it through the slit between the two mountains to their east. The slice of sunlight cut down the middle of the chariot, dividing Red Field and Full Wing from the other ponies.

Red Field hadn’t slept well and his body ached from the rigid mattress he’d dug out of one of the rooms adjacent to theirs. After the patrol, the dogs had slunk into the third building, which Recon left to them without question.
Red Field rubbed his face and tried to shake the sleep from his brain.

Something banged against the side of the chariot, startling everypony.

A dog stood beside the chariot. He was short for a diamond dog, and the top of his grey ears barely reached the top of the door.

“What the fuck was that for?” Asked Blackout.

“Sorry sirs.” The dog took a few steps back. “Fo wants to know what your plans are for the day.”

“We’re not going to disclose our operations for the day.” Said Locked Breech. This was not the response the dog was supposed to obtain and his tail switched as he thought for another way to phrase the inquiry.

“Well, if you have anything you can disclose, he’d like to know.” The dog said. He was polite, and based on the scarceness of his gear, Red Field guessed the dog wasn’t a very high ranking Gmale.

“Just tell him we decline to give out any information on our operations for security reasons.” Locked Breech said.

“All right, thank you.” Said the dog.

“No problem.” Said Locked Breech.

“What time will you be returning to base?” Asked the dog.

“What?” Asked Locked Breech sharply, causing the dog’s ears to droop.

“Fo would like to know-”

“Late.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

“Do that.” Said Blackout.

“He would like you to know we will be conducting another patrol tonight at nineteen hundred, so if you’re back by then-”

“We will certainly assist you, if we’re back then.” Locked Breech said. “Why don’t you relay this information to him?” The dog, who didn’t seem to want to confront the ponies any longer, nodded and bolted off.

“Hell.” Wildcat shook his head. “These idiots don’t know when to piss off.”

“Agree-” Blackout was interrupted by another, albeit softer, bang on the opposite side of the chariot. “Christ!” He shouted as he slid over to the opposite side of the vehicle.

“Are we ready to head out?” Chesterfield asked, pulling down the door to the chariot and climbing inside.

“Yeah, if you’re fuckin’ ready.” Wildcat said. “How long does it take to talk to The Big Pony?”

“Lay off of him.” Locked Breech looked back at Chesterfield, who was sliding his pack under his seat. “Get the door.” He threw the last packet of freeze-dried hay back at Chesterfield, before starting the chariot.

“See you later.” Blackout called to the base, his mouth full of breakfast.

“We’ll be seeing more of them soon enough.” Said Locked Breech as they took off.

“Of course.” Said Blackout dismally.

“What’s our contact’s name?” Asked Wildcat once they had ascended.

“He’s a militia leader named Marshall Law. I guess he and Luna have some history and he’s good at keeping tabs on everypony, er, every-dog around here.” Said Locked Breech. “We’re just supposed to head to his compound and meet with him.”

Militias were usually much less disciplined than national militaries; how could anyone be less organized than Fo’s band of Gmales?

After breakfast, Red Field gazed over the side of the chariot and down onto the mountains. The mountain air tasted crisp in the morning, and once they rose away from the boulders, the flavor of granite left Red Field’s mouth.

The sun soon rose enough to bathe most of the mountainsides in yellow. In the daylight Red Field could see the evergreen forests opened up quite a bit and allowed large swaths of grass to grow. He could make out the tiny threading bodies of creeks and brooks slithering down the mountains and on one of the far mountains he saw a small waterfall throwing water into a pool feeding into a stream.

He looked up the mountain to their right. They flew only a few hundred meters off of the ground, and Red Field had to crane his neck to look to the top of the giant mountain. Near the summit, the trees and brush thinned away and a startlingly bright layer of white covered the remaining ground.

Red Field had never seen virgin snow. Before the operation in the Frigid North, he hadn’t seen any snow whatsoever. He followed a road running down the mountain. It passed through a few clusters of ramshackle doghouses barely standing out from the trees.

A thick trestle, almost twenty meters wide, ran along the side of the mountain. The train tracks glinted in the sun and Red Field followed them. The track ran over the next mountain, with a few stations along the way. It ran over the next mountain as well.

Red Field shifted to the opposite side of the chariot. The train passed over every mountain in a giant circuit. He could just make out the white trail of smoke pouring out of the engine on the mountain across from him.

What did diamond dogs need to transport?

Their landing spot was well-hidden and Red Field felt a bit of comfort as the chariot nestled into a thick cluster of conifers. The taste of rock, along with a very slight grey haze in the air returned as they landed. Some needles sprinkled into the vehicle as they lowered into the trees.

“Gah, shit.” Wildcat spat a needle. They touched the ground and one of the bending branches whipped upward, spraying them with needles.

“Fuck.” Blackout snapped off a branch hanging directly over him.

“Quiet.” Locked Breech said. “You know how well dogs hear?”

“Thought this was a happy mission.” Blackout said, tossing the branch over the side of the chariot.

“It is, but our presence isn’t worth advertising.” Said Locked Breech. “We tell anyone we run into that we’re on official business with the Gmales, okay?” He made certain his rifle was slung tightly. “Let’s keep the mission happy and keep quiet while we’re on it.”

Thankfully, the forest was noisy enough on its own. Locked Breech led the team down the incline as birds chirped and wind slipped through the trees. They formed a tightly-knit trident, and Full Wing trailed to the right of Red Field, who comprised the right edge of the formation.

The first few minutes were a noiseless operation for the ponies, who were not at all comfortable with their surroundings. Blackout kept his rifle at low ready and Wildcat did the same. Full Wing kept pressing close to Red Field, and Red Field didn’t feel like correcting his posture.

“These woods should be friendly.” Said Locked Breech after a few minutes. “If we run into any dogs, we ask for directions to Marshall Law, de-escalation is our MO.”

“Are there any other towns around here?” Asked Chesterfield.

“No, Tillage is the only settlement for a few kilometers.” Said Locked Breech. “I don’t suppose a town of mercenaries would make good neighbors.”

“Left side.” Blackout said softly. Red Field snapped his view to the left. About fifty meters further down the mountain, four diamond dogs sat on a boulder. They were eating and chatting. A stack of four rifles laid beside them.

“Head right, stay out of sight.” Locked Breech pulled the team to a few trees. Full Wing dropped down to the ground and Red Field fell after him. Wildcat and Blackout slid into Red Field and Full Wing as they bolted over to where the two were laying.

A dog barked.

“Shit, we’re made.” Blackout said, shouldering his rifle. The rest of Recon followed drew their rifles. The four dogs had grabbed their weapons and looked up the mountain at them.

Both groups trained their weapons on one another.

“Whoa hold on now!” Called Locked Breech. “Friendlies! Friendlies here! Don’t shoot.”

“Fuck you!” Shouted a dog.

“Hey fuck you too!” Blackout shouted back.

“Who are you?” Called one of the dogs.

“UATs, Equestrian Armed Forces.” Locked Breech said. “We’re here to-”

“Why are you armed?” The dog asked, pointing his rifle at Locked Breech.

“We’re here for security reasons-”

“We are the security.” Said the dog Red Field was aiming at. The dog who’d asked Locked Breech about their identity lowered his rifle and pulled a radio out of his vest pocket. He kept watch on the ponies as he called someone. Nopony could hear what he was saying.

“We’re here to meet with Marshall Law.” Locked Breech said. “If you could direct us to-”

“Don’t move!” The dog speaking into the radio shouted.

“We’re not!” Locked Breech said. “Let’s work this out peaceably. We’re not here to fight you.”

“How many more of you are there?” Asked the dog.

“We’re here to see Marshall Law.” Said Blackout.

“I have the guy closest to us.” Red Field said to Full Wing, who stood behind him, “You get the one next to him.”

“Red, you hear that?” Whispered Full Wing.

A rustling, almost like the rustling of leaves, came out of the woods around them. Red Field took his eyes off of the group and looked over his shoulder.

Two more groups of dogs, from further up the mountain, descended on them. The dogs took positions behind trees and aimed at the little group of ponies. Before they could find pick a path of retreat, Recon was surrounded by perhaps fifty diamond dogs.

The dogs carried clean, scoped assault rifles and all wore body armor.

“What the fuck.” Said Blackout as the dogs fanned out, completely encircling them. The ponies huddled together as the dogs circled them. A dog carrying the marksman's variant of the Molot shouted for them to drop their weapons. Blackout told the dog to go fuck itself. The dogs were barking, snarling and growling so loudly the dog with the radio had to shout as he ran up the mountain toward them.

Still, his orders were drowned out.

The dog fired his rifle into the ground. Full Wing spooked and a few of the dogs laughed.

“Hawaii Team, I’m glad we had such a good response time, but listen to me,” the dog with the radio pointed at the ponies, “we have to transport these prisoners.” He smirked at Recon. "I don't suppose I need to convince you you're prisoners now?" The dogs began to nod and growl their agreement to him. “Okay, disarm them,” he said, “I don’t want any surprises.”

A few of the diamond dogs exited their cover and moved up on the ponies. One put its paw on Red Field’s gun and stepped in front of him.

“Give me the rifle, pony.” The dog had relatively pronounced breasts and spoke with a higher pitch than the others. Red Field took a second to realize the dog was a female since it looked otherwise indistinguishable from the rest. Red Field, paused, then saw the other members of his team surrendering their weapons. He gave her his carbine. “And the pawgun.”

“Should we bind them?” Asked one dog.

“I don’t know.” Replied the dog who’d taken charge. He cocked his head at the ponies. “Should we?”

“We’ll go peaceably.” Locked Breech said. “As I said, we are just here to see Marshall Law.”

“Well I can help you with that.” The leader held up his paw to the other dogs and motioned for them to follow him.

The throng of dogs massed around Recon and Red Field felt as if he were being herded.

They’d only walked for a few minutes when the trees thinned out and the incline leveled. Yet they were still a few kilometers from the base of the mountain. The leveled ground was pockmarked with small craters and a few rifle casings clinked under Red Field’s hooves as they approached an octagonal fortress standing in the middle of the clearing. Towers and spotlights jutted out along the walls, which were flecked and scratched from volleys of bullet impacts. A tower, easily fifteen meters in circumference, loomed over the rest of the fortress.

“Welcome to Tillage.” The lead dog said. Concertina wire ringed the base of the walls and the gate was flanked by a pair of pillboxes. “Captain Teabag returning to base with six pony prisoners.” He shouted into the bunkers. “We’re here to process them.”

Inside the walls, Tillage looked like the settler towns of Equestria Red Field had seen in his history books. The grounds were a groomed gravel and narrow streets carved utilitarian byways between the buildings. Most of the buildings resembled homes. They were all single story and their roofs slanted upward sharply in chaste triangles. Instead of doors, the houses had wrought-iron gates.

“This way ponies.” Said the leader as he led them through the fortress.

Multitudes of puppies peered out of the houses. Though the kennels were darkened, Red Field could see the smaller, but still very real rifles the puppies carried. The smallest puppies merely clutched their weapons, but a few trained their shortened rifles on the UATs.

A group of female dogs stood next to a miniaturized warehouse only a few times larger than the kennels. The group hacked apart the carcass of what looked like a cow and tossed slabs of flesh atop a mine cart. Rather than purses, pistols hung at the hips of the females. Two construction workers hauled a pallet of timber past the patrol and toward the frame of another kennel. Under the workers’ safety vests were holsters carrying fullsize pistols. The distant impression of bewilderment passed through Red Field’s terrified mind.

Was every dog in Tillage armed?

“Hold up Hawaii squad. What the hell is this?” An Underdog shoved his way through the patrol around Recon. “Who are these assholes? Where did you find them?” Most of the diamond dogs Red Field had seen were the narrow Scilicites, but this dog’s shoulders were swollen outward, giving him the appearance of an ape. He carried an oily light machine gun and several belts of ammo were slung over his broad shoulders.

“Sneaking around in my area.” Said Teabag. He flicked his head at the ponies. “Dumb bastards were just waltzing down the mountain.”

“What’re you going to do with them?” The Underdog sounded more suspicious of Teabag than the ponies.

“I was going to process them.” Said Teabag.

“Run ‘em by Marshall first.”

“Yeah I was gonna after we-”

“Not later, now.” The Underdog said. “These faggots look like they mean business.”

“Sir, we’re here-” Began Locked Breech.

“Shut up.” The Underdog pointed Teabag to the tower in the center of Tillage. “Get them to Marshall.”

“I was going to.” Teabag said under his breath. He whistled to the patrol and they pulled the ponies back in the direction they’d come. Teabag picked up his pace as they walked toward the tower.

Concertina wire also ringed the base of the tower and Red Field peered up at a tiny deck jutting out from the very top of the narrow structure. The height of the tower became absurd when compared to the conservative, strategic design of the rest of the town.

“Liverwurst, Smear, get your guys to restrain these ponies as we enter. I don’t want any surprises. The rest of you stay here.” Said Teabag.

“Look we were trying to see your boss in the first place.” Said Wildcat.

“From now on, you don’t speak until spoken to, pony.” Said Teabag. “Got it?”

“He’ll speak if he wants to, shithead.” Said Blackout.

“Pardon my soldier; I can see you’re being thorough in your security, mister Bag.” Said Locked Breech in a voice just barely louder than whatever Teabag was about to say.

The Scilicite closed his mouth, opened it again, glared at Blackout, then stepped past them and opened the door to the tower.

“Get inside.” Teabag said. Red Field had never seen an apology subdue anyone. He fell into thought, trying to process the exchange. “You too.” Teabag’s nails dug his shoulder as the dog pulled him inside.

The interior of the tower looked as though it had been designed by a being without feelings.

The thick door opened to reveal nothing more than a staircase that was wide enough for two dogs and two ponies to ascend side by side.
The stairs had no rail on either side. Red Field took a breath of warm, stale air and guessed the tower had no air conditioning or janitor either.

Red Field and Full Wing walked at the end of the small procession. Behind them walked three diamond dogs. The ponies’ hoofsteps were drowned out by the click of the dog’s nails against the concrete. They walked in silence for almost two minutes.

“Let me do the talking.” Teabag stopped them before a door atop the stairs. Red Field’s legs ached and he guessed they were at the top of the tower. Teabag cracked his neck, then opened the door.

Red Field did not expect an office atop the tower. He squinted for a second as sunlight flooded into the dark stairwell. The office was ringed with windows from which light streamed into the room. The circular office swelled out from the tower and the room managed to accommodate Recon and their captors.

Standing on either side of the door were two Underdogs. They accosted Teabag and demanded to know his business. Red Field continued to study the room as Teabag gave them an anxious answer.

A desk made of granite sat on the opposite side of the room. It was covered in stacks of papers and loose pens. Some potted plants were arranged against the walls and rather elegant-looking leather chairs sat facing the windows. An empty chair sat behind the desk, and Red Field began to look for the owner of the office.

“These assholes are UAT- where’s Marshall?” Teabag was saying.

Behind the desk was a door leading onto the deck looking out over Tillage. A dog who’d been standing on the deck, looked over his shoulder and saw the group within the office. He entered and Teabag grew silent.

Marshall Law wore a clean uniform printed in a dark woodland pattern. His upper body swelled outward, and since his sleeves were rolled back to his elbows, Red Field could see the tightly packed muscles running up his forearms. Red Field couldn't tell if Marshall Law was an Underdog, an extremely strong Scilicite, or a crossbreed between the two.

“What’s this about?” Marshall Law sounded much older than the other dogs, whom Red Field guessed were within a decade or so of his age.

“Ah, sir.” Teabag stepped past the guards. “Sorry to bother you.” He pointed to the ponies. “These ponies were sneaking around further up the mountain. We picked them up and brought them to you as soon as we could.”

“Who are they?” Marshall Law asked.

“They claim they’re commandos from Equestria. Not sure how much I believe them since we nabbed them so easily.” Said Teabag.

“Do they have IDs?” Marshall Law asked.

“I didn’t think to ask.” Said Teabag. “They were sneaking down the mountain and got into a standoff with my team. I called in reinforcements and we had them pacified in a few seconds.” Teabag added as Marshall Law stepped around the desk to look the ponies over. Marshall Law looked back at Teabag.

“How many dogs did you pull?”

“Fifty or so. Whoever was in the sector at the time.”

“Did you return them?”

“Ah, not yet.”

Marshall Law pointed to the dogs holding the ponies.

“Go, now, get back to your positions.” He looked to Teabag as the group behind Red Field filtered out of the room and down the stairs. “Why’d you take everyone you could find, to secure six ponies?”

“I saw that they were ponies, and very well equipped, and I didn’t want them to get where they were going.” Teabag said, scratching at his arm as Marshall Law faced him.

“There’s no reason to pull an entire patrol for six ponies, no matter who they are.” Said Marshall Law. The last of the group exited behind Red Field, leaving only the pair of guards. “Now,” Marshall Law looked to the ponies, “do you have any identification?”

“Yes sir.” Locked Breech said. “We’re UAT with Gale Force Company; is it all right if I reach into my pocket to get my ID?”
Marshall Law shrugged and Locked Breech drew out his laminated ID. He held it out to Marshall Law, who took the card with a paw the size of Locked Breech’s hoof.

“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? Can you tell we don’t like unannounced visitors?” Asked Marshall Law.

“I was under the impression my superiors had told you we were coming.” Said Locked Breech.

“The higher ups fucked up communicating to grunts. Hard to imagine.” Marshall Law leaned against the desk. “What’s your business?”

“Well sir, my associates and I are representing an ongoing investigation into persons suspected of conspiring to assassinate Princess Celestia. We-”

“Are you accusing him of something?” Teabag asked. Marshall Law’s eyes flicked to his inferior.

“Captain, let’s do your after-action report right now shall we? Then you can get back to work.” Marshall Law said.

“All right sir.” Said Teabag, still eyeing Locked Breech. Marshall Law reached onto his desk and pulled off a small notepad and pen.

“Good work on your capture. Don’t tie up so many dogs next time, but I won’t diminish the overall significance of capturing some of Equestria’s deadliest fighters.” Teabag flushed a bit. “You didn’t shoot them outright, and you didn’t get shot yourself. Things are looking up for that strike force reassignment.” Marshall Law wrote a few lines, tore off the paper and gave it to Teabag. “Now get back to your patrol.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir!” Teabag took the note and was about to leave when Marshall Law spoke again.

“Did you disarm these ponies?” Marshall Law asked.

“Yes sir- I’ll make sure we get their weapons back to them.” Said Teabag. Marshall Law ran his eyes over the six ponies, then walked to Blackout.

“What’s your name soldier?” He asked.

“Blackout sir.”

“Are you unarmed Blackout?”

Blackout didn’t respond and Red Field looked over at him.

“No sir.” Blackout said finally. One of the Underdogs raised his rifle but Marshall Law waved him off.

“I see, what are you carrying?” He asked.

“Backup gun.” Said Blackout.

“May I see it?”

“Uh, yes.” Blackout drew a small revolver from one of the magazine pouches on his vest. He held it by the grip, making sure the muzzle was pointed at his hooves. Marshall Law closed his eyes and sighed.

“May I see your weapon Blackout?” He asked tiredly.

“Yes sir.” Blackout held out the gun and the dog took the miniscule pistol in his paws. Marshall Law opened the cylinder and ran a finger over the four rimmed shells contained inside.

“Thank you Blackout.” He held up the gun. “Captain Teabag, could you come here and explain what this is to me?”

Marshall Law stood before Red Field, who was standing closest to the door. Teabag walked back to him and Red Field stood between the two.

“That is a weapon sir.” Teabag said quietly.

“Could that pony have shot and killed me without any great difficulty?”

“Yes sir.”

“You know what thorough disarmament looks like don’t you?”

“Yes sir.” Said Teabag. Marshall Law let a breath out of his black nose and it jetted against Red Field’s forehead.

“Give me that.” Said Marshall Law. Teabag’s arm brushed Red Field’s neck as he held out the small paper. Marshall Law put his paw on Red Field’s shoulder and moved him aside, before folding the paper and sliding it into the breast pocket of his uniform.

“Soldier Blackout, is this weapon loaded with shot or bullets?” Asked Marshall Law.

“Bullets sir.” Blackout said.

The Tempest, a short barreled hoofgun/shotgun combination, let out a shot that reverberated through Red Field’s sinuses.
Teabag whined and fell on one knee. Blood broke from his right calf and pattered onto the stone floor. Marshall Law opened the door for him.

“Tell the doc it’s a self-inflicted wound.” Said Marshall Law. Teabag grimaced and shut his eyes tightly, before giving a slight tic of a nod. He limped out of the door, leaving a trail of blood. Marshall Law gave the pistol back to Blackout and seated himself on the edge of the desk.

“What can I do for you mister Locked Breech?” Asked Marshall Law. A thud rose up the stairs from a few flights under them as Teabag collapsed on the steps.

Both of the guards swept white rags soaked in cleaner across the bloodstained floor. Their rifles lay by the door, and soon the rags and their paws were a polluted red. Marshall Law sat at his desk, rummaging through his cabinets and drawers as Locked Breech further explained their operation.

Locked Breech had only mentioned “the Conspiracy” and Marshall Law had gone to work.

“My team and I are here on a preliminary deployment to gather information.” Locked Breech said, ignoring the dogs cleaning at his hooves. “It’s likely the conspirators, or at least some of them, have a presence in this country.”

“Or a business, or a wife, or wives, or a militia.” Marshall Law lifted a stack of files from a cabinet behind his desk and dropped them on the pile he’d already amassed. “There are a million things that your Conspiracy could have here.”

“That’s, true.” Locked Breech said. Recon had stayed at a tight attention after the gunshot, even as Marshall Law bade them to make themselves at home.

“Once we got the word from your Queen last year about building a list of suspects for this ‘Conspiracy’, I put together a list of all of the shitstains I think could be in on it.” He glanced up at them. “Would really have been nice to know you were coming though.”

“Princess, er, Queen Twilight gave this order a year ago?” Locked Breech asked. Marshall Law shook his head as he slid the cabinet shut.

“That’s about it I think, least for now.” He turned back to the desk and began to organize the pile. “No, not Twilight, some other Queen.”

“We don’t have another Queen.” Locked Breech said.

“Jesus, some royal mare gave me the order about a year ago.” Marshall Law said. “I was too busy focusing on getting the aforementioned information rather than preserving a receipt of exactly which royal bitch asked me,” He frowned, “Sorry, mare; you’ll forgive my vocabulary, that’s one of our words.” Locked Breech did not respond and the dog stared at the files for a moment as if he’d forgotten what he was doing. “Anyway,” he picked up the stack, “here’s what I can give you.”
The stack stood half a meter tall. “Actually,” he set the pile down, “let me see if I can find you a box.”

He dug around under his desk.

“This, appears to be a lot of intelligence you’ve collected.” Locked Breech said as he flipped through the first few files. Marshall Law laughed from under his desk.

“I wouldn’t say there’s a lot of intelligence collected anywhere in Mohs. What you have there is all of the dogs, ponies, dragons, and whatever else there is in Mohs that I suspect of being privy to that assassination.”

“Goddamn, it’s like a phonebook.” Wildcat thumped the stack with his hoof and Locked Breech pushed him away.

“You don’t have any means of narrowing down these suspects do you?” Locked Breech asked. Marshall Law poked his head up from under the desk.

“No, I don’t,” he said, “I didn’t know it was also my responsibility to provide intelligence services to the ponies of Equestria along with compiling a list of suspects for them.”

“I was just wondering, since you’re familiar with these persons.” Said Locked Breech.

“No no, fuck it.” Marshall stood with a grunt. He halved the giant pile and set the two stacks beside each other. “I can help you a bit. Are you looking for anyone in particular? Wraiths? Dragons? Underdogs?” He chuckled. “If they’re in the FFS then you’ll have to look elsewhere for a hit team. Tillage tries to stay away from the Feds as much as possible.” He flipped through one of the piles. “Hope you don’t say the Bronies, I already have enough dogs looking for a reason to do a little exterminating on those creeps.”

“Mercenaries I’ve been told,” Locked Breech said, “our intel points to mercenaries, maybe changelings.” Marshall Law picked up one of the stacks and dropped it back on the other.

“Can’t help you friend.” He said, returning to his search for a box. “Everyone in this country could be called a mercenary.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Chesterfield said quietly.

“Professional mercenaries, the kind that are run as a corporation?” Locked Breech added. Marshall Law found an empty cardboard box labeled “accident reports” and he set it down beside the files. He placed both his paws on the desk and leaned over toward the tan stallion.

“You mean like the kind I employ?” He asked. The dog narrowed his eyes at Locked Breech. “Because I will have you know that Tillage has never received a disciplinary military action in its existence as a sovereign state. I run a tight ship, and yes, I do employ a number of legally grey employees. But I do not tolerate excessive bullshit.” He pointed behind them. “Our charter clearly lays out our nonaggression towards the Nation of Equestria.” The ponies looked back and saw a long sheet of hemp paper pressed into a frame that hung on the door. The paper was covered in mellifluous cursive and had a number of bullet points labeled “articles”. “Military contractors are commonplace in Mohs and just because a dog makes his living shooting other dogs doesn’t mean he’s any more suspicious than the ones mining gems.”

“That’s good enough.” Marshall Law called to the guards. “That idiot leaked all over the stairs; you’ll need to clean them off. I doubt these gentleponies will kill me in your absence.” The two dogs stood, picked up their rifles and shuffled out of the room. Marshall Law hoisted the files and dumped them into the box. He picked up the box and held it out to Locked Breech. “This is what I have for you.”

“Yes, thank you.” Locked Breech took the box and passed it to Wildcat. “We appreciate your support, and let me apologize; I didn’t mean to imply that you or your contractors are being investigated. I’m not briefed on that matter as of yet.”

“Not a big deal captain; certainly not one to strain relations over.” Marshall Law pointed to the box. “I trust you’ll be in contact regarding your investigations or lynchings, or whatever it is you plan.” He cocked his head. “Will we be seeing more of those darker ponies around then?”

“I’m not certain who you are talking about.” Locked Breech said .

“Ah, well, I’ll just tell my dogs to be on the lookout for Equestrian ponies then.” Said Marshall Law

Other kinds of ponies?

Marshall Law began to sort through his papers, which had scattered from the onslaught of files. He knocked over a container of pens and a few loose rounds spilled out as well. Locked Breech opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

As Recon descended the tower, Red Field saw the trail of blood Teabag had left. It stopped and pooled a bit, presumably where the dog had collapsed. It then grew to a thin trickle and continued down the stairs. He kept his hooves on either side of the stain.

“Jesus Christ this place keeps getting weirder and weirder.” Wildcat said.

“We got what we came for.” Locked Breech said. “Let’s just get this back to base.”

“And see about our guns. Those diggers have probably turned them into chew toys or something.” Blackout said.

“If that’s the case, I don’t want mine.” Chesterfield meant this as a joke, but nopony, even he, laughed.

They were soldiers, trained to fight like a crashing tide hitting a rocky shore. Gale Force Company existed to clash as hard as it could against the crags of its enemies.
But Mohs is a moldering pond, where the forces of grey percolate and collect momentarily, only to dissipate into more complications. Mohs is not a place of resolution; it is antonymous to resolution. Of those six soldiers, of possibly any pony, Red Field would understand this the least.

On the return trip, Red Field asked about their plans for proceeding with the investigation. The thought of hunting down diamond dogs with only his team awoke a terror in Red Field. Surely they would not pursue the “Conspiracy” alone.

“That’s really up to Luna.” Locked Breech said. “Not sure what she thought we’d be getting into with this operation but those files are going to merit a ton of action.”

“So, we’re going to war?” Blackout asked. “This time for real?”

“I didn’t say that-” Began Locked Breech.

“Yeah but the Princess did.” Wildcat said.

“She said that just to fire everypony up to start this investigation.” Said Locked Breech. "We've been living comfortably at base for a very long time."

“So what’s the plan then?” Asked Chesterfield.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Locked Breech gave the box of files a kick. “We have the intel, now it’s up for someone else to piece together.”

The midafternoon sun hung above the base as the chariot touched down. They waited and watched to see if any of the Gmales would come slinking out of their barracks to meet them. The dust settled around the chariot and a cloud slowly skimmed over the sun, darkening the base.

“They’re not here. Let’s try to get some work done.” Locked Breech said, carrying the box out of the chariot. The rest of the ponies followed him, keeping an eye on the dogs’ building.

Once inside, they began to focus more. Wildcat and Chesterfield took another inventory of their supplies while Blackout and Full Wing started to scrub at the patch of mildew. The work calmed Red Field and he set to work drawing up a range card centered on the base.

“Red, get over here. I need brains on this.” Called Locked Breech. Red Field set down his notebook and hurried over to the table where Locked Breech had set the box. “Figure out how these are organized, or how they should be organized.” Locked Breech opened a few files and pushed them towards Red Field. “And figure out how many targets we’re dealing with. Let’s get everything sorted before we contact anypony.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field looked up from the files. “Uh, why me though?” Locked Breech had taken a rag and stood beside Full Wing, wiping away the purple stain.

“Did I not say I needed brains? Get to your work.” Locked Breech said. Red Field smiled to himself, he smiled for a few seconds.

His smile died as he looked at the first page of the first file. The file was not a dossier or a personality inventory; it was a list of names. He saw a few businesses labeled along with the names.

Red Field stopped reading. He flipped open another six folders and glanced over them. The files just listed businesses, with upwards of ten names apiece. Further down the page were coordinates to their locations. He turned one of the pages over.

Marshall Law’s scrawl covered the bottom of the page.

“This is the largest mining company run by the Underdogs. They won’t all be tied to the Conspiracy- more likely one of the owners is supporting the effort as a personal quest. But they are Underdogs, so put nothing past them.” Red Field looked back at the coordinates on the opposite side.

He had one place to start.

“Do we have a large map of Mohs?” He asked.

Red Field took two and a half hours to organize the information. He marked the locations of all of the suspected businesses on the map. The last third of the files were not businesses, but individuals. Those he marked on the map with X’s.

Red Field lost count of the number of targets somewhere past four hundred and thirty. The map, which was two meters by two meters, filled with marks and was soon a spotted mess. Marking the last name, Red Field stood and looked over his “organization”. His head ached from reading and following coordinates.

“Whoa, are those all the bad guys?” Blackout was eating a granola bar and he peered down at the map. Red Field nodded. “What the fuck.” Blackout shook his head and took another bite. “We’re not doing this without some backup.”

“You’re done?” Locked Breech walked over to where the two stood. “That’s, a few suspects.” His eyes flitted back and forth over the map, spotting each possibility.

“Eyeah.” Blackout dribbled granules of granola onto the map. “That is a ton of heads to shoot.”

“If only it was that simple.” Locked Breech pushed Blackout a few steps back. “Red, solid work. I want you nearby when I call this in to the brass.” He pointed to Wildcat. “Cat, get over here.” Wildcat sat with Chesterfield, eating some bagged hay. He was still chewing as he sat down at the typewriter. “Contact made with Marshall Law, we have the information, but it is a substantial list of suspects.” Locked Breech paused. “Ah, just send that one and see what they say.” Wildcat nodded and in a moment he tore the page off and stuffed into a bottle.

Red Field realized his stomach was cramping from hunger.

“Hey, do we have anything to eat?” He asked. Chesterfield, who was still propped up against his bunk, threw a granola bar to Red Field.

“Nothing good.” Said Chesterfield.

“You think we’ll get good food when we start going out on raids?” Asked Blackout.

“What makes you sure we’re going to be going out on raids?” Locked Breech asked. Blackout shrugged as he pushed the last of the bar into his mouth.

“Dunno, seems like that’s sort of the job of UATs, and we’re UATs.” He licked his hooves, then wiped them on his vest, which he still wore despite the heat.

“We’ll get backup right?” Full Wing sat on his bunk, nibbling at a cake of dehydrated flax. Blackout shook his head.

“We’re here first so it’s on us to finish the op. Hope you’re ready to shoot a lot of dogs.” He thumped his chest. “I know I am.” Full Wing’s eyes grew wide as he believed this to be Blackout’s actual opinion, and even Red Field had trouble discerning the sarcasm.

“Nopony has said anything about shooting anyone except you idiots.” Said Locked Breech. “It could just as easily be a snatch and grab; last time I checked our justice system still works.” He pointed to Full Wing. “Soak that in some water first.”

Full Wing spat out what he’d eaten from the cake.

“We’re going to be shooting a lot of dogs, or ponies, or both, or something.” Wildcat said. “There’s no way Luna’s going to let whoever planted that bomb live.”

“I didn’t say that she would.” Said Locked Breech. The response to their message poofed into the air above the typewriter and dropped onto the table. “Well let’s just find out what the next step is and stop with this speculation.”

“If I’m not shooting or sleeping, I’m speculating.” Said Blackout. “Or maybe masturbating.”

“I don’t want to hear that.” Locked Breech unrolled the message. “Directive to Recon from Executive Officer Luna: Good work with the intel. Please advise on exact number of potential conspirators given by Marshall Law.” He looked to Red Field. “Red? What’s the count?”

“Uh, four hundred and eighty-seven.” Red Field knew the total number was in the high four hundreds. “Although those are just the combined totals of the corporations and individuals. The actual number of dogs is something close to a thousand.”

“Oh-kay.” Locked Breech pointed to the typewriter. “Say nearly a thousand Cat.”

Another message popped out of the air as Wildcat began to type.

“Disregard last. I am sending my companion Nacht to collect the information. He will relay it to the Asymmetric Warfare Department for processing. Standby for his arrival.” Blackout balled the wrapper to his granola bar and tossed it at the trash can in the corner of the room.

“And that, colts and fillies, is going to be how we spend our next month.” Said Blackout.

“What?” Asked Full Wing.

“Sitting and eating shitty food in this shitty base waiting for brass to figure out who it wants killed.” Wildcat said, standing and collecting the wadded wrapper which had missed the trash can.

“Are we going to have to keep working with Fo and his outfit while we wait?” Asked Chesterfield.

“Great question Chess.” Blackout said. “I’m not spending a month, or however long it takes for brass to figure their shit out, running around with those dogs.”

“We won’t be rendering any support while we wait for orders. Our agreement only pertains to active operations.” Locked Breech said. He tore up both messages and scattered the dissolving parchment onto the floor. “So, let’s get comfortable shall we?”

Recon finished unpacking, then began to arrange the furniture to make the concrete chamber more hospitable. Locked Breech told Red Field to hang the map on the wall. Red Field felt a swell of pride as he hung the scored paper over his bed.
Everypony unwound as they arranged their gear and began making the quarters more hospitable. Full Wing and Wildcat scrubbed the floor while Chesterfield and Locked Breech sculpted a couch out of excess mattresses. They’d started to discuss their favorite beers.

“I found this excellent craft cider that comes from Ponyville. I’m not usually one for ciders too.” Locked Breech adjusted the stack of lumpy mattresses. “Red, why don’t you and Blackout go and see if you can find the AC or whatever comes out of those vents. Maybe we can get the air up and running.”

“Yeah, me and Red can have some quality time.” Blackout stood up from his bed. “Only just met you after basic, then we shoved off for this godforsaken place.” Blackout picked up his hoofgun and slipped it into its holster. “Furnace or whatever’s probably in the basement.”

Blackout couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Red Field. However his muscles, annoyingly loud voice and unflinching rudeness made him seem much older. He walked ahead of Red Field by a few steps, his right forehoof resting on his gun.

“So Red Field: self-taught genius, tell me, how is your first tour?” He asked as they climbed down the stairs to the ground floor.

“It’s all right.” Red Field said politely, which made Blackout laugh.

“You still sound like you’re an eight-year-old who’s at a dinner with his parents and has to talk to strangers.” They walked down the hallway leading to the main room. “Nothing makes me more nervous than a pony who isn’t honest about his feelings. Are you really sure that this place is ‘all right’?”

“It’s strange. I’m not sure I like those dogs.” Red Field added.

“Yeah, not sure anyone likes those dogs, fucking things are all deranged.” Blackout shook his head before looking around the room. Red Field saw the hall leading to the front door. Another hall opposite them led off into darkness. Besides the electrical panel, the room was completely empty. “Probably down this way.” Blackout said, walking toward the other hallway. “Least it better be.”

About five paces into the darkness, Blackout pulled out a flashlight and shined it down the corridor. A set of stairs, leading downward, laid ahead of them.

“There we go.” Blackout walked faster and Red Field crept after him. “So Red, you’re a self-taught genius right?” Blackout asked as he peered down the stairwell.

“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You can launch an illumination spell down there right?” Blackout pointed to the stairs.

“Uh, no. I can’t.”

“Okay then.” Blackout sounded more annoyed than disappointed. He took a few cautious steps down the stairs. “Get my back, I don’t want to get jumped by some mutant pile of dog shit down here.”

Red Field kept close as Blackout made his way down the stairs. They descended three flights, until they reached what Red Field hoped was nothing more than an empty basement. Blackout took a step into the room and began to feel along a wall. He swore in satisfaction as he clicked a switch.

The lights in the basement were a dark blue; not a hue Red Field would have associated with the contents of the room. Tool chests, about fifteen, in all sizes, were stacked and piled along the walls. Directly ahead of them stood a furnace built into the concrete.

“There we go.” Blackout pocketed his flashlight and approached the furnace. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

To Red Field, the machine seemed simple enough. A single on/off switch and a sliding metal bar under a plate reading “hot/cold” comprised the machine’s interface. The rest of the furnace was smooth, albeit rusted, black metal. Blackout adjusted the slider to "cold", then flipped the switch.

The furnace gave a gurgle.

“Well shit.” Blackout looked back at Red Field. “Do you know anything about A.C. Mr. Red Field?”

“Uh, I don’t think I do.”

“Well I’m going to guess it could just be a broken wire or a loose pipe or something.” Blackout knelt down by the side of the machine. He produced a knife, laid down next to the furnace and began to unscrew a panel. Red Field stood over him. Blackout pointed his knife at the toolchests. “Hey genius, can you check to see what kinds of tools are in there?”

“Uh, sure.” Red Field was glad to do something.

“Why do you gotta start every sentence with ‘uh’?” Blackout twisted at a screw. “Isn’t that like a sign of non-geniusdom?”

Not caring to point out use of the term "non-geniusdom" probably disqualified Blackout from evaluating others on their intelligence, Red Field tried the latch to a chest. It was locked. So was the next- so were all of the tool chests.

Clearly the key wouldn’t be in the room and Red Field returned to the furnace, where Blackout had removed the panel and was now poking around in the machine.

“Locked?” Red Field nodded. “Well how ‘bout you tell me about yourself Red? I know next to nothing about you.” Blackout said, digging around in the machine a bit more.

“Uh, okay.” Red Field paused. “What do you want to know?”

“Are you always this difficult or did I do something to deserve this?” Blackout asked after a pause. Red Field was coming to the realization he did not particularly like Blackout.

“I’m an analytical thinker, I-”

“Yeah I think you told me about that.” Blackout thumped the machine with his hoof. “Why don’t you drop some analysis on this here machine?”

“The Freon has probably leaked out, which is why it isn’t working.” Red Field answered so quickly Blackout looked up.

“Probably not, engine won’t even turn over.” Blackout replied, the hostility between them becoming mutual. “Try aga-”

“Likely any number of chemicals or fuels have stagnated or congealed in the piping.” Said Red Field.

Blackout seemed almost pleased Red Field was getting angry with him.

“Oh really?” He stopped working and propped himself up on one elbow. “Tell me more.”

“It probably runs on a petroleum-based-”

“Yeah, I bet machines do run on gas. Tell me, what should we do to get this working again?” Asked Blackout.

“We, should...” Red Field looked at the machine and tried to think of a plan. He could feel his face turning red.

“Jesus, are you so egotistical you can’t admit when you don’t-”

“Flush the fuel lines with air to rule out any sort of clog in the system, which is fairly likely given the age of the machine and the probable compounds of the fuel.” This stuck to Blackout and his bullying smile faded a bit as he considered this. Blackout glanced back into the machine and Red Field felt a surge of furious vindication.

“Where would we get an air compressor?” Asked Blackout slowly.

“Build one.” Red Field had a very unsteady idea in his head of how to do this, but wanted to keep spiting Blackout. “We-”

“Wait shut the fuck up.” Blackout held up his hoof. Blackout tilted his ear up toward the ceiling. Red Field knew he was just trying to think of a retort and let a snort escape his nose. “Shut up.”

Something in the main floor clacked.

Blackout was on his hooves. He held a hoof over his mouth and Red Field nodded. Drawing his gun, Blackout crept toward the stairs. Red Field huddled close to Blackout as the pair peered upward.

“You heard that right?” Blackout asked. Red Field nodded and Blackout adjusted his grip on the gun. They slipped up the stairwell. The corridor leading to the assembly room was empty. “Fuck.” Blackout said as they watched the end of the hall. A minute passed. “Sounded like a pony right?” Red Field nodded. “I swear to God, there’s nothing I hate more than weird sounds.” They waited for another minute. “It better not be one of those Gmales-” Blackout was holstering his gun when a pony looked down the hall at them.

“Stop!” Shouted Blackout. The pony stepped fully into view. “Who are you?”

Red Field had jumped back at the sight of the pony and he peeked back around Blackout.

“Princess Luna’s assistant.” Nacht said. “I'm here for the information you collected.”

“How did you get in here?” Blackout asked. “You shouldn’t be sneaking around.”

“Apologies.” Nacht’s mindless frown grew a bit longer. “I entered through the front door and thought I heard somepony downstairs, so I was coming to investigate. I apologize for frightening you.” Nacht tilted his head to look around them. “Is the rest of your squad down there?”

“We’ll take you to them.” Blackout said, stuffing his pistol into his holster. “We just weren’t expecting you so soon.”

Nacht walked between the two UATs. He wore the same grey overcoat he’d worn every time they’d seen him at Gale Force. Standing next to him, Red Field became aware of a strange, almost aloof, distance with the unicorn. Unlike the other stallions Red Field knew, who reeked of a combination of sweat, musk, and deodorant, Nacht had no odor whatsoever. Nothing stood out from under his overcoat.

He resembled a sketch more than a pony.

The rest of Recon were organizing their food as the three entered. Locked Breech looked up first and recognized Nacht.

“Oh, hello sir.” Locked Breech said. “We were not expecting you so soon.” He hesitated as he reached for the box of files. "Do you have something to carry this with?”

“You did not distill it into smaller parchment?” Nacht asked.

“Oh, of course of course. Wildcat, get over here and copy this down onto magic paper.” Said Locked Breech. “Sorry, we should have thought of that.”

“Not a problem.”

“So, uh, what’s the plan for tracking down the Conspiracy?” Asked Blackout.

“The A.W.D will analyze the leads, then we’ll move on the most pertinent suspects. As I am told.” Nacht said, glancing over at Blackout only once. Locked Breech shook his head slightly, to indicate to Blackout he should not continue inquiring about their future plans.

“Are you military sir?” Locked Breech asked. “I don’t believe I was briefed on your rank.”

“Ex-military. I work as Princess Luna’s personal assistant.”

“What outfit?” Asked Chesterfield.

“It was disbanded some time ago.”

“Well, thank you for your service.” Locked Breech said.

“You’re welcome.”

Wildcat spent an hour transcribing all of the files onto a tiny roll of magic parchment.

Nacht stood at the table beside Wildcat. He answered a few more questions from Locked Breech, who soon could tell the unicorn didn't require conversation.
After about twenty minutes, Full Wing laid down to take a nap. Blackout followed suit and Locked Breech sat on his bed, looking through a notebook. Only Red Field still stood by Nacht. He subtly studied the blank grey pony, trying to discover anything about him.
Unfortunately, Nacht was properly groomed, smelled like nothing, and did so little Red Field eventually gave up on trying to figure him out.
Nacht was probably just a drone of a lackey for Luna, with some degree of brainwashing since he didn’t appear to want to relax.

Red Field walked to his bed after forty five minutes and returned to thinking on how to make an air compressor for the AC unit.

The clacking finally stopped and Wildcat let out a deep breath.

“That’s all.” He held out the thick roll of magic parchment to Nacht.

“Thank you.” Nacht placed the paper into one of his coat pockets.

“Sorry for the delay.” Locked Breech said, rising to his hooves. Nacht didn’t respond and was walking to the door. “We will await further orders.”

“Hey, what should we do about the Gmales?” Blackout called. Nacht stopped in the doorway. “They have an agreement with us or some shit where we have to help them out in exchange for having a base here.”

“What are they requesting?” Nacht asked.

“Mostly patrols.” Locked Breech said. “They’re police units from what we can tell. I would like to ask what our method of operation with them should be.”

“Did you not receive my communication regarding the legitimacy of their agreement?” Nacht asked, prompting Locked Breech to think of another way to express himself. “Are they requesting anything inordinately dangerous or treasonous?”

He left after nopony could think of a response. The sound of his steps grew softer and softer and faded into nothing as he exited the building.

Locked Breech cocked his head.

“Did he fly in with anyone?” He asked.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Chesterfield said.

“He’s a unicorn, couldn’t have flown in at all.” Wildcat said.

They listened, but the building had gone silent. Blackout walked to the window and looked out.

“I don’t like this motherfucker.” He said. “How the fuck did he get here? And who the fuck is he?”

“There’s a ton of ways to travel that don’t involve flying, he probably opened a portal.” Locked Breech said. “Anyway, he answered your question.”

“The fuck he did.” Said Blackout. “What authority does that guy even have?”

“Presumably that of Princess Luna.” Red Field said.

“Hey fuck you, Red.” Blackout said.

“We’re waiting for orders from command, the dogs are only concerned with patrolling their territory- I think we can handle that for a while.” Locked Breech said. “And nothing says they’re even going to ask us for anything besides ride-along support.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Blackout said, shaking his head as he sat down on his bed and unclipped his vest. “This place just gets more and more fucked as time goes on.”

They didn’t “settle” into the base, but Red Field did check the entirety of their building and found nothing more disturbing than the mildew in their room.

The late summer air of Mohs was mellow and cool and they soon forgot about fixing the AC.

The next day, Locked Breech told Full Wing that he needed to do laps around the compound to demonstrate he was in shape. Locked Breech had voiced little concerns thus far with Red Field’s sudden choice of spotter, but he did bring Red Field out into the compound to discuss the change.

Full Wing took off around the dusty compound. His bandaged wing bumped his shoulder and Red Field knew it hurt. Red Field wanted to take some of the pressure off of his partner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him earlier.” He said to Locked Breech. “That was my fault, not his.”

“Private, Full Wing is the least of my worries about you.” Said Locked Breech. He turned to Red Field. “You still need to tell the rest of the team what happened with Flashpoint.”

“Yes, of course.” Red Field had forgotten about his confession amidst his introduction to Mohs. “When should I-”

“Now.”

Full Wing didn’t notice as the pair went back inside and he continued to lope around the walls. Chesterfield and Wildcat looked up from where they played cards in their room. Blackout was napping with his hoof across his face.

“Hey, listen up, Red’s got something to say.” Said Locked Breech as the two entered.

“The fuck?” Blackout yawned. “He gonna tell us how much he loves us?”

“No, and shut up.” Locked Breech said. He took a seat at the planning table, next to Chesterfield and Wildcat. The other three members of Recon grew more serious as they saw the sobriety on both ponies’ faces.

“Uh, well.” Red Field said. “Back at the end of the second wargame, the night where I joined your team. I attacked Lieutenant Flashpoint.” They stared at him, none seeming to comprehend. “Princess Luna pardoned me and sent me to your team.”

Chesterfield nodded slowly, as if he understood.

“I knew a couple guys who got in trouble for decking their COs in those games.” Said Wildcat, looking back at his cards. “Don’t feel too bad, Flash is a geek and I could see how you’d-”

“Red broke his leg.” Locked Breech said.

“Damn, you serious?” Blackout propped himself up.

“I had argued with him earlier and I took that anger into the game-” Red Field tried to speak as much like a professional as he could.

“What on earth were you arguing about?” Asked Chesterfield. Red Field lowered his gaze.

“He and I disagreed on what classes I should take for my first year of college.”

“Ah, what?” Wildcat said.

“You and he disagreed on your college classes and you broke his leg?” Chesterfield asked. “How does that work?”

“Red’s got a temper.” Locked Breech said. “I noticed that in the results from UAT basic as well.”

“Yeah no shit.” Wildcat said. He looked at Red Field, more amazed than upset. Chesterfield looked nearly the same, though he seemed a bit more worried.

The crunch of Full Wing’s hooves through the gravel passed under the window.

“Flashpoint recommended an immediate court-martial.” Locked Breech said.

Red Field's mouth went dry. He'd never considered Flashpoint's authority.

“I imagine he did.” Blackout said with a rough chuckle. “How did it happen? You had a gun right? Why didn’t you mag dump on him?”

“It wasn’t my goal to break his leg originally.” Red Field said carefully. “My ammo was ruined by the rain and the game was coming to an end so I decided to-”

“You decided to attack him without need. This was personal.” Locked Breech said.

“I swam through a pond and approached him- he was working on paperwork under a tree.”

“That sounds like him.” Said Blackout with a snicker.

“I was trying to kick his hoof off of the paper and I kicked too hard.” He paused before looking around at his teammates. “I’m really sorry and I regret my actions very much-”

“Red here avoided court-martial because of executive action by Luna. She’s keeping him with our squad.” Locked Breech said. “I have no idea what the rest of the brass or even Flashpoint can do about it. All I know is he’s to remain with us until further notice.”

“Holy shit, why?” Asked Wildcat.

“Absolutely no idea.” Said Locked Breech. “I found out about all of this just before we left.” He sighed as Full Wing passed under the window again. “Let’s get some input on this.”

“Well, I don’t know how comfortable I feel about a pony who attacked a superior over a schedule conflict.” Chesterfield said.

“Yeah, that’s just bizarre.” Wildcat said. “Who the hell breaks somepony’s leg over shit like that?”

Red Field couldn’t blame them; he sympathized with them. He still felt Flashpoint’s leg under his hoof when he thought back to the wargame. The more time passed, the less his thinking in the moment made sense.

“Buncha Nancys.” Said Blackout. “We’ve all been thinking Red’s some kind of vagina and now I see evidence to the contrary. UATs are supposed to be crazy, aggressive and respond with overwhelming force." He shrugged. "Maybe Red was a bit out of control, but shit, I’d probably beat up Flash if I had to deal with him that much.”

“You’re downplaying the fact that he assaulted an officer.” Said Locked Breech.

“How about I supervise Red for a while?” Blackout said. “That’s my official recommendation. We still need a sniper team. You guys can teach Full Wing since he’s got more to learn.” He pointed to Red Field. “I’ll take responsibility for his actions.”

“If you want that responsibility, it’s yours.” Locked Breech said. “Red, you’re with Blackout until further notice, wherever he goes, you go.”

Red Field felt much worse after his confession. Wildcat would pause whatever he was doing whenever Red Field entered their quarters. Wildcat never said anything to Red Field. He seemed to wait for somepony else to say something.
Chesterfield remained polite and respectful toward Red Field and said nothing of the matter, but Red Field couldn’t believe he wasn’t being judged by the quiet pony.

Full Wing was the worst. Red Field had grown accustomed to a sort of respect from his spotter. After finding out the truth about Red Field, how he’d committed a serious infraction for a reason so puerile, Full Wing began to act on his own. He focused on the tutelage from the other members of Recon and didn’t ask much from Red Field.

Blackout was the only pony on the team who grew more interested in Red Field. He sat with Red Field at meals and oddly, treated Red Field as member of the team. For all of his obscenity, Blackout judged Red Field the least.

Red Field followed Blackout around the short loop inside of the base. The day after his confession, Blackout informed Red Field he ran a few kilometers every morning and therefore Red Field did as well. Red Field’s throat grew raw with the thin mountain air after just a few laps. He followed several steps behind Blackout and kept his head down, calculating how long they had before they finished.

“What was the real reason you fucked up Flashpoint?” Asked Blackout, slowing and pulling alongside Red Field. Blackout hadn’t said much for the first few days of their acquaintance.

“What?”

“You expect me to believe you swam through a pond and broke his leg cause of a college schedule?”

“He thought I was being too ambitious by testing out of so many classes in my first semester.” Red Field said. “He called me a narcissist and I was upset over that.”

“Jesus.” Blackout said. “You sure take no prisoners when it comes to insults.” He looked at Red Field. “Or do you have problems with narcissism?”

“Flashpoint called me a narcissist after calling me his friend. I have problems with hurtful friends.” Red Field could feel the bile returning as he recalled the exchange he’d had the night before the game. Deep down, a part of him felt satisfied at attacking Flashpoint, at retaliating for once. Even if he’d been crazed, he’d been right.

“Hell, I’d believe he called you a narcissist.” Said Blackout. They slowed down and stopped by the door to the barracks. Blackout picked up his canteen and took a swig. “I’m just glad you have some balls.” Red Field took a sip of his water and leaned against the wall of the barracks. “I mean, you were such a little twat when I first met you. Then there was you trying to prove yourself with that air conditioning thing. But now I see you can at least get something done.”

“I’m glad I could prove myself to you.” Red Field said dryly. Blackout laughed.

“You got a long way to go before that.” Capping his canteen, he began to stretch his legs. “But at least we know you can get shit done.”

They stood a few minutes, Red Field resting and Blackout stretching.

“So Luna must have really taken a liking to you.” Said Blackout.

“I suppose.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about you. She just knows the UATs need as many snipers as possible. Don’t know if you know but there are three other UAT snipers. If you’d been at the first training session you’d know that.” He shrugged. “But then you’d have missed the wargame and wouldn’t have broken Flash's leg and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I guess we just have to be content with the way things shook out.” He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulled out a packet of fresh hay. He tossed it to Red Field. “Thirty minutes after a workout are when you need to eat to build your muscle back up.” Said Blackout, producing another bag and opening it. “That canned shit ain’t good for muscle, I always make sure I pack at least a bit of real hay.”

The hay was a week old, but the bag had sealed in the moisture and the snack was infinitely better than the bland dried hay of the MSRPs.

“So why’s your name Red Field?” Asked Blackout as they ate.

“No reason.”

“So your parents named their black and white colt ‘Red Field’ for no reason? Your parents do a lot of drugs?” Red Field didn’t answer and Blackout wiped his mouth. “You know, I’ve been part of the UATs for years now and after a few years, you stop making fun of ponies for little shit like whatever their name is. It can’t be that embarrassing.”

“It was just because there was a lot of blood when I was born.” Red Field said quietly.

“What about the field part?” Blackout asked. Of the two words of his name, the latter embarrassed Red Field more. “Look, we give you and Full a lot of shit for good reason. But if nothing else, we aren’t a bunch of high school fags looking to put each other down over our names.”

“I was born in a field of cabbage.” Red Field said. “There was a lot of blood and since you can’t tell much about a newborn, my parents decided to name me after my birth.” Red Field hadn’t thought about his name in a long time, and the resentment toward his parents came back in full force. Blackout said nothing and Red Field assumed the unicorn was embarrassed for asking.

“God damn that is a shitty name.” Red Field looked up and saw Blackout didn’t feel embarrassed for asking. Blackout chewed a single stalk of hay. “It’s funny, my parents named me after an eclipse, they said they’d have still named me Blackout no matter what color I happened to be. Would have sucked if I was a fruity pink. Still though, it’s a great name for a commando.” He looked at Red Field. “Did you say you were born in a field of cabbage?” Red Field nodded. “So you’re poor right? Like your parents weren’t just hippies or some shit?”

“My parents are farmers, I’ve made more in a month or two as a UAT than my dad does in a year.” Red Field said.

“See now that would have been nice to know.” Blackout said. “We thought you were just some pretentious little shit from the suburbs somewhere.” He stuffed the empty bag into his pocket and rubbed his mouth. “Heh, yeah, I can see why you’d get pissed at Flash. All you’ve got is your brains and I can see him talking down to you. You know I think I was wrong about you Red.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, other guys might not, but fuck ‘em. You’ve got fight in you, and that’s what we need in UAT.” Blackout groaned as he eased himself off of the wall of the barracks. “God damn, I need a shower and a nap. You fine with showering with another stallion or are you a shy little pony?”

“I don’t really care.” And Red Field didn’t.

After showering in the cell-like bathrooms down the hall, both ponies returned to their quarters where the rest of their team was lounging. Blackout pronounced a sentence of death on anypony who woke him up and went back to bed. Red Field laid back in his bed and closed his eyes.

Blackout calling his name shitty actually made Red Field like his new superior more. He had at least one ally in Recon team.

The Gmales returned at 1700. Everypony could hear them running up the road toward the base. The dogs sounded like they were locked in a fierce quarrel. They rounded the bend of the road and Red Field watched them bolt into the camp.
Only four dogs returned.

Red Field saw Fo; he was the most upset, and the only one trying to calm the others down.

“Shut up shut up shut the fuck up!” He shouted to the bickering dogs as they halted inside the gate. “I’ll get the horses.” He looked up to the window and seeing Red Field, threw his paw over his shoulder to indicate he wanted them outside.

“Lord, this can’t be good.” Blackout was the only pony who donned his gear as they marched out to the dogs. Fo snarled something to the three dogs with him as Recon approached.

The sun was low in the sky, and only a few rays of sun made it through the gaps in the mountains.

“Where the fuck is your gear?” Fo asked. “We need support ASAP!”

“What’s going on?” Locked Breech asked. The dogs behind Fo began to bark and argue again and Fo shouted back something about butchering them.

“One of my dogs got jumped in a routine robbery; we’ve pinned the bad guys but we need backup now.” Said Fo.

“What?” Wildcat asked.

“Get your guns, I’ll explain on the way.” Said Fo, a little whine becoming audible in his voice.

“What the hell is with them?” Wildcat asked as they ran back into the barracks and snatched up their gear.

“Red, get your DMR and a good supply of ammo. Full Wing, I want you with carbine, the 40mm and five tear gas shells.” Locked Breech said as he pulled on his vest.

“What do you think’s going on?” Chesterfield asked as he pushed a grenade into a pouch on his vest.

“Not sure, but from here on out we’re only communicating, no more chatter.” Locked Breech locked a magazine into his rifle and racked the charging handle. “Let’s go see what we can do.”

Red Field carried the DMR across his chest. He had four hundred rounds of ammo, not counting the magazines for his hoofgun. Would he need more?

Fo and his minions were still fighting when the ponies returned.

“Good, good.” Fo pointed to the grenade launcher on Full Wing’s backpack. “We might need to blow up the whole building. Stay close, it’s a ways away and you’ll need to gallop to keep up.”

The ponies didn’t need to gallop.

UAT’s rigorous physical conditioning was yet another quality the Gmales did not share. The ponies jogged alongside the wiry dogs, who sprinted for only a hundred or so meters, before slowing. The dogs continued to argue with one another, mostly about who was responsible for the situation.

Locked Breech tried to extract more information about the situation from Fo, but Fo was taxed to his limits and could barely hold pace with them. The three other dogs continued to puff and pant and argue as they ran. Red Field's apprehension grew as they neared a standoff they knew nothing about.

“Right down there.” They only ran for a few minutes before Fo herded them off of the road. “On the right; it’s that little store there.” Ahead stood a wooden shack about the size of Red Field’s home. However this building had a front door with a smudged window. Red Field recognized the building as the convenience store Fo had purchased the beer from on their first patrol.

They heard shouting from inside and Fo led them to the door.

“We’ve got three clowns with guns, they grabbed one of my dogs and the owner- they’ve been trying to leverage him for safe passage.” Fo pointed to his dogs. “You three hold out here.” He pointed to Locked Breech. “Follow my lead in there, I can use you to force a deal.”

“Copy that. Red, Blackout and Wildcat, on me. Chess and Full Wing, hold perimeter with the others.” The ponies readied themselves and Fo pushed the door open.

Red Field’s nose burned as they entered the store. The room smelled like urine or maybe a mixture of dogs’ sweat. In the center of the room was a single display case, which had been knocked over. Jerky, cans of food, and birth control pills had spilled over the floor.

Five dogs squished behind the tiny counter. One of them held a rusted pistol to the head of an old dog wearing an apron. One of the other two aimed a pair of pistols on the two Gmales who were already inside. The last robber had his arm around the neck of the Gmale who’d called himself God.

The cramped posture of the dogs behind the counter, coupled with the robber dual-wielding pistols and the ineffectual image of the Gmales aiming back gave Red Field the feeling he was watching some kind of cartoon.

“Hey! Who are the ponies?” Shouted the dog holding the owner. The two Gmales already inside trained their pistols on the hostage takers and they moved over as Recon crowded inside the store.

“We’re here to resolve this.” Fo said, stepping over the spilled merchandise. “It’s late and I want to get home.” He added, his confidence coinciding with the appearance of the ponies.

“Yeah, so do we.” Said one of the hostage takers, twisting the neck of the storekeeper. “Are you going to leave now?”

“I was thinking I have my friends here put you down.” Fo gestured to Red Field and Locked Breech. “They’re UAT from Equestria, top notch commandos.” He pointed to Red Field. “One can pop you from a mile away.”

“You’re using P.M.Cs from Equestria.” Red Field couldn’t tell if the hostage taker was on the verge of laughing or flying into a violent rage. “They've probably committed more crimes than we have.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t kill you.” Fo said.

“We’ve got UATs here now.” Natick, who'd been one of the two Gmales inside the store, used a tone befitting a negotiator and holstered his gun. “You know you’re not shooting your way out of here.”

“Psh.” One of the robbers rolled his eyes. “What are a couple of horses with guns going to do?”

“Probably kill you.” Natick said.

“Definitely kill you, kill you a lot.” Fo said. Locked Breech turned to Fo.

“Can we speak outside?” He asked. The dog holding God hostage laughed.

“Looks like your little mercenary force isn’t too keen on murder.” He said. “Guess they’re smarter than they look.”

“Good thing you don’t have that problem.” Said Fo as he and the ponies backed out of the store. He turned to Locked Breech as they stepped outside. “Just go ahead and set up your sniper out there.” He pointed to the forest on the opposite side of the road. “I’ll clear my dogs to the sides of the room and give him a good shot through the window.” He knelt and put his paw on Red Field’s shoulder. “Hit them in the head, I want to let their punk ass friends know we don’t screw around.”

“Captain Fo.” Locked Breech attempted not to sound incredulous. “That’s not the plan. There is a nonviolent solution to this, my ponies can open the wall behind them and disarm them without bloodshed.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” Fo said. “I forgot you’re trained for public relations. Don’t worry about the bodies, the owner is sick of their shit. He’ll back up our story.”

“Your officer, he’s in quite a bit of danger, along with the civilian.” Locked Breech said. “We shouldn’t go directly to deadly force.”

“God’s not special to us.” Fo said.

“What?” Asked Locked Breech, failing at not sounding incredulous. The dogs inside began to shout again and Fo glanced to the window.

“What’s the plan here pony?” He said.

“Exercise restraint.” Locked Breech said, trying to be heard over the shouting. Fo motioned to the woods opposite the store.

“Just set up your sniper out there and I’ll use him to scare them. We might get them to surrender; killing them’ll be a lot easier once they’re disarmed.” Fo went back inside and began to hurl back insults to the shoplifters.

Red Field and Locked Breech stood outside, listening to the argument. Locked Breech sighed. He closed his eyes and adjusted his vest, then pointed to the spot where Fo had told Red Field to hide.

“Lay up in that spot or wherever you have a good shot.” Red Field’s heart began to pound. Surely they wouldn't actually attempt such a terrible plan. “Take Full Wing with you.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field said.

He tried to calm himself as he set up. Red Field and Full Wing took up position fifty meters from the window. They laid against a thick oak tree and Red Field set up a few sandbags to gain an adequate angle to see the standoff.

He couldn’t make a good shot through the window.

The bullet would deflect and he had no idea to what extent or even where. The pane was smudged and he strained to distinguish between the storekeeper and the hostage taker, as both merged into a single grey mass. He had no way of choosing what dog he hit if he fired.

“I- uh, can’t see anything with the spotting scope.” Full Wing said. Red Field closed his eyes. This was his first shot as a sniper.

He looked at the window again. The round wouldn’t hit what he needed it to hit. He didn’t want to go to court in Mohs for shooting a police officer.

Red Field’s hoof slackened from the trigger.

“All right team, we’re making a move.” Locked Breech’s voice came through the radio. “Chess, Cat and Blackout are going to open the rear wall and disarm the three. I’ll be inside with Fo. Red, Full, you guys hold fire unless you absolutely have to shoot. We’re going to try to keep this nonviolent.”

“What are the diggers doing?” Asked Blackout over the radio. The vulgar quarrel was audible from Locked Breech’s source and he sighed.

“They’re, distracting.”

“Goddamn it I’m not getting shot by any of those assholes just because we surprised them.” Said Wildcat.

“I’ve spoken with Natick; he’s going to keep his team from firing.” Locked Breech said.

“What about Fo?” Asked Chesterfield.

“We’re moving in ten seconds. Red, get ready. Only fire if you have to.” Red Field began to quietly hyperventilate. The reticule of the scope bobbed around the two writhing dogs in his view.

Red Field and Full Wing heard nothing but the crass exchange between Fo and the robbers. From Locked Breech’s radio came the sound of wood breaking. The wall behind the counter collapsed and the dogs fell from Red Field’s view. Red Field heard the scuffling sounds of his teammates tackling the dogs and the ensuing snarls and barks of the hostage takers. Blackout shouted “fuck you” as the snarling grew louder and a dog gave a sharp whine. Somepony called they had been bitten.

“Oh my God.” Said Full Wing. Red Field galloped toward the store, the DMR catching on branches and tearing off leaves. He bolted across the road and struck the door at full tilt, shattering the window as he threw it open. The wall behind the counter was torn away and the room had emptied. Mantling the counter, Red Field drew his rifle on the mass of ponies and dogs which had fallen behind the store.

Locked Breech and Chesterfield pinned down one of the robbers, while four of the Gmales held down another. Blackout and Wildcat stood together, Wildcat dabbing at a bleeding bite on Blackout’s shoulder. Fo and Natick were attempting to restrain the dog who’d held the storekeeper.

Fo punched the dog squarely in the face, whipping the dog’s head back. He threw another blow into the dog’s belly, causing the dog to double over and cough. Locked Breech looked over his shoulder upon hearing the blow.

“Thought you were all tough jumping my Gmales?” He said, clamping his paw over the dog’s muzzle.

“Captain Fo.” Locked Breech caught Fo’s arm before a third punch hit the robber. “Where do we take them for lockup?”

“What? Oh, thank you for the assistance captain Breech, but these criminals are not neutralized yet.” Fo drew his pistol with his free paw and pressed the barrel to the head of his prisoner.

“What are you doing?” Locked Breech attempted to swat Fo’s pistol away but Fo kept him at arm’s length.

“Captain Breech, this is my jurisdiction.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with murder you sack of shit.” Said the robber restrained by the other Gmales.

“Shut up.” Fo brought the pistol down atop the dog’s head and the Scilicite to howled in pain. “You fucked yourself nine ways from Sunday.”

Locked Breech again tried to insert himself between Fo and the robber.

“Is standard procedure-” He began.

“Just leave the bodies in the leaves.” Fo clicked the safety off. The dog whined in terror and his feet scuttled in the leaves as he fought Natick's restraint.

“Don’t you take them to a prison or something?” Asked Chesterfield.

“There’s the processing tribunal up the mountain.” Natick said to Fo. “I’ll call it in and they can stay open late.”

Fo narrowed his eyes at Natick.

“It’s up the mountain, probably take us the rest of the day and into the night to get these assholes up there.” Fo said. “And right now, after biting your guy, kidnapping mine-”

“We didn’t kidnap him you prick!” Said the robber Chesterfield held. He and the one Fo held at gunpoint had the same shade of brown-black fur and Red Field guessed they were brothers.

Fo drove another punch into the first dog’s gut and the robber coughed. His brother whined and tried to shake free from Chesterfield and Chesterfield loosened his grip a bit.

“I appreciate your immense assistance captain Breech. I couldn't have managed without you.” The self-deprecating statement sounded pitiful coming from Fo. “Those assholes made a lot of mistakes, they could have chosen a better time to rob that fucker. They could have started shooting and maybe gotten away, they could have given themselves up at some point. But instead they kept fucking up and now we got them.” He pointed up the mountain. “Yes, we do have the option to take them to the summit of this mountain and drop them off at a federal installation, but that’s going to be a big hassle. Most of the time, when idiots pull stunts like this, we just pop them in the head and go about our day.”

“They just look like a couple of scared kids who didn’t know any better.” Said Wildcat.

“If we take them up to the base, you ponies will need to help us transport them.” Said Natick. Blackout grumbled and Wildcat gave him a nudge.

“We can do that.” Said Locked Breech. “Red, Full you two are on escort-”

Fo put his pistol under the chin of the dog and fired. Natick released his hold on his prisoner as a bloody geyser of brains and teeth shot from the top of the dog’s head. The robber's arms popped up in a spasm before he fell backward into the leaves with a euphemistic rustle.

“What- what the hell is wrong with you?” Natick was splattered in blood and he took several trembling steps back.

“You can do the paperwork if you want.” Fo wiped some blood from his face. He was trembling too. The other two dogs stared at their executed friend and began to whimper. Locked Breech accosted the dog in Chesterfield's custody.

“You see that guy?” He pointed to the fallen dog. “You want to end up like him?”

“God, no, please.” The dog began to cry and Locked Breech grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“This was a big mistake on your part. You wanted to be a badass?”

“No no no!” The dog twisted his head downward and tried to curl up. “Please don't!”

“You’re on very thin ice. I would not go any farther.” Locked Breech nodded to Chesterfield. “Get the hell out of here and don’t put anyone else in this position again.”

Chesterfield let go and the dog bolted into the woods.

“Hey!” Fo was scratching his neck and he waved his bloodied pistol at the fleeing dog.

“Let him go.” Locked Breech said to the Gmales, who in turn released the third dog. The third didn’t run, but staggered after his friend. He was still whimpering as he fled and Fo aimed unsteadily at him.

“Put that down.” Said Locked Breech.

“Excuse me captain-” Fo began.

“No excuse me.” Locked Breech started toward Fo. “I realize this is your patrol, but this is my operation. Those two didn’t need to die, and since you went with shock and awe, I decided to put the fear of God into them and let them go. Now we’ll help with your patrols, but right now, right here, I’m letting you know we don’t execute prisoners, for any reason. That’s my line in the sand, and if that’s not compatible with your M.O. then we’ll remain at base.” He stopped a meter from Fo. Fo was taller than Locked Breech by several centimeters, but the bloodied dog clutching his pistol looked up to Locked Breech.

“If those little shits do something, it’ll be on you.” He said in a low voice.

“They’re a couple of thugs that got caught in a bad situation.” Locked Breech said.

“Oh so you know them?” Fo asked with a laugh.

“I know how kids are, they weren’t the kind to go out and bury IEDs.” Said Locked Breech.

“The issue is whether or not they know someone who’ll do something.” Said Natick carefully.

“Still beats being an executioner.” Said Locked Breech.

“Guess there’s some truth to that.” Natick said quietly.

A stillness settled over the group. Red Field, who still stood in the ruined store, felt a bug crawl over his hoof. The scope on the DMR dug into his chest and he shifted the rifle. Blackout and Wildcat glanced up at him.

“Gmales, let’s head back to base.” Said Fo. “We’ll ungag that dumb asshole on the way.” The dogs had yet to untie God’s arms, or gag, and he stood amidst the group, trying to spit out the cloth tied around his head. “Thank you again for the help.” Fo said, without looking at Locked Breech.

The Gmales began to joke amongst themselves as they walked around the building and into the road.

“You see the price of jerky in there?” Asked one. “No wonder he got robbed.”

“Why’d you have to go and make a scene God?” Asked Fo as they ungagged the medic.

“This place is fucked.” Blackout said as Wildcat dabbed at his wound with rubbing alcohol. A chorus of laughter rose up from the group as one of the dogs told a joke about thermometers and pens.

“Let’s bury that kid, then head back to base.” Said Locked Breech tiredly.

Red Field and Full Wing were in charge of digging the grave. The other ponies had breached the store, so the sniper team could do little to argue. Flipping open their entrenching tools, the pair set to work digging a pit. They dug it some distance from the store, away from the body.

“Dude, that was so messed up back there.” Full Wing said. “Like that captain guy is fricken cold and crazy and evil.”

Red Field stood in the grave, throwing out dirt.

“We’re lucky we didn’t have to be a part of that.” He said shakily.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to shoot that guy.” Said Full Wing. “I could barely see him through the window.” He jumped into the grave. “Can you imagine what would have happened if you’d shot like Breech or something?” Red Field shook his head.

He could imagine what might have happened, but he did not want to.

They finished the grave in fifteen minutes, then realized they had the unpleasant task of dragging the dog to its grave. Red Field looked to where the dog lay. The area was obscured by undergrowth, but just looking in the place where the robber had fallen made his skin crawl. They walked back to the store where they saw the rest of their team was helping the storekeeper repair his damaged business.

“Hey, uh, we need help with moving the guy.” Red Field said. Wildcat and Blackout were the only two outside. The wall was mostly patched and the sounds of hammering came from the interior of the store.

“You can’t drag him yourselves?” Blackout asked. He eyeballed the corpse. “Oh yes you can, he can’t weigh more than forty kilos.”

“Well, we’d just like some help is all.” Full Wing said.

“For fuck’s sake.” Wildcat set down the board he held. “You two are supposed to be on that. It’s not fucking hard. Black’s got an open wound so he’s not going anywhere near that mess. I’m not either. It’s your Goddamn job.”

“Okay, sorry.” Full Wing said. “Just wanted a little help.”

Both Locked Breech and the storekeeper walked up the incline toward them. Locked Breech was carrying a roughly chopped sapling over his shoulder and the storekeeper had a small axe.

“Looking good, do you have any more nails?” Locked Breech saw the two standing behind the building. “Done?”

“Nope, can’t bring themselves to touch him.” Said Blackout.

“Hey, lay off.” Locked Breech pointed to the dead dog. “I’ll give you guys a hoof.”

“I can help you pups too.” Said the storekeeper. Red Field hadn’t taken a close look at the storekeeper since they'd first seen him in the store. The Scilicite’s fur was a light shade of greying black and he wore a pair of brass-rimmed bifocals. “It’s not right you have to do something like this.”

Red Field’s stomach was already turning from the thought of a molding corpse bathed in flies. Instead he was relieved to see the dog was still without decomposition. The dog’s head lay back with its muzzle pointed away from them. A black crust of dried blood surrounded the entrance wound under its chin. A few beetles were already crawling around the hole leading into the dog’s skull and Red Field’s gut twitched.

“I’ll get his arms.” The storekeeper picked up the dog’s arms. Locked Breech took the dog’s feet and they lifted him from the ground. “Where to?”

“Right over here.” Red Field said, leading them into the woods.

“I don’t know how to thank you ponies.” Said the storekeeper, trying to keep the dead dog from swaying between him and Locked Breech. “You’re lifesavers.”

“We’re here to keep peace.” Said Locked Breech.

“So are the Gmales.” The dog said with a laugh. “I’ve known Fo for six years and nothing about how he handled today surprised me. Still, I’m an old fashioned mutt and I would still like to see some more decency from the younger generation." He slapped the dead dog's cheek. "You know you always read stories about them raping corpses and cutting off trophies and such.” He nodded toward Red Field and Full Wing. “You two look like you could be receptionists for Anthro. I remember when that was a job dogs envied.”

“We’re just glad to help.” Locked Breech said. “And that you’re not hurt.”

“Okay the hole’s-” Full Wing stopped as the storekeeper tumbled backward into the grave. The body’s feet fell out of Locked Breech’s grip and the corpse slid into the grave.

“Sir! Are you all right?” Locked Breech jumped into the hole.

The storekeeper was laughing.

“I’m fine.” He pointed up at Red Field and Full Wing. “All right pups, that was a good one. I’m an old dog and God knows if that broke something but I still have a sense of humor. Hell, I probably already have one paw in here anyway.” He spent several seconds shoving the gangly body off of him. “If my shop wasn’t broken up, I’d say today was just a good day to get my blood racing.” He waved off Locked Breech’s hoof and picked himself up. Climbing out, he gave both Red Field and Full Wing a knock on the shoulder. “Got me to walk right into that one.”

The corpse was twisted in the narrow grave, and the dead dog’s muzzle was pressed into the wall of the pit.

The grave wasn’t nearly big enough.

“Red, Full Wing, get that body out of there and widen the grave.” Locked Breech said.

“Oh nonsense.” The storekeeper jumped into the grave. “Don’t put them through so much hassle.” He took the dog’s head in his paws and shoved it down, bending the body’s neck severely.

“That’s all right.” Said Locked Breech. “We can just-”

“Oh yep, you’re right, it’s the legs.” The storekeeper dropped the corpse’s head and folded the body’s legs, making it look like the robber had died in a cannonball position. The storekeeper tried to fold the arms so they did not stick up the side of the grave. He grunted as the robber’s arms reached their maximum angle.

He snapped the corpse’s shoulder with a pop and pushed the arm under the Scilicite's body.

“That’ll do.” He surveyed his work. “Doesn’t matter how you look when you’re feeding the worms.” He tried climbing out of the grave but cursed and put his paw on his back. “Agh, of course I pull something. You pups help me out of here, okay?”

Both ponies were staring at the mess of the corpse. Red Field numbly reached out his hoof and the dog lifted himself. Red Field couldn’t take his eyes off of the robber’s contorted body and barely felt the storekeeper’s weight.

“Welp, that should do it.” Said the storekeeper.

“Thank you sir.” Locked Breech. “I think we can get it from here.”

“Oh nonsense.” The dog pointed to Red Field and Full Wing. “You pups go back and grab a drink from the cooler inside. Bring me out a cola and a bottle of aspirin too. Us old timers’ll shovel.”

“I want to go home.” Said Full Wing softly.

“Red, go back and help the guys finish repairing the store.” Locked Breech said. “We’ll shove off in ten.”

“Thank you again.” The dog said, kicking some dirt into the grave. “It’s always good to see pups your age with some respect for their elders. Nowadays I think it’s all punks like this.”

Locked Breech said nothing as he began to shovel.

Blackout and Wildcat were reclining against the repaired wall when Red Field and Full Wing returned to the store. The wall had numerous gaps and chinks, and several of the boards looked like they’d fall with the slightest pressure.

“Get him planted?” Asked Blackout.

“I don’t like it here.” Said Full Wing. He knelt and threw up into the leaves.

“Whoa now.” Said Blackout. “Guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

“The captain and the storekeeper are burying the dog. We’re leaving once they get back.” Red Field said, trying to keep his composure.

“Hey Chess, take off the maid’s outfit and get out here. He can clean the rest of that crap up.” Wildcat called into the store. “We’re ditching this place.”

“You know as fucked up as this country is, it’s good to see old salts like that storekeeper.” Blackout said. “Least there’s some sanity here.”

Red Field felt his stomach overturn and he too knelt in the leaves and vomited.

“Don’t worry, you guys will get used to shit like this soon enough.” Said Wildcat with a laugh.

The sun had gone down by the time the ponies marched back to the base. They were exhausted, sweaty, and hungry. Red Field glanced over at the dogs’ barracks. The lights were on and he heard their gravely voices from the upper rooms.

“Are we supposed to give a report or something?” Asked Chesterfield. “They killed someone today. Don’t police usually have some kind of protocol for that?”

“Let’s just get something to eat and call it in, it’s been a long day.” Said Locked Breech.

They reached their room and Wildcat immediately went to the stack of food packs.

“I’ll cook everypony something.” He said. “As long as that something is boiled hay.”

Red Field and Full Wing dumped their gear by their beds. Red Field’s shoulder stung as he slid the DMR to the ground. He unhooked his vest and it dropped to his bedspread. He saw Full Wing had carried not only his spotting gear but also a Kitty Kat and the grenade launcher, along with extra ammo. The Pegasus was trembling as he dropped the overfilled backpack next to his bed.

“Shit, are you okay?” Red Field asked.

“No I’m not dude.” Full Wing said shakily. “I just want to fucking lay down okay?” His thick shoulders were chafed and raw but he didn’t seem to notice as he climbed into his bed. Full Wing pulled the blanket over his head and rolled over. Red Field heard soft, shallow breathing from his spotter.

Red Field didn’t feel much better. Every strange and unexplained facet of the dogs’ degenerate behavior had built a thick dizziness in his mind. He sat by his bed and closed his eyes in an effort to release some of the fog.

“Any messages from the brass?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Nope.” Said Chesterfield.

“Nice, okay.” Locked Breech sounded as if he were at the end of his patience. “Look guys, I realize this place is pretty disjointed.” He ran a hoof through his short mane. “I think we’re all feeling a pretty big culture shock. But we’re here to do our job.”

“Eyep, roger that.” Said Wildcat.

“I’ll let Fo know we’re going to take tomorrow off from joint operations while we wait for orders. Let’s just try to acclimate to this place, to the population as well as the altitude.” Said Locked Breech.

“Sounds real fuckin’ good.” Said Blackout. “We can fix the air conditioning in the meantime.”

“Air conditioning’s broken?” Asked Wildcat.

“Yeah, me and Red were having an exchange about how to fix it when that autistic pony showed up to collect the intel.” Blackout’s bed creaked as he sat up. “Last you said Red, you were talking about building an air compressor to flush the fuel lines?” Red Field’s eyes were closed but he knew Blackout was grinning. “How ‘bout you tell everypony how you plan to do that?”

“Jesus, why an air compressor?” Asked Wildcat. Red Field’s blood surged and he began to recall his plans for building an air compressor.

What was the most plausible reason for assuming congealed fuel was the source of the malfunction?

“Give it a rest for tonight Blackout.” Said Locked Breech. “You’ll have plenty of time for hazing tomorrow.”

Someone knocked at the door of the barracks and the group looked at one another to see who’d go to answer.

“Red, go answer the door.” Locked Breech said. Blackout picked up a hoofgun.

“Here.” He held it to Red Field. “In case it’s not someone we like.” Red Field took the gun and shoved it into his pocket. He was tired, sick of terror and at his limit with Mohs. He trudged down the stairs and walked to the door to the barracks. He swung open the door and realized he was still a little scared of who he might find.

It was God.

A ring of chafed skin from the gag ran over his cheeks and into his mouth. God was one of the smaller dogs and Red Field was at eye level with him. God nodded when he saw Red Field.

“Do you have my canteen still?" God's voice was hoarse. "I gave it to you on our first patrol.”

“Oh, yeah, let me grab it.” Red Field said. He returned to their room and rifled through his belongings until he found the dirty container. He brought it to God, who was leaning against the side of the doorway.

“Thanks.” God took the container with one paw and continued to lean against the door.

“Um, is there something else you need?”

“I just want to hang around here for a bit.” God said. “If that’s okay. The other guys are giving me shit for getting grabbed and I just want to get away from them.”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Said Red Field.

God wasn’t the kind of person Red Field wanted to be around. Yet Red Field let the dog stay, partially out of shyness and inability to make someone leave, and partially because he could empathize at least a bit with the ousted Gmale.

God gave his canteen a little shake.

“You didn’t drink any of it.” Red Field started to explain he’d found his own canteen but God shrugged. “No I get it.” God said gently. “I wouldn’t trust the water in this place either. That’s why I bought this really good filter since all the other guys are okay with basically drinking piss.” Red Field gave him a tight-lipped smile and God chuckled at this. “It’s okay pony, we’re a filthy and fucked up people. I don’t care if you laugh at us.”

“Probably just culture shock.” Red Field said.

“Yeah, mine’s fine with beating and torturing people as long as it’s within reason." God said with a snort. "Oh and watching each other shit for entertainment.” Something about God’s sullen and casual reference to such an activity, coupled with the possibility of it actually being a custom in Mohs squeezed a laugh out of Red Field. God laughed too. “I’m serious, it’s a thing. Nastiest thing ever, just, watchin’ each other shit.” He said, growing a toothy grin.

“No no, I believe you.” Red Field said, trying to contain his smile.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s all real, like none of the other dogs understand how fucked up this place is.” God said. “I mean, you know, like you said, it’s a culture thing. But I still wonder how fucked up everyone else must think we are.” He rapped his fingers against the canteen. “Sometimes I really wish I could just be a pony and not have to deal with-” almost on cue, a howling quarrel, audible from across the compound, broke out of the Gmales’ building. “That.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be hard.” Red Field said.

“I gotta go or they’ll cut my balls off.” God said with a smile Red Field hoped meant he was joking. “Thanks for the canteen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Red Field called to God as the dog ran back to his building. He could hear the laughter of Recon as they began to eat. He’d been comfortable enough around one of the dogs to say “Bye”.

For a moment, Red Field saw a tiny glimmer of humanity in the diamond dogs. It was enough to make him feel better for the night.

The next day was better.

Red Field awoke at sunrise and stretched out. The thought of the dead dog in the grave had grown a bit foggier. He picked up his DMR, which sat under his bed and began to check it.

“Hey.” Chesterfield sat at the table in the center of the room. “You know we’re taking a break today?”

“Oh, shit, that’s right.” Red Field set the rifle back under his bed. He could sleep in. How long had it been since he’d slept in? Red Field glanced back at Chesterfield. “What are you doing up?”

“I get up at this time for prayer.” Red Field felt strangely embarrassed knowing Chesterfield was awake to pray. However he was too sleepy to care. He laid back down and fell asleep.

He slept for several more hours. Red Field was awakened by a pounding on the front door of the building. Pulling his head off of the pillow was difficult and Red Field tried to ignore the banging coming from the floor under him. Blackout was the first to speak as he rolled over in his cot and groaned. His mane was mussed and he looked like he was coming out of a coma.

“What the fucking hell?” He asked. Chesterfield lay on his back in his cot, scribbling into a notebook he held over his head. Locked Breech, who looked presentable, rose from his bed where he’d been reading.

“I got it.” He said, walking for the door. “I’m pretty sure I know who it is anyway.” He looked around. “Wildcat?” Wildcat was still asleep on his cot. “Whenever Cat wakes up, tell him to cook the most edible thing we packed. Let’s make today worth it.”

“Roger that.” Blackout said. Red Field looked back at Full Wing’s cot, which sat in the very corner of the room. Full Wing still lay beneath his blanket. Red Field was glad Full Wing was asleep. Red Field wanted him to rest for as long as possible.

“Ugh, I’m awake you cocksucker.” Wildcat shoved Blackout’s hoof away as Blackout gave him a shake.

“Hey princess, captain wants you to make us pancakes with O.J.” Said Chesterfield.

“Fuck you.” Wildcat looked as sleepy as Blackout. “Where is he anyway?” He asked, looking around.

The door to the barracks opened beneath them.

“Ah, Captain Breech.” Fo’s false geniality showed he was still upset about the day before. “Good to see you!”

“Oh Christ.” Said Blackout. “Not him.”

“Captain Fo.” Locked Breech said.

“Any operations you’re planning today?” Fo asked. “I wanted to catch you before you left for the day.”

“No, my team and I are off duty for the day.”

“If that motherfucker says anything about another patrol with them I’m going to fucking neuter him.” Blackout muttered.

“Oh I see! Well then I trust you’ll be free to join my team and me for an extended patrol through the villages?”

“No, we will not be. We are off duty in all capacities.”

“Ahaha, I suppose that would mean that, wouldn’t it?” Fo said. “Is this a personal decision or orders?”

“Not your concern. We’ll be here all day. Tomorrow we will resume normal duties. Is that all?”

“Shut ‘em down Breech.” Chesterfield had put away his notebook and sat on the edge of his cot.

“Well, since there are a couple of would-be robbers on the loose around here, we ought to ask if any of the villages around the mountain have been having problems with break-ins.” Said Fo.

“Captain Fo, I am going to say again that my team and I are not on duty today. We will be at base all day today. We are not conducting any joint operations.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we will be ready to go on an extended patrol.” Fo said shortly.

“Understood, goodbye captain.” Locked Breech said, and the door clanked closed.

Fo’s crunching footsteps faded away.

“Fuck yeah.” Blackout said.

“That guy is not professional.” Said Chesterfield.

“Oh of course he’s not professional.” Blackout said. “He’s a thirtysomething divorcee who is looking for a way to feel young again. I bet he’s a beta-male or whatever they’re called.”

“That was a fast summation.” Said Red Field.

“Blackout’s the best at profiling people.” Said Wildcat. “Bet you any amount of money at least part of that was true.” He walked over to the stack of rations and began to dig through them. “All right, let’s see what we have to eat.”

Locked Breech reentered as Wildcat gathered the ingredients for their meal.

“Do you have to say that shit while I’m talking to him?” He asked. “I’m trying to get him to piss off and then you guys start whispering like schoolfillies.”

“Wait, you heard us?” Blackout said, then began to laugh.

“All of it.” Said Locked Breech. Wildcat and Chesterfield began to laugh. “Oh yeah, really funny. You know he’s pissed at us, you should have seen what he looked like when Blackout said he was going to neuter him.” Locked Breech broke into a smile. “If they were of any rank in their army I’d probably make you go on that patrol just out of spite.” He gave Wildcat a gentle kick. “What’s for breakfast?”

“We have some powdered eggs.” Locked Breech kicked him again. “Agh, I mean, I could fry some hay.” Another kick.
“Goddamn I'm not a miracle worker.” Said Wildcat. The medic picked up a box of oats. “I think I still have some of that whiskey we got from Midlothian’s retirement party. I could make some sloshed oatmeal.” Blackout cheered and Locked Breech gave an approving nod.

“Did somepony say we’re drinking?” Everypony looked back to Full Wing.

“Damn kid, you look out of it.” Said Wildcat. Full Wing’s mane was flattened on one side and his tail was bushy. His eyes were baggy and swollen.

“Yeah, I slept weird.” He said. “Anyway, you said we’re having liquor?”

“Well, we’re not supposed to drink on duty.” Said Wildcat. “But since this is a day off, we should be good as long as you don’t tell mom.”

“Yeah, or Chess for that matter.” Blackout said.

“Make something for Chess too.” Said Locked Breech, sitting back down on his bed.

“Only since we’re on vacation.” Said Wildcat.

The morning went well. Recon joked and Full Wing told them of his first time getting drunk in Las Pegasus. Chesterfield grinned and shook his head, while Blackout gave Full Wing's story the attention of a mission briefing.

Red Field watched Full Wing to see how he’d absorbed the sight of the murder. At first Red Field thought Full Wing was in denial; but as Full Wing began to joke and overuse “dude”, Red Field realized Full Wing was all right. Somehow, Full Wing could bounce back from anything. Red Field wasn’t sure what made him so resilient, but he was glad nonetheless.

The oatmeal was terrible, however, after Wildcat poured a generous serving of hundred and fifty proof whiskey over it, nopony really cared how it tasted. Red Field noticed Chesterfield wasn’t imbibing on the alcoholic breakfast and instead ate from a small plate of hay.

“Now Chesterfield’s a different animal altogether.” Said Blackout, scooping more of the oatmeal from his bowl. “He feels the need to remind God of his piety by not drinking booze. Hey, Chess, if you were a dog, you wouldn’t eat meat would you?”

“Nothing in my beliefs says anything about alcohol.” Said Chesterfield. “I just don’t drink out of principle. And my God doesn’t say anything about meat either.”

“Do you fuck?” Asked Full Wing, who grew more brazen with even a taste of alcohol.

“Nawp.” Said Blackout. “Notta once. Drunk Chesterfield would be something to see.”

“You know, I probably don’t drink because I’m afraid I’ll turn into you.” Said Chesterfield with a small smile.

“Yeah? You gonna tell me what’s wrong with that?” Blackout had a smear of oatmeal on his cheek and the rest of Recon started to laugh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“Got shit on your face.” Wildcat sat next to him and he wiped off Blackout’s face.

“Whoa now!” Blackout swiped Wildcat’s hoof away. “Why don’t you just shove your dick in my mouth?”

“Good Lord.” Locked Breech set down his bowl. “For a pony who seems deathly afraid of gays, you sure see a lot of homoerotic signs in things. I’m thinking that means maybe there’s some self-hatred going on. I brought along our book on reconciliation if you want to talk through it.”

“Oh God, what were you doing with Red when you said you were going to ‘check out the furnace’?” Asked Wildcat. Even Chesterfield laughed a little at this. “Red,” Wildcat said, “did he touch you in any way?”

“Oh go to hell.” Said Blackout.

“I bet checking out the furnace is slang for fucking him in the ass.” Full Wing said.

Red Field’s face burned and the conversation halted.

“Well then, subtlety isn’t your thing is it?” Said Locked Breech in amusement. “Although I suppose the danger is there and I really should talk to Red Field about sexual harassment within the workspace.”

“Oh for Christ's sake.” Blackout said. “It was more like getting fucked in the ear with the stupid shit he says.” He looked at Red Field. “You want to tell us what your plan was for fixing the A.C.?” Red Field opened his mouth. “Build a fuckin’ air compressor, as the first step.” He laughed. “Jesus, what did you say your plan was for that again?”

“Use the heater from one of the ration containers to heat air inside a hose running into the fuel line.” Red Field said so swiftly he surprised himself.

“Would, that work?” Said Chesterfield, squinting in thought.

“We’d have to find a hose.” Red Field said. “One that is strong enough.”

“Yeah, well, we aren’t doing anything until I wake up.” Blackout said, tossing his bowl to the floor. He rolled over in his bed. “You can talk or whatever, but I’m going to be sleeping.”

“Gonna dream about running your hose into Red’s fuel line?” Asked Full Wing, prompting all but Red Field and Blackout to laugh again.

“That one was better.” Said Locked Breech. “Keep it up.”

Thankfully, Blackout soon fell into a deep slumber and nopony cared to test the air compressor theory. Chesterfield and Wildcat began to play cards, inviting Red Field and Full Wing to join them after a few minutes. Locked Breech studied the map for about an hour before he too joined the game.

They opened the window and a cool mountain breeze filled the room and refreshed the stale concrete air. For two hours they played and talked and Red Field forgot about the dogs and Mohs and even his spat with Blackout.

“Breech.” Wildcat tossed a card at Locked Breech. “Door.” The ponies halted their game and listened. The soft clank of the door rose through the floor.

“Of course.” Locked Breech said, tossing his cards down.

“What is their fucking problem?” Asked Wildcat as Locked Breech again left to answer the door.

“They’re not used to getting a no from anyone.” Said Chesterfield. "Dunno what they're going to do about it now."

Locked Breech opened the door beneath them.

“Captain Breech.” Said Natick. “Sorry to bother you. Captain Fo is preparing the Gmales for an extended patrol and would like your support.”

“We are not on duty.” Said Locked Breech. “I would also appreciate it if he did not solicit our assistance any more today.”

“I’m sorry.” Natick sounded uncomfortable. “I am aware of that, he sent me over here to see if you could spare just one or two ponies.”

“No.”

“I’m apologize for this Captain Breech. Captain Fo is not particularly adept at understanding declinations.” Natick said.

“So I’ve seen.”

“Heh, I think you’re the first person he hasn’t bullied into submission.” Natick cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank you personally for your assistance yesterday. Your protection and intervention was very much appreciated. I’d also like to apologize for the ingratitude and asinine behavior of my commander; he’s a good officer of the law, just not particularly well suited to mediating problems.”

“That’s all right, you are welcome.” Locked Breech said, his tone relaxing.

“I’ll tell him you are not available, sorry to bother you.” Said Natick. “Thank you again.”

“Show of hooves who thinks that guy would be a better commander than Fo?” Wildcat asked as Natick’s footsteps faded.

All four players raised their hooves.

“Bet he loves having Fo call the shots during all of their negotiations.” Red Field said. Locked Breech returned and they resumed their game.

Five minutes later, a dog knocked at the barracks. Locked Breech threw down his cards.

“Unbelievable.” He said under his breath. Locked Breech cracked his neck as he exited their room.

“Dude, what the hell is their problem?” Asked Full Wing.

“It’s not their problem, it’s just Fo I bet.” Said Chesterfield.

The door under them swung open.

“Sorry.” Natick said. “Captain Fo-”

“Bring him here.” Said Locked Breech. “Let me speak with him. This is not appropriate behavior.”

“I’m very sorry.” Natick said. “I’ll tell him you’re not coming.”

“Bring him here, we need to resolve this.”

“I will speak to him.” Natick said. “I can tell him you declined again. I’ll make sure this is the last time we bother you.”

“No, I need to speak with him.”

“Captain Breech, Fo does not react well to confrontation.” Natick said. “I’ll let him know.”

“Soldier, your C.O. is fifty meters that way. I’m not going to negotiate with anymore proxies. Go get him.” Locked Breech said, his voice rising.

“All right, I’ll get him.” Natick said quietly. Red Field watched from the window as Natick walked back toward the Gmales’ barracks. Natick said something to himself and shook his head.

“Nopony say anything when he gets here. That’s an order.” Locked Breech called up to them.

“Yes sir.” Said Wildcat.

“This is about to get real.” Said Full Wing softly.

“No it’s not. Fo’s too scared of Breech.” Chesterfield said. They heard barking and Red Field recognized Fo’s voice.

“Oh shit.” Whispered Full Wing. All four huddled around the window and peeked out. Fo strode toward them with Natick close behind.

Fo did not look like he was afraid of Locked Breech.

“Cat… get ready to move. I don’t like how this looks.” Said Chesterfield, starting to rise.

A gunshot cracked into the compound. Natick stumbled and grabbed at his right shoulder. He knocked into Fo, who had jumped from the report. The pair tried to regain their balance and a burst of gunfire drove into the gravel around them. Fo shoved Natick away and tried to run toward the ponies’ barracks. Gunshots peppered the ground and Fo fell. Natick stumbled, then fell on his belly a few meters past him.

Red Field was the first to realize the shots were coming from further up the mountain. He shouted for everypony to get back as bullets crackled into the concrete around the window. Blackout jumped out of bed and clutched a hoofgun.

“What the hell is going on?” He shouted. Another burst of gunfire hit the base.

“Direct fire, up the mountain.” Red Field said. “Fo and Natick are-”

“Breech, where’s Breech?” Blackout said. As if in answer, Locked Breech called up from the ground floor.

“Anybody have eyes on?”

“Further up the mountain.” Red Field said.

“How many shooters?” Asked Locked Breech.

“I don’t know.” Said Red Field.

“Smoke, out the window.” Said Locked Breech. “Both dogs are hit, we need to get them out of there.”

The ponies bolted to their gear.

“Fuck fuck fuck, where’s the smoke?” Wildcat threw open his pack and began ransacking it.

“Full Wing, we should have two canisters in the pack.” Red Field said and Full Wing tore open his rucksack.

“I got signal cans.” Chesterfield pulled three colored smoke grenades from his pack.
“Those won’t cover shit.” Blackout said, ripping his pack open and shuffling through the contents. More rounds struck the wall and a few bits of concrete fell from the ceiling. The debris pelted Red Field’s body.

“Goddamn it, Full, where are they?” Red Field asked.

“Here here!” Said Full Wing. Full Wing crawled under the window and thrust a pair of smoke grenades to Red Field.

“Got smoke!” Red Field shouted to Locked Breech.

“Out the window, on eleven position.” Red Field snapped off a pin and lobbed the first grenade out the window. The grenade sank into the gravel. The next followed a moment later. The gunfire stopped as hissing smoke curled out of the grenades.

“Got more!” Blackout threw three grenades out of the window. A few moments later, smoke was starting to flood the compound. More bullets pounded against the ponies' barracks.

“All right, Cat, down here now. We need to go out and grab those two.” Said Locked Breech.

“Copy.” Wildcat threw his vest on

“The rest of you keep back from the window.” Locked Breech said as Wildcat galloped down the stairs. “All right, you grab one, I’ll get the other. On my go.”

“Breech don’t risk anything.” Said Blackout.

“One, two, three.” Both ponies bolted into the smoky compound and their hoofbeats grew quieter as they ran to the fallen dogs.

“Shit shit shit.” Blackout grabbed his rifle. “We need to put down a base of fire.” He ran to the window and aimed into the swirling smoke.

“We don’t know where they are.” Full Wing said.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t scare them!” Shouted Blackout, firing a burst up the mountain. Chesterfield picked up his rifle. He leaned over Blackout and began to fire as well. Red Field loaded his DMR, then tried to squeeze himself next to them. The smoke was starting to trickle through the window and it burned his eyes as he looked out into the grey. He fired a few rounds and the DMR pounded his off-shoulder. The shooters were probably on the cliff somewhere above them; he ought to aim there. Red Field adjusted his blind aim and fired ten more rounds.

“Keep it on them.” Blackout shouted. “Stagger your shots.”

“Aim further up.” Red Field said. The unseen shooter replied and hit the vicinity of the window. Something smacked Red Field in the chest and he fell backward. The DMR fell next to him and Red Field gasped for breath.

“Red! Oh God Red!” Full Wing pulled him away from the window.

“Goddamn it, everypony okay?” Blackout had rolled away from the window. “Red, you hit?”

“Yes, yes he is!” Shouted Full Wing.

Red Field’s head stung and he felt a throbbing pressure in the center of his chest. He looked down, a sickly feeling of numbness overtaking him. A raised bump of red flesh stood up in the center of his chest. He felt it with a trembling hoof and his chest tightened sharply. He couldn’t see any blood. Light filtered through holes in the concrete and the room was filling with smoke.

“I think I’m okay.” He said as Blackout pulled him further away from the window.

“Hold fire!” Locked Breech shouted from beneath them. “Get the medical supplies down here now!” Blackout helped Red Field up while Chesterfield sprinted downstairs with the medical satchel.

“Where are you hit?” Blackout asked. Red Field coughed and tasted blood in his mouth.

“Chest.” He grew lightheaded and steadied himself against Blackout. “Ricochet hit me I think.” He said, his chest burning as he spoke. Blackout helped him out of the room as more rounds hit around their window.

Fo and Natick were propped up against the wall of the assembly room. A trail of blood tracked in from the door and to where the two dogs sat. Wildcat knelt over Natick and Chesterfield over Fo. Wildcat’s hooves were wet with blood and he was shouting for something. Fo’s head rolled to the side. His eyes were closed.

“Full Wing.” Locked Breech grabbed Full Wing, who'd been helping Red Field down the stairs. “We need you to get across the compound right now and get their medic.” He pointed out of the open door. “You’ve got a heavy cloud of smoke, fly low and don’t flap too hard or you’ll dissolve the cloud.”

“W-what?” Full Wing asked. “I can't-”

“Full Wing, this is not the time. You’re UAT, you’re going to get across just fine.” Locked Breech said. “Those two are hit bad and we need a medic who knows how to work on dogs right now.”

“Get their medic?” Full Wing asked.

“It’s not far, you can make it.” Said Locked Breech. Full Wing ran towards the door and Locked Breech pushed Red Field’s spotter out into the mist of grey.

“Red, RED!” Blackout shook Red Field by the shoulders. “Wake the fuck up, we need to know about the shooters.” He shouted into Red Field’s face, splattering Red Field’s nose and cheeks with warm saliva. “We need information. What can you tell about the fire? You think there’s multiple shooters? Can you tell the range?”

“Uh, hang on.” Said Red Field. Fo howled in agony and Red Field looked over to where the dogs laid.

“Red, the shooters.” Blackout said.

“It sounded like one, cyclic rate was too slow to be two I think.” Red Field tried to keep himself from looking at the dogs. “Probably-” A burst of gunfire pelted the door with bits of gravel as Full Wing raced between the buildings. Locked Breech turned to Red Field.

“Red, we need to know what we’re dealing with.” He said.

“Sounded like automatic rifle fire, I think just one shooter.” Said Red Field.

“Can you tell the rifle?” Asked Blackout. "Are they using our technology?"

“It sounded like Molot." Said Red Field. "But I don’t know for-”

“It was a Molot.” Natick said. His face was smeared with dust and blood. “That gun’s everywhere in these mountains.”

“So we’re probably not dealing with someone trained.” Said Locked Breech.

“The fire wasn’t accurate, bursts varied so-” Said Red Field.

“No, they aren’t trained.” Said Natick. “It’s one to five dogs with one rifle and maybe some handguns or a shotgun.”

“How do you know?” Asked Blackout.

“Everyone is armed up here, if you get shot at and aren’t dead in the first few seconds you can bet it’s just someone pissed off over something you did.” Fo coughed some blood and Red Field saw a ragged red tear in his belly. He opened his eyes and glowered at Locked Breech. “Can you think of anyone we might have angered recently?” He asked, his voice falling to a whisper as he ran out of breath.

Locked Breech turned back to Red Field.

“Think it’s those two teens from yesterday?” He asked.

“Of course it’s them you idiot!” Shouted Fo. He choked and began to cough blood onto Wildcat, who was trying to examine his wound.

“Hey shut up!” Blackout walked over to where the two dogs lay and for a moment Red Field feared he was going to kick Fo. “You want to go out there and take them on?”

“Let the adults talk. You’re a chunk of muscled dumbass, pony.” Fo said.

“Knock it off.” Locked Breech grabbed Blackout by the shoulders and pulled him away from Fo. “Go get our rifles and gear.”

Blackout said nothing and marched off to get their weapons. He looked back once and only Red Field saw his expression of growing hate toward the two dogs.

“I need you to lie down.” Wildcat said to Fo. “Red, give me a hoof.” As Red Field and Wildcat lowered Fo to the ground, Full Wing thundered into the room; a burst of accurate fire following him. Locked Breech slammed the door closed behind him

“Sounds like they found their hold over.” Red Field said. “They’ve got to be a few hundred meters away at least.” Another shower of rounds banged into the door as Full Wing picked himself up. His bandage had come undone and the swelling popped on the joint of his wing.

“They’re not coming over.” He said shakily. “That one named God said he wasn’t going to try and cross while whoever’s shooting at us is alive.”

“Are you serious?” Asked Wildcat.

“I don’t blame him.” Said Fo with a painful chuckle. “None of my dogs are dumb enough to try and run that far in the open.”

“All right then, what’s the plan for taking them out?” Locked Breech asked. Fo snickered, which Red Field found impressive for a dog whose intestines were visible.

“They’re going to wait until you step out; they’ll wait for days.” He said. “I tried to tell you that punks were different out here.”

“Captain, I need you to save your breath.” Wildcat said.

“Can we call in air support?” Asked Chesterfield.

“They’re six hours out, and we’d be bringing them into dangerous airspace without any idea where the fire is.” Locked Breech said. “Red, can you spot them?”

“Don’t try.” Natick said. “They’re above you, way above you. They’ll spot you faster than you can spot them.”

“What are our options then?” Blackout had returned and he carried the team’s rifles slung over his back like a giant quiver of arrows. He seemed a bit calmer now, though he still spoke shortly.

“I don’t know.” Natick said. “Our team hasn’t personally handled a situation like this.”

Fo gave an amused grunt from the floor.

“I’m sure my dogs called the Feds further up the mountain, and I’m sure they’re doing everything they possibly can to rescue a couple of beat cops who got shot over something personal.” He said distantly.

“We’ll need somewhere to get out if we’re going to do anything.” Said Locked Breech. “Where are the exits in this place?”

The building had no other exits. Red Field, Blackout and Full Wing searched through the barracks, looking for other ways out. Each room in each floor had a single window facing toward the inside of the compound. The second floor had a rudimentary kitchen and the third had a small briefing area. Besides the furnace room and assembly room where Wildcat and Chesterfield tended to the dogs, the barracks was empty.

The best the ponies found was a ladder leading to a hatch opening to the roof.

“Wonderful.” Locked Breech ran a hoof through his mane. “Who builds a barracks with only one entry?”

“There’s the roof.” Said Blackout. “Or a window.”

“That’s not ideal. Wildcat, what are their conditions?” Locked Breech said, glancing down to where the medic sat. Wildcat lifted up his bloodied hooves.

“I don’t know. Fo’s got a bad tear in his lower abdomen plus a few nicks to his right side. Natick’s got a broken shoulder and his right thigh’s chewed up.” He looked up at Locked Breech. “We really need their medic, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

“Understood.” Locked Breech shook his head. “What are our options?” Fo laid on his back with his paws folded over his chest like a corpse. He stared at the ceiling, blinking occasionally. He’d stopped talking. His belly was covered in a matted pile of gauze and an IV ran to his arm. Natick sat against the wall, looking at his feet.

“You.” Natick pointed to Red Field. “You’re a sniper right?”

“Yes.”

Natick swallowed, the muscles of his neck straining.

“You could go out once it gets dark and hunt them down. Are you a good sniper?” Red Field didn’t know how to answer and Blackout spoke.

“We aren’t sending one guy out against an unknown enemy.” Said Blackout. Natick shrugged weakly.

“Just a thought.”

“Red, over here.” Locked Breech stood by the front door, his rifle slung across his chest. Locked Breech walked a bit, far enough so neither the dogs nor the rest of Recon could hear them. “What’s your take on this?”

“I’d believe their assessment, judging by the inaccuracy of the fire and the low number of rounds the shooters are firing.” Said Red Field.

“Do you think you can take them?” Red Field’s heart missed a beat. Locked Breech sighed. “Look, I don’t want your first job as a sniper to be a suicide mission. But I’ve got two injured allies and I don’t want to risk bringing air support into a killzone unless I have no other choice. If we wait until dark, I could have you and Full Wing slip out of the roof and have him fly you over the wall. Can you hunt those jackasses down?”

Red Field’s decision stemmed from many considerations. His training, his analysis of the situation, which had been ongoing since the first gunshot, and finally, the value he gave to the lives of the two wounded dogs in the room behind him. However the decision in Red Field’s reply came not from rationality, but from what he’d seen in one of the most irrational ponies he knew. Full Wing’s thoughtless rush across the compound had set a standard for him.

“I can get them.”

“Okay, we’ll wait till nightfall. Get your gear ready.” Said Locked Breech.

Red Field began to assemble his supplies. He laid the furry robe of his ghillie suit in the hallway outside of their room. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the window. He took three magazines for the DMR, each loaded with hollow points and pushed them into the harness across his chest. He realized he’d put them in upside down and righted them with shaking hooves.

He pushed four hoofgun magazines into the legs of the suit, then added the long survival knife he’d been issued. Should he ask to bring Blackout’s Tempest just in case?

Red Field stopped.

He was over-preparing from paranoia;
he needed to streamline his equipment.

He replaced the knife with a smaller folding blade and downloaded the rifle magazines to eighteen rounds each to make certain they’d feed. Red Field set the suit and the DMR in the empty room across from theirs. He then returned to the ground floor and sat with the others.

Waiting was the worst part.

Red Field sat and stared at the wall opposite him as he waited for the hours to pass. Natick drew him a map of the mountainside above them and Red Field studied it. Natick seemed to sense Red Field’s fear and even as he struggled to finish his sentences, he tried to assuage Red Field’s fear.

“They aren’t well-trained but they can still smell well. They might have left already, but they should still have left a camp. If they’re not there, see what you can figure out about them and get a trap set up.”

“Hey.” Locked Breech tapped Red Field’s hooves, which sprawled out before him. “We’re good to go.” Red Field looked up. Full Wing stood beside Locked Breech. He was wearing his uniform and had a carbine slung across his chest.

“Ready to go?” Full Wing asked.

“Yeah, ready.” Red Field said, suddenly unready. He donned his ghillie suit and felt the weight of the magazines dig into his bruised chest. He picked up the DMR and chambered a round.

“Cat, Chess. Make sure that door stays closed and locked. Tell me if either of the dogs’ conditions changes.” Locked Breech said.

“Good luck out there you guys.” Said Wildcat.

“Stay safe.” Chesterfield said, giving a small salute.

“Yeah, we will.” Full Wing sounded as scared as Red Field but he managed a smile. “Be back in a bit.”

Blackout waited upstairs. Red Field didn’t know if anypony had told him their plan. The black unicorn sat near the bottom of the ladder under the trapdoor. He looked up as they approached.

“Was just making sure nobody climbed down and tried to sneak up on us.” He said quietly.

“Good idea.” Locked Breech said. Full Wing looked up the ladder.

“It’s unlocked.” Said Blackout. “Ready to go.”

Full Wing nodded. They waited. Red Field was growing nauseous.

“You know what to do.” Locked Breech put his hoof on Red Field’s shoulder. “Get out there, take them out. Once you’ve taken out the shooters, sweep as much of the incline as you can before climbing back down to the base.”

Red Field’s stomach threatened to overturn, but Full Wing kept him from dwelling too long.

“Are we ready?” Full Wing asked anxiously.

“Yep, get out there.” Locked Breech said. Red Field realized he was going first. He began to climb the ladder.

“Good luck out there Red.” Blackout said. “Just keep your head okay?”

“Okay.” Red Field said, trying to keep control of his breathing.

The lights in the compound were off. Yet as Red Field emerged on the roof of the building, he was exposed and a very easy target for whoever was shooting at them. He heard Full Wing bumping and clanking up the ladder after him. Red Field looked back at the dark, almost blackened slope of the mountain behind them. He looked down at the Gmales’ building and saw a few of them were looking out of the windows of their barracks.

Red Field recognized God. God didn’t notice him, giving Red Field a bit more hope he was less visible than he felt. The sun had been down for about an hour, and the moon was stifled behind a bank of clouds.

“Come here dude.” Full Wing had climbed up beside Red Field and he held out his fore hooves as if he wanted to hug Red Field. Red Field pulled close to him and Full Wing embraced him. A part of Red Field’s brain wondered if Full Wing was going to say something about their intimate position. “All right, just hang on and don’t move too much.” Red Field’s stomach lurched as Full Wing pulled him into the air. Full Wing beat his wings once and they left the roof. They fell for a few seconds, Full Wing spreading his wings and slowing their descent, before banking left and landing on the other side of the concrete wall. They landed in a patch of ferns beneath the trees and Full Wing let go of Red Field. Red Field could see Full Wing grimace and rub at his injured wing.

“Heh, don’t tell anypony we hugged.” Said Full Wing. “Hey so uh, what’s the plan?”

“Left, we go left so we don’t have to cross the road.” Red Field said. “Move back from the wall, get into the woods a little.”

The pair climbed down the mountain for a bit, before walking perpendicular to the slope. They walked until they came to the end of the wall surrounding the base. The forest thickened as it continued up the side of the mountain and both ponies knelt behind a poplar tree.

“We need to crawl here.” Red Field said softly. “We’re going to swing to the left about seventy meters and then head upward.”

“Okay.” Full Wing said. Red Field tightened the sling of the DMR before dropping to his belly and crawling out from behind the tree. He kept his eyes trained on the slope above.

A branch snapped.

“Shit, sorry.” Full Wing whispered. They continued to crawl. Red Field crept over and around the sticks and leaves in his path as he began the slow journey up to their destination. Another branch snapped, this one audible for probably twenty meters. “Shit, sorry.” Red Field’s snout bumped a rock and he nosed it out of his path. His bruised chest was already hurting and they hadn’t gone ten meters.

Snap. "Shit, sorry."

“Go back.” He whispered to Full Wing.

“Where are we going?” Asked Full Wing.

“I need you to go back.” Red Field said.

“What? No, we need to stay together.”

“Full Wing, listen to me. We don’t know where these dogs are. I can’t have you making any noise.”

“I’m sorry dude, I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“Full Wing, go back.”

“Red, I don’t want you to go out there alone.”

“Nothing will happen, but you need to let me do my job.” Red Field felt like he was talking to a little brother. “I promise I’ll be okay.” Full Wing hesitated, then inched back down toward the wall.

“Just, please don’t get hurt or anything.”

“I won’t, now just stay at the edge of the base and I’ll be back.” Full Wing rustled backward through the leaves and Red Field waited until he crawled up out of earshot.

Red Field only crawled fifteen meters before a strange and severe form of loneliness came over him. He looked over his shoulder. Full Wing was gone. He looked at the base. The only light radiated out of the windows of the dogs’ barracks. He felt the urge to shut his eyes and press tightly to the ground.

Belligerence had told him fear was like the cold. It made his mind chilly and incapable of anything besides trying to shake the cold. Beating fear wasn’t about confronting it, but ignoring it and letting his head warm itself.

They were most likely within three hundred meters of the camp. They could be at an angle. He looked ahead of him, he was crawling up the mountain at a forty five degree angle relative to the base. Was he crawling toward them?

He stopped crawling.

Where had Natick and Fo been standing? Natick had been hit in the back. At such an angle, they’d have to be on the very edge of the cliff overlooking the base. He started to crawl again and an icy thought entered his mind.

He was assuming they hadn’t moved closer.

Red Field crawled for forty five minutes before stopping to catch his breath. He looked up after resting for a second. A wave of panic overtook him as he lost his bearings. He was pressed to the ground and surrounded by trees. He looked around, seeing nothing but more forest. His heart rate picked up and his breath entered and exited his mouth.

Red Field's gaze swept over something yellow. The patch of light from the windows of the dogs’ barracks pooled in the middle of the base.

He’d crawled far enough up the incline he could see over the wall. Red Field made out the small pattern of dark blood from where Fo and Natick had been hit. The base felt like an anchor and Red Field had trouble looking away from it.

He was about where he wanted to be; seventy meters to the left of the compound and seventy past the top left corner. He began to crawl again, this time straight up the mountain.

They were almost certainly within three hundred meters of the base. They were firing a Molot, which could only hold an eight to eighteen centimeter group at three hundred meters. The shooters weren’t trained either, so they were probably inside of two hundred meters.

Red Field pulled his rifle over his head and laid it in the leaves. He flipped the scope covers open and drew the scope to his eye. He could see nothing. He drew the magnification back, but could still see nothing. He was too low to the ground and his view was obscured by undergrowth. Pulling his hood farther over his head, Red Field rose up slightly. He was in the middle of a small stand of pines and had to lean to look around the needles. He gazed up at the cliff.

A small dot of yellow came into focus and Red Field pulled in a deep breath. The faint yellow orb blinked. Red Field pulled in another slow breath. He magnified the eye, which hovered on the edge of the cliff. The eye blinked again and he slid the safety off.

The firefly’s wings blurred its luminescence momentarily and Red Field let go of the trigger. The miniscule insect bobbed for a few moments longer, before it flew out of sight. Red Field exhaled, then dropped back to his belly.

He crawled another forty meters and was in line with the edge of the cliff. He remembered the dogs’ sense of smell. He pushed himself deeper into the leaves. He had no idea how effective their noses were or which way the wind blew. He laid too close to the ground to feel the breeze. The pines were rustling a bit, but their branches and needles trembled without uniformity.

Red Field was illuminated with ghostly white light. The moon had escaped the clouds and now he was caught in an open patch of ground. Red Field pressed himself into the earth, willing himself into the scenery. He swallowed back the cold fear telling him to get up and run.

The moonlight drifted over the trees just behind the cliff. A shape moved between two trees about thirty meters from the edge of the cliff. Clouds closed over the moon again and the mountain fell to darkness. Red Field watched the trees. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

But it had.

Another hour passed as Red Field crawled up the mountain. He ascended past the cliff. A thick slab of rock stood behind the woods atop the cliff and Red Field began to pass over smaller rocks as he crawled. The barrel of the DMR jabbed a stone as he wormed his way through the swishing grass. He shifted the gun under him and the front sight clinked on a rock. Red Field rolled over and lifted the rifle out of the dirt. He pushed it over his shoulder and the rubber foot of the bipod brushed his face, transferring a leaf onto his cheek. Red Field tightened the sling and started to crawl with the rifle slung over his back. The leaf clung to his face and as he lifted his hoof to brush it away, Red Field felt the leaf move.

It had legs.

Red Field drove his hoof into his face, crushing the insect. Its carapace crunched and the tiny vibration burrowed into his skull. He wiped his hoof in the grass and took a deep breath. He continued on, a drop of warm blood along with the paste of an exoskeleton pressed just under his eye.

He stopped at the base of the rock slab. He was now directly above where he’d seen the movement. He pushed aside the grasses and looked down into the woods atop the cliff.

The moonlight had been growing steadily dimmer as more thin sheets of clouds accumulated and by the time Red Field drew up his scope, he had difficulty seeing through the soft stalks of grass just ahead of him. He looked up at the moon to see if the clouds were going to pass. A storm cloud approached the blockade concealing the moon.

The wood was maybe fifty trees square and Red Field writhed down the short incline to the first tree. He crouched, listening and looking for anything. Hearing nothing, he crawled a bit deeper into the trees.

A slight whine, like the sound of a congested nose, came from his right. The edge of the cliff sat thirty meters away and Red Field lay in a patch of furry moss. His face was pressed to the ground and Red Field twitched his ear. The whine came again. It repeated after a lengthy respiratory pause. Someone was snoring. Red Field was laying within two meters of the snorer. His heart rate jumped and panic crystalized his thoughts.

He needed to move back. Red Field lifted a hind hoof, then stopped. They had let two of the robbers go.

Where was the other dog?

He caught the sound of another dog breathing, this one awake. The other robber was to his left. He’d crawled between them. Red Field fought back the instinct prompting him to hyperventilate. He crawled back up the moss until he reached a tree. Red Field inched to the opposite side of the tree. He shut his eyes and took a long, silent breath. He held the breath in his lungs for four seconds.

He unholstered his hoofgun and peeked back around the tree. The snoring dog laid on his back atop the moss. A backpack laid next to him, along with a few cigarette butts and an empty can of dog food. Red Field leaned further, looking for the other. His hoof brushed something and he looked down. The other dog was sitting against the other side of the tree. Red Field’s hoof was barely brushing the hair on the dog’s ear.

Red Field recognized the abraded fur around the lanky Scilicite’s neck, from when the dog had been accosted by the Gmales. Red Field's breathing ceased and the discomfort from his awkward pose behind the tree vanished.

The dog under him reached into his thin red vest and drew a lighter. He turned it in his paw and it clinked open.

“Ugh.” The one in the moss stirred and wiped his eyes. “We leaving?”

“Yeah, soon. I just wanted to make sure that guy’s dead. He’s been in the ponies’ building for a while; doubt they know what to do with him. He’s about dead by now I'm pretty sure.”

“What about the medic from his crew?” Asked the one in the moss, rolling over and looking back at his companion. His luminous green eyes focused perhaps half a meter below Red Field.

“They’re all huddled up in their barracks right now. I checked a few times. Guess they don’t give a shit about him.” The dog with the lighter laughed. “Maybe they owe us a ‘thank you’.”

“What about the ponies?” Asked the one in the moss.

“They’re not going to do anything. They were already sick of that guy’s shit. Don’t think they’re going to come avenge some Gmale prick that was pushing them around.” The dog sitting by the tree slid his lighter back into his pocket. “Where’s the gun? I want to rip off a few more shots to keep ‘em inside. I’m okay with just getting that shitbag who killed Bone.”

“Woulda been cool to get a pony though.” Said the dog laying in the moss. He rolled over again and yawned. “Gun’s over here.” He held up a Molot.

“Once we-” The dog sitting next to Red Field started to rise, then turned his head. His cheek wrinkled as he sniffed.
Red Field felt the fibers of his suit trembling in the wind blowing down the mountain. The dog looked back. His eyes were a bright yellow and they were focused as if he expected to see something in the distance. They widened as he and Red Field locked eyes.

Red Field saw his gun rise up between them. The next instant was a spark of yellow and the pop of a gunshot. Red Field swung his aim toward the other dog. Three more shots left a black burn in his vision.

He bolted behind a different tree and peeked out only to fire another three rounds. He ran a little ways from them, before sinking to the ground.

The three blue dots atop his pistol flicked back and forth as he waited for return fire. His accumulated night vision ruined by the muzzle flash of the pistol, Red Field blindly waited for the two to move.

The mountain was again washed with white moonlight as the curtain of clouds gave way.

A splash of red covered the moss and Red Field followed it back to the dog who’d been sleeping. The dog’s throat had been hit and bones stuck out from his neck. Another round hit his shoulder and blood bubbled out of the pink muscle. The final round had hit the dog in the cheek and exited the top of the dog’s head, splattering the moss as he tipped over.

Red Field stared at the body, at the color.

Red Field's pistol snapped up as a wheezing, gurgling breath reached him. The dog who’d smelled him was laying on his back. The dog’s ribcage dented inward and each breath bubbled from the wound. The robber lifted his head and caught sight of Red Field. Red Field’s mind went blank as the dog recognized him. He felt embarrassed, could the dog tell?

The diamond dog’s arm was drawing upward very slowly. His thumb was pressed against the Molot’s fire selector. Before Red Field processed what the dog was doing, the three dots appeared before him and his ears popped. The Scilicite’s head knocked against the ground. His paw slipped off of the rifle and into the leaves, leaving the selector midway between safe and fire.

A sigh left the dog.

Red Field sat on his bed.

The DMR lay in his lap and his hooves were smeared with the mud he was scraping off of the weapon. He was looking up, out of the door into the hallway. Full Wing sat at his hooves, cleaning Red Field’s hoofgun.

Neither said anything; the conversation had ended minutes prior. Red Field felt like his body was clenched, like he was stuck in a strange posture. No matter how he sat, he clenched.

Red Field had led the team up the slope and into the patch of woods atop the cliff. They took five minutes to cover the distance Red Field had crawled in two and a half hours. The team agreed the dogs had acted alone and Wildcat and Chesterfield dug a pair of graves. They tore up the bloodied moss in search of an area deep enough. Blackout refused to dig and volunteered to take Fo and Natick to their medic.

Full Wing and Red Field had returned to the base. Locked Breech had told them to clean their gear and get some rest. Neither of them had told him Red Field had gone alone. They’d gotten back and Red Field apologized for leaving Full Wing, who’d in turn told him it was no biggie and he was just glad his partner was fine.

Red Field tapped Full Wing’s shoulder and passed the DMR, still caked with dirt, down to him. Full Wing took the rifle.

“For sure dude.” He said, starting to wipe it. “I got this done.” He lifted the pistol up to Red Field and Red Field set it on the bed beside him. Red Field still looked out into the empty hallway. They heard heavy hoofbeats as somepony climbed the stairs. Blackout appeared in the doorway. He studied Red Field, then Full Wing, then entered.

“Hey.” He matched their mood and walked to his bed. “Good job out there tonight. Probably saved those two idiots.” He snorted. “Though maybe that’s not such a great reward.” Full Wing laughed and Red Field pushed a smile onto his face. Blackout cleared his throat. “So, I’m guessing it was only Red up there.” Both ponies looked at him and Blackout chuckled. “I like you Full Wing. Make sure you ask Chess about how to sneak around. I heard you from up here.”

“Well, it was a good call for Red to make.” Full Wing said. “Just glad he didn’t get hurt.”

“Red made that call? Figured Breech would have radioed it to you.” Blackout pursed his lips and nodded to Red Field. “You got a good instinct.” Red Field didn’t answer. He still clenched inside. They heard more hoofbeats and Locked Breech poked his head into the room.

“Blackout, need you to help the rest of the guys look over the chariot. Looks like it took some fire and I want to make sure it’s still operational.” He saw Full Wing. “Full, why don’t you go with Blackout? Gonna need all the muscle they can get.” Full Wing looked up from the DMR. “Red can clean his own weapons.”

“Yes sir.” Full Wing set the rifle down and followed Blackout out of the room. Locked Breech waited for them to reach the bottom of the stairs before he pulled a chair up to Red Field’s bed.

“Got a spider on your face.” Said Locked Breech. Red Field reached up and wiped away the remnants of the arachnid. Red Field slid his hoof across his blanket, leaving the broken creature in the fibers. “Good work Red. That was a really touchy first assignment, especially with no prep. Midlothian had almost a month of preparation before he took his first shot. And you were alone.” Red Field looked up. “Yeah, I could tell by the way Full Wing looked when he got up there that he didn’t have a hoof in anything.” Locked Breech shrugged. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s appropriate to dock you points for not taking your noisy spotter along.”

“Thank you sir.” The clenching built when Red Field spoke.

“You look pretty shook up.”

“Don’t know sir. Just feel, tight, is all.”

“You were right on top of them. That’s not something snipers usually do.”

“Sorry sir, I entered the woods because I had trouble identifying them and I forgot to wait.”

“I don’t know how the hell we sent you out without night vision.” Locked Breech paused. “Did they say anything after you shot them?”

Red Field’s throat tightened.

“No sir.”

“The first looked like he died instantly. But the one with the gun had crawled a bit.”

“I shot him again.”

“I see.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field had trouble breathing as the clenching crushed his throat. He leaned forward to brace himself.

“You’re eighteen Red?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hell of a job for someone just out of high school.”

“Thank you sir.”

Red Field blinked and a line of heat ran from his right eye. He swallowed and some of the clenching died down. Tears fell from his face into the fibers of his ghillie suit. His nose stung.

They were about to go home when he killed them. They’d been napping since it was late. If he’d tried to observe them atop the rocks, they would have never met.

Red Field sobbed.

He had shot them so many times, as if they were going to fight back. They only wanted to kill Fo, for murdering their friend.

“Hurts to go through what you’re feeling, but it’s not wrong, or weak.” Locked Breech said. “Belligerence probably told you something like this might happen.” Red Field was biting his hoof and he nodded. “There’s nothing natural in killing, especially like that.”

They could hear Wildcat and Blackout conversing as they inspected the chariot.

“Did Midlothian cry?” Red Field asked.

“He shot dragon from five hundred meters. He didn’t have to sneak up on a couple of teens in the woods. But Midlothian still talked about any shots that gave him trouble.” Locked Breech put his hoof on Red Field’s shoulder. “The best snipers don’t feel much, but when they do, they talk to their teammates. You stepped up tonight in a way that made me reevaluate your place on this team- you and Full Wing both. I know you and he are new, and we’re not the most welcoming bunch, but we’re brothers in UAT, and we keep each other safe.” Red Field's bruised chest ached so much from the sobbing he could barely breathe. The tears ran down his face in a silent stream. “We’re here for you Red.”

Red Field didn’t answer. He went back to looking out into the hall.

Red Field felt sick the next day. His stomach curdled and he didn’t want to eat. Sunlight shone through the tiny cracks and holes in the wall made by the Molot.

They’d informed command of the shooting and had yet to receive a reply past a commendation. Nopony wanted to do anything and since they’d heard nothing from the dogs, Recon received a replacement for their day off.

Red Field laid on his bed, his stomach knotting and unknotting. The gravel crackled as someone walked to their building.

“Oh, hey, it’s Natick.” Full Wing said, peeking out of the window. “And that God guy.”

Locked Breech rose and walked down the stairs to the door.

“Hello captain.” Said Natick. “I came by to thank your team.”

“Recon, get down here.” Said Locked Breech and the ponies filed out of their room. The sun had risen a few minutes prior and the air was still chilly. Natick’s arm and leg were bandaged, along with the entirety of his right shoulder and he leaned on a crutch.

He saluted them.

“Thank you.” He shook each of their hooves. “I am sorry your first week here has been so tumultuous but as always, the ponies of Equestria uphold their standard of excellence.”

“You’re welcome.” Said Blackout. God stood a step behind him, and cleared his throat after Natick had finished shaking their hooves.

“I need to know how you stitched up Fo.” God said to Wildcat.

“Normal weave and thread, nothing special.” Said Wildcat.

“’Kay, thanks.” Said God, shuffling back to his barracks. Natick shifted his weight and adjusted the crutch in his shoulder.

“The shooters were the dogs from the robbery earlier?” He asked.

“Yes.” Said Locked Breech. “Our sniper took them out, we don’t believe they were working with anyone else given their positions and lack of supplies.”

“Were either of them wearing nametags?” Asked Natick.

“No.” Said Blackout.

“They weren’t wearing nametags?” Asked Natick.

“It was dark out and we didn’t check.” Blackout said. Natick looked at the short, black pony before him.

“I am not asking to be inquisitive, I am asking to determine whether or not they had ties to a larger organization.”

“Those two jackasses were alone. They had one gun, a couple mags and no comms.” Said Wildcat.

“Where are their bodies?” Asked Natick.

“Buried already.” Said Blackout. Natick looked like he wanted to ask the next question in his line of inquiry but thought better of it.

“All right, thank you.” He saluted the ponies again. “And thank you again for saving the lives of myself and Fo. I want to extend his gratitude to you.”

“Of course, anything for an ally.” Locked Breech said.

Natick hobbled across the compound, resting against the ponies’ chariot for a moment, then went into the dogs’ barracks.

“I’m getting really Goddamn sick of those asshholes.” Blackout said as they returned to their room.

“You’re not the only one.” Said Wildcat. “What kind of piece of shit doesn’t try to help his C.O.?” He shook his head. “Better not get hurt with him around.”

Locked Breech checked the receptacle beside the typewriter for messages from Gale Force.

“If we get any messages, let me know.” Locked Breech sat down on his bed and opened his notebook.

“We’re not getting any messages, command doesn’t give a shit about two dumbass diggers getting shot in their own country.” Said Wildcat.

Red Field had gone on much longer stalks during training. And he hadn’t carried much gear during the short operation. Yet after he forced down a bit of oatmeal and took a shower, his body gave out. Red Field went back to bed, pulled his blankets over his head, and tried to ignore the breeze flowing through the broken window.

He awoke to Blackout shaking him.

“Red, Red get up.” Said Blackout. Red Field pulled off his blankets and rubbed his head. He felt sleepier than he had when he’d laid down. The rest of Recon stood at attention.

Luna and Nacht were in the doorway of their room.

“I put the dogs to sleep with a spell, I’d rather we are not disturbed.” Said Luna, shutting the door behind her.

“Disturbed?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Yes, we have the first target in our investigation.” Luna smiled as Red Field fell in line with the other soldiers. “Good to see you Red Field.”

Luna ordered Nacht to bring a table up from storage as she led them to the assembly room on the ground floor. The five ponies made a semi-circle before her.

“How has the base kept?” She asked.

“It’s kept well.” Locked Breech said. “We’re sorry for not being around to welcome you. We didn’t know you’d be arriving.”

“Oh it’s quite all right, I wasn’t planning on stopping by today, however-” Nacht returned, he carried a white card table folded in half. He set it between Recon and Luna. Red Field hadn’t seen any such table in the furnace room. “Ah, thank you Nacht.”

Luna was in a peculiarly good mood, as if it were her birthday. She pulled a map out of her satchel and unrolled it over the table. The map was identical to the giant map of Mohs Red Field had marked the suspects’ locations on. The map was too large for the table and some of it drooped off the edge. Chesterfield picked up the corner and held it level.

“Oh it’s all right.” Luna said. “Our business is near the center of Mohs.” She looked up at the ponies, expecting one to ask about their “business”. All waited on her and she laughed after a moment. “Our intelligence agency has started processing the leads you acquired. Marshall Law is very meticulous in his data gathering, as I’m sure you know. At first we were somewhat swamped with potential starting points.” She smiled and straightened. “But they found a weak link in the Conspiracy’s roster.” She pulled out another paper and laid it atop the map. The paper listed three businesses. “The changeling.”

“Known locations for it to reside?” Asked Locked Breech.

“Oh no, the changeling is dead. Allow me to explain.” Luna pulled out several more papers; these were photos. “These are images of room in which the Blast occurred.” The first was a picture of a tiny closet, strangely devoid of anything. The room was burned and charred from the explosion, and the severity of the burns showed the explosive had been sitting in the center of the room. “We noticed a few things about the scene.” Luna said. “At first we were impressed with their use of a firebomb rather than conventional explosive. That, coupled with the disguise, and the fact that no one saw the face of the guard who planted it all led us to believe this to be the work of a high level mercenary. But, after a second look, we came to a different conclusion.” She set another photo down- a close-up of the burned wall. “The residue there is phosphorus. Phosphorus is easily sourced in the mines around Mohs, and it doesn’t require a lot of effort to make a bomb out of it.” She shrugged. “We are still not sure what she was doing in the closet, and I doubt we ever will, though some sort of lure is plausible. But if that’s the case, then the choice of firebomb makes much less sense than a concussive explosive.”

“Marble walls would reverberate the concussion.” Said Red Field to himself. He’d started to follow her line of thinking.

Luna heard him and looked up.

“If the fuse didn’t initiate properly, she might have reacted quickly enough to launch a spell to counter firebomb before full ignition, but an equally sized conventional explosive would have made a concussion much too powerful to counter, given the size of the room.”

“So, then, why the firebomb?” Asked Blackout.

“Stupidity.” Said Luna. “They chose a firebomb because of the ease and expediency of acquisition. As for the method of entry to the palace, they made more mistakes. One guard, Praetorian, has been missing since that night. We found his body in his apartment in Cantorlot- without his armor. Whoever impersonated him could have left him alive and made him a suspect. Finally we come to biggest fault of all.” She pointed to herself. “I wasn’t killed.”

A pause came as Recon uncomfortably considered the many reasons for this, many having nothing to do with the stupidity of the changeling.

“I know what you are thinking and you are free to think what you want. However it’s worth noting I could have arranged for an accident for Miss Twilight as well. I also hire better assassins than changelings.” Said Luna.

“We don’t suspect you madam.” Said Locked Breech.

“Well you should.” She said slyly. She turned back to the map. “It seems the changeling simply planted the bomb and lured my sister to that closet. Since the methodology was improvised and not systematic, we believe the Conspiracy to have just picked some changeling and offered it a reward for planting the bomb. The changeling was a tool and not an accomplice. The tool is disposed of after the bombing and the Conspiracy advances into the next stage of their plan.”

“Which is?” Asked Full Wing.

“Getting ahead of yourself soldier." Luna said. "Changelings are stupid, malicious and worthless beings. Lieutenant Chrysalis was about the only one of them who could band them together. Since Chrysalis knew nothing of this particular changeling, the Asymmetrical Warfare Department and Discord both believed that Mohs was probably where ours came from." She pointed to a list of businesses. "Those are the businesses that would hire such creatures, at least overtly. Your operation is going to be picking up the owners of these establishments and bringing them back to Nacht and myself for questioning.”

“Do we think these dogs are part of the Conspiracy?” Asked Wildcat.

“Not likely; meat farmers and café managers don’t usually get involved with treason. But as I’m sure you’ve learned, this country is hardly one for normalcy.” Said Luna.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Said Blackout.

“What’s our timeframe for these captures?” Asked Locked Breech. “Are we going to be running them with any other teams?”

“As soon as possible, and I assumed you’d be capable of handling a few minor kidnappings.” Said Luna. “I can lend you the aid of my associate Nacht if you would like.”

“No, that’s all right.” Said Locked Breech. “Give us the locations and some time to plan.”

“Of course.” Luna said. “Night is probably the best time anyway. You’ll probably have trouble convincing them you’re from the government and you’re there to help.” She slid the list to Red Field. “Any person from here will do as a starting point.” She pointed to the furnace room. “We’ll get everything ready, bring them down there once you have them. Thank you for your help gentleponies.”

“Very good, we’ll let you know when we’re moving.” Said Locked Breech.

“Did you say something was wrong with the furnace?” Luna asked as she and Nacht started down the hall to the basement. Recon waited until the pair had descended out of sight.

“Grab and go?” Asked Blackout.

“Looks that way, let’s get to work.” Said Locked Breech.

Back in their room, Recon began to construct a plan for their first capture. Locked Breech and Blackout discussed their options while the rest of the team geared up for a fast operation. Red Field took a few magazines for his DMR and sat on his cot, pushing them into his vest. He tried to clear his head, and flinched when somepony tapped his shoulder.

“Briefing- and you won’t need that.” Locked Breech said.

The rest of the team sat around the table in the center of the room and Full Wing pushed him a chair.

“We’re taking a guy named Lambchop at 2000.” Said Locked Breech. “He’s got a café in a village called Geode. It’s built into a rock face near the bottom of this mountain. Sounds like a run of the mill mountain village with nothing to hide. Looking at the terrain and considering he’s a café manager, we’re going to run a fast doorkick and just grab him.” Locked Breech picked up the file for Lambchop. “Apparently he’s a pretty normal guy, which is what we’re banking on. I’d really like some better intel than some files from God knows what agency in the Cantorlot bureaucracy, but that’s the setup we’ve got.” He pointed to himself. “I’m going to take point with Red, Full and Wildcat. Blackout and Chess are with the vehicle and are also in charge of getting any locals out of the way. Again, pretty normal town, but this is still a military operation.”

“Are we just grabbing him?” Asked Wildcat. Locked Breech nodded.

“Should just be him; the place closes an hour before we get there. His home is joined to the building. File doesn’t mention a family, though I’d bet he has one so we’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“We’re going in, grabbing him, then flying out.” Blackout said. “Nobody gets hurt.”

Locked Breech tossed his notes onto the map.

“Load up light and assemble out with the chariot. Got it?”

“Got it.” Said the team in unison.

Full Wing tapped Red Field’s shoulder as the other ponies went to their gear.

“Hey dude, do you think I should bring any spotting equipment or no?”

“I don’t think so.” Said Red Field.

“Okay, I’m going to fill that space in my pack with extra ammo.” Said Full Wing. Full Wing knelt by his cot and started to shovel magazines into his pack.

“I don’t think we need that much ammo.” Red Field said.

“I’ll leave the bag in the chariot just in case.” Full Wing laughed anxiously. “Never kidnapped someone before and I’m kinda scared it’s going to go bad.”

They were going on a kidnapping. Red Field tried to shake the word from his mind.

“You want me to grab you some match ammo just in case?” Full Wing asked.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Red Field said. He packed two extra magazines, then added a third before they left.

They assembled at the chariot within a few minutes. Red Field carried a KKAT. His hoofgun hung at his hip and he carried three smoke grenades. Full Wing lobbed his heavy backpack into the seat beside Red Field and climbed after him.

“We ready?” Locked Breech called back to them.

“Squared away.” Said Chesterfield.

“All right.” Said Blackout as the chariot rose into the air. “Let’s get this done.”

Summer made a lengthy stay in Mohs. Despite the crisp bite to the mountain air, the atmosphere around the chariot clung to the ponies and the setting sun poured gold onto the woods underneath them. They hit an air thermal and the chariot jittered. Red Field closed his eyes. He took a breath, waited three seconds, then sent it out through his nose. He passed the rest of the trip in the same rhythm.

“We’re a minute out.” Red Field opened his eyes to see Blackout looking back at him. “We’re landing in an alleyway. The building’s just on the corner of the block to your right. Breech is leading you guys but make sure you know where we’re at in case you get separated.”

“Understood.” Said Red Field.

“Got it.” Full Wing said. Chesterfield’s head was bowed and he looked up.

“Roger that.” Chesterfield said. The chariot dipped and Red Field’s heart began to beat faster. In through the mouth, wait three seconds, out through the nose. Brick walls rose up on either side of the chariot and they slid down into the alley. Red Field saw less than a meter of clearance on either side.

“Off the front.” Locked Breech said as the dust settled. Red Field stepped around his teammates as he walked to the front of the chariot. The muzzle of his rifle narrowly missed Chesterfield’s leg and Red Field tightened the sling.
Red Field reached the front of the chariot and mantled the nose of the vehicle. He landed beside Locked Breech and Wildcat landed to the right of Red Field. Full Wing straddled the nose of the aircraft and tried to pull his legs over. He fell and nearly landed atop Red Field, who managed to jump away in time. The fall was two meters and Full Wing landed on his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Said Full Wing as Red Field helped him up.

“This way.” Locked Breech said, moving down the alleyway.

The town had gone to bed. Several more buildings, all made of brick, lined the gravel street. Most looked like stores, and all were darkened. Something stood out to Red Field and he tried to identify what he noticed.

The town had no streetlights.

The sun had crept behind a mountain and the light in the town fell faster and faster. The waning sunset gave only enough light to make the ponies strain to see. Recon team huddled in the alley, waiting to see if anyone had noticed them.

“Café is that way.” Locked Breech pointed down the left side of the street before slipping out of the alley. Red Field followed behind Wildcat, who followed Locked Breech. Above the buildings loomed the tall walls of granite into which the town was chiseled.

The street was empty save for the four ponies and the tiny town was so still the soft plodding of their hooves filled Red Field’s ears. He kept looking from building to building, waiting to spot a dog out for a walk or a smoke.

He bumped into Wildcat, who’d stopped walking.

The café had a patio with some chairs and tables sitting behind a decorative fence. The patio sat before a shop window, behind which were more tables and a counter. “Treat Jar” was painted onto the window in light blue letters.

Locked Breech mantled the short fence and Wildcat followed him. Red Field set his fore hooves atop the gate and pushed himself over. He could feel the thin boards flex with his meager weight and as he landed in the patio, he realized what was about to happen. Red Field was in the process of turning around as Full Wing broke the gate. Full Wing was midway over the gate when the middle boards snapped and he tumbled forward. Red Field could hear the snap echo down the empty street and Full Wing made a thud on the pavers underhoof.

Both Locked Breech and Wildcat looked back. They’d already pressed themselves against either side of the cafe door.

Locked Breech gave a hurried nod to Wildcat.

Wildcat knelt down before the lock and Red Field heard the sound of picks clinking into the lock. Full Wing started to apologize as he and Red Field crept toward the door.

They were bathed in yellow light. Above them, in a window above the café, someone turned on the light and the glow through the curtains illuminated the yard. Red Field and Full Wing crowded against the doorway directly beneath the window.

“We need to get in there Cat.” Said Locked Breech.

“Can’t even see what fucking kind of lock it is.” Wildcat said, jiggling the picks. “What kind of locks do they use in this country?”

“Dear?” Everypony froze. The voice of a female dog drifted out of the window. “Did you hear something outside?”

“Hang on.” Said a male voice. They heard the slinging noise of the curtains drawing, then the scrape of the window opening. The café had no awning and the ponies saw the grey underside of a muzzle as the dog looked out the window.

“Hey!” Said the muzzle.

“What is it?” Asked the female dog.

“Somebody just smashed the gate!” The male sounded more unhappy than angry.

“What? Who?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see anyone.” The muzzle turned as the dog surveyed everywhere but beneath him.

“Why would someone do that?” Asked the female.

“I don’t know, maybe it was an accident.” The dog pulled his muzzle in. “I’ll just go have a look.”

“Please, be careful.”

“I’ll be right back, you can watch over me the whole time.” A light came on in a stairwell behind the counter inside.

“Spread out, stay low.” Locked Breech said as he and Wildcat dove away from the door. Red Field and Full Wing dropped to the ground and wriggled their way under a pair of tables as bare paws padded across tile inside the café.
The door clicked and the picks popped out of the lock. Red Field felt the cool draft of air conditioning blow over him as he lay in the dust.

“See anything?” Asked the female dog from the window. The cafe owner stood in the doorway.

“No, looks like somebody just kicked the gate down.” He said. “I don’t understand why someone would do that.”

“Okay come back up.”

“Hang on Katia, I- ow!” The dog jumped back.

“Dear?!” Asked Katia.

“Ah, I just,” The dog lifted his paw and studied the lock pick protruding from his paw. “I think I stepped on a nail.”

Locked Breech rose so quickly even Red Field didn’t have time to react. In an instant, Locked Breech was inside the doorway. He shoved his hoof over the dog’s mouth and pulled him downward. Red Field saw the dog was a scant Scilicite and Locked Breech contained him with a single hoof. The dog’s paws clicked against the tile as Locked Breech pushed him back into the building.

“Dear?” Katia asked.

“Keep quiet, we just need you to answer some questions.” Locked Breech whispered. “We’re taking you somewhere, we don’t want to kill you.” Red Field rose and saw the dog’s face. The dog’s green eyes were wide and he looked from Locked Breech to Red Field. His eyes grew wider as he saw the other ponies hiding on the patio.

“Dear? Are you all right?” Asked the dog above them.

“Okay, let’s move.” Locked Breech pulled the café owner out of the door and Katia looked down as they rushed away from the building.

“Oh my God!” She cried. “Please stop!” Locked Breech pushed the café owner toward the broken gate.

“Cat we’re moving. Red, you and Full watch our backs.” Locked Breech said, kicking down the rest of the gate.

“On it.” Full Wing said, hopping the smashed gate.

“Stop!” Katia cried.

Katia was an equally small Scilicite. Her eyes were an icy blue and she wore a thin nightgown. She was leaned out the window, so far Red Field feared she might fall. Katia looked to her husband, but noticed Red Field’s stillness as the other ponies escaped the patio around him.

“Red! Come on!” Full Wing grabbed him and nearly pulled Red Field off of his hooves.

“We’ll bring him back!” She looked at Red Field. “I promise!” He said, and her mouth closed for an instant, as if he’d convinced her.

He looked back at her as he started to run after Locked Breech and Wildcat. She screamed again and Wildcat shouted for Red Field to move faster.

“We need a fast dustoff.” Locked Breech nearly dragged the café owner as he sprinted. “Double time!” Lights were starting to turn on in the buildings around them and barking began in every direction.

They rounded the corner into the alley.

“Blackout, fast exfil.” Locked Breech decked the canine and lobbed him over the front of the chariot. The dog yelped in terror as Blackout grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in. Full Wing scrambled over the nose of the chariot with one beat of his wings. He caught Red Field’s hoof and swung him up.

“Start you piece of shit.” Said Blackout. The chariot began to rumble as barking and snarls filled the street.

“They get too close, light them up.” Said Wildcat, aiming over the front of the chariot and down the alley. Red Field drew his sights for only an instant. The chariot jerked upward, filling the chasm between the buildings with dust. Bits of brick pelted Red Field as they ground against a wall. They cleared the alley and Locked Breech banked the chariot to the right. The chariot shot into the sky and the sounds of Geode’s inhabitants faded away.

Within a minute, the sounds of the still night returned as they glided over Mohs.

“So this guy runs a café?” Chesterfield asked. He knelt over the café owner, whose face was pressed to the floor of the chariot. The café owner hadn’t made a sound since they’d taken off. Chesterfield stood, allowing the dog to get up. The Scilicite glanced at the ponies around him.

“Y-yes.” Said the dog. “Please, what’s this about?”

“Get his arms.” Said Locked Breech.

“Please, you don’t need to restrain me.” The dog said. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“’Course you aren’t. These are for your protection.” Wildcat grabbed the dog’s arms and pushed him up against the side of the chariot. He slipped the plastic figure-eight around the dog’s wrists and the zip tie buzzed. “We usually think twice about beating somebody who’s tied up.”

“I can pay you four hundred a month, I’ve had the numbers worked out. No need for convincing.” Said the dog.

“We’re not here to extort you.” Said Locked Breech. “We just need to ask you some questions about your business and they’re important enough that we didn’t want to risk making a scene by dragging you out in broad daylight.”

“I-I would have gone with you without a problem if you’d asked.” The dog said. “We’ve only lived in Geode for a few months. I’m sorry, I know I missed at least one law or something when we set up the place.”

“We’re here to ask you some questions about your employees.” Said Locked Breech.

“My employees?”

“Can you answer a few questions about them?” Locked Breech asked.

“Yes, of course.” Said the dog with a quick nod.

“Sounds like this will be pretty straightforward then.” Said Chesterfield.

They landed at the base and led the dog toward their barracks. They’d only been gone forty minutes. The Gmales’ barracks was still quiet, and Blackout muttered a thanks to Luna for the spell.

They took the café owner to the basement. The blue of the peculiar lights rose up the stairs and as they rounded the last stairwell, Red Field saw Luna. She looked into the drawers of a chest. Nacht stood in the middle of the room doing nothing.

Luna glanced back at them

“Oh, so soon?” She asked. Red Field stared at the pliers Luna held. “No problems?”

“No.” Said Locked Breech. “We made a little noise but no one got hurt and he’s intact.”

“Good.” Luna said. “Nacht, please get our guest a chair.” Luna nodded to the dog. “Lambchop?”

“Y-yes.” Said the café owner. Nacht pulled a folding chair from between two chests. He opened it and set it directly over the drain in the center of the floor. The chair clattered as he set it down. The dog flinched and so did Red Field.

“Have a seat please.” Luna said. The dog didn’t move and Blackout pushed him toward the chair.

“He was very cooperative and it sounds like he’s fine with telling us about his employees.” Locked Breech said, looking at the pliers.

“Yes, that’s correct. I don’t have anything to hide.” Said Lambchop as he didn’t take a seat. Blackout pushed the dog’s arms over the back of the chair and sat him down. “I will tell you anything you want to know about my business.”

“Oh well, that is good to hear.” Said Luna. “Always nice to have cooperation.”

“He-” Began Locked Breech.

“Recon team, take the rest of the night off. We will pursue our next lead in the morning.” Said Luna.

The dog looked to his kidnappers in terror.

“Madam, if I may say.” Locked Breech said slowly, and with a pause to make sure he was speaking in turn. “He was entirely cooperative and we did not find reason to doubt the veracity about anything we asked him about on the flight back.” Luna’s smile grew a bit condescending as he spoke.

“Thank you, Captain Breech, for your service. I trust you will allow me to conduct my interview according to my wishes.”

“Yes madam.” Locked Breech pointed to the stairs. “Let’s get some rest team.” The rest of the ponies turned for the stairs. Red Field had to pull his gaze away from Lambchop. He finally looked away as his rear hoof bumped the bottom stair.

“Tell me, how many employees do you have?” Luna asked as Recon left.

“Three. I told your ponies I can pay four hundred a month.”

Red Field couldn’t sleep. He felt hot, and laid awake staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what kept him awake; he could think of many possibilities. In half an hour, his teammates fell asleep and he laid alone amidst the snores and wheezing.

A few hours later, someone pounded against the front door to the barracks. Red Field had been drifting in and out of a pointless doze and he sat up immediately. The other ponies groaned and cursed as they rolled out of their beds.

“Somebody get that, just tell him to fuck off.” Locked Breech said tiredly.

“I got it.” Said Chesterfield. Red Field saw Chesterfield had been sitting at the table in the middle of the room. Before Chesterfield stood, the door under them opened.

“Yes?” Asked Luna.

“Gah!” Fo said. “Princess Pony!”

“You are?” Luna asked.

“What are you doing here, aren’t you dead?”

“I think you have me confused with somepony else.”

“Oh that’s right.” Fo said slowly. “You’re the night one.”

“I see the pieces are coming together. Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” Fo said. “I was looking for the pony soldier who was here earlier. You know we have an agreement.”

“I am aware of that. What do you need?” Luna said.

“I need him to help me protect a shipment of medical supplies coming down the mountain. It’s very important and I have been injured recently so I need his help.”

“The captain and his team are not available for joint operations.” Luna said. “I can lend you my personal assistant however.”

“I don’t need a personal assistant.” Fo said. “I need soldiers.”

“My assistant is a trained soldier and I can assure you he will perform-”

“I don’t want your secretary,” Said Fo, “I want you to follow your agreement.”

A few seconds passed before Luna spoke again.

“I will lend you my personal assistant for your duties, or I will revoke the agreement and bury you under a magical tree in a magical land where no one will ever find you.” Luna said.

“Do you know who I am?” Fo asked. “I’m someone you can’t scare off Princess.”

“I don’t care who you are, am powerful enough not to worry about the lives of a few aimless diamond dogs patrolling a quiet mountain, and have no need to dispense any more of my military to you. A better question might be, do you know who I am?”

“You can’t just come in here and just take away my little ponies.” Fo said. “The FFS command is going kick you out of this place for breaking our deal.”

“You’re willing to bet your posthumous honor on how much your government will care when they eventually find I’ve killed you for annoying their most powerful ally?” Quiet hoofsteps plodded to the front door. “This is Nacht, he is an experienced soldier and knows these mountains. He can do whatever you needed the UATs to do.”

“I guess he’ll do.” Said Fo after a moment.

“Good.” Luna said. “Where would you like him?”

“Just be by the front gate in half an hour.” Said Fo.

“He’ll be there.” Luna closed the door. Recon team heard Fo turn and walk away from the barracks; he was muttering to himself. “He needs protection for a load of drugs coming down the mountain. Just get it done, I can’t deal with a mess right now. Your duty with the Gmales ends in sixteen hours.”

“Yes madam.” Nacht said.

“I’ll go get the UATs, we might as well move forward on the next target while we’re free of that moron.”

“Do you need him removed?”

“No.” Luna said. “We’ll wait on that. Meet me back here when you’re done.”

The barracks went quiet. Luna’s hoofsteps grew closer and closer as she ascended the stairs and came down the hall toward their room.

“Recon team.” Luna knocked on the door before entering. Everypony yawned and acted as though they’d just awoken. “Sorry to awaken you, but our next target needs to be picked up before the workday.”

“No problem.” Locked Breech said. “We’re ready.”

“Excellent.” Said Luna. “Your target is a dog named Render. He runs a meat farm near the center of the mountain range. You’ll need to capture him before he enters the tunnels to oversee his day to day operations.”

“When does that happen?” Asked Blackout.

“About three hours from now.” Luna said. “The flight should take you half an hour.”

They had no chance of assembling a plan of kidnapping even an obscure businessdog in such a period of time.

“Of course, we’ll get it done.” Said Locked Breech. “You didn’t get any information from the café owner?”

“I’d rather not discuss what we think and do not think we have.” Luna said. “I’ll allow you to ready.” She said before exiting the room.

Recon looked to Locked Breech.

“Does she have any idea how long the prep takes?” Said Wildcat. “Is she serious?”

“She’s serious.” Said Blackout. “Ten to one she’s going to kill everybody in the barracks across from us before we head out.”

“Ten to one that’s a mare who wants us to do our jobs.” Locked Breech stretched his shoulders. “Everypony is working on the plan this time, let’s iron out the screwups we had with the last guy.”

The meat farm was about 15 kilometers from the bottom of the bowl in the center of Mohs. It sat in a range of grasses which looked like a tiny Sahel amidst the pines and streams of the Rail Mountains. The farm was about five hundred meters square, and in the center of the rectangular property was the hole leading to the tunnels.

Red Field chewed a protein bar as he studied the map. He saw a patch of rocks about two hundred meters from the fence.

“There.” He said. “I should have a good view of the buildings.”

“Red’s got a position for cover. Full Wing, I want you with him in case he’s compromised.” Locked Breech said. “Could be anything from a few guys with rifles to a full-on detail. File doesn’t give any details about security.” He turned to Chesterfield. “I want you dropping in with me. Cat and Blackout are on overwatch from the chariot. Red’s going to check and make sure security isn’t too tight, but still, the less hooves on the ground the better.”

“Won’t they hear you guys flying over them?” Asked Full Wing.

“Chariot’s pretty much silent at low speed and completely silent when stable.” Blackout said. “And I wouldn’t worry about us making noise.” He placed a certain emphasis on the “us” that made everypony look to Full Wing. Full Wing lowered his eyes.

“Shit, I’m really sorry.” He said softly.

“Let’s address that.” Said Locked Breech. “Full Wing, I think you know how you messed up.”

“Yes sir.”

“Last time was a low risk op, which is why I had you and Red with me. We’re still trying to get used to you as teammates and we want to make sure there aren’t going to be any problems going forward. You just needed to have better awareness. Work on keeping yourself alert, just remember that every action of yours has some kind of consequence, no matter how small.” Full Wing nodded. “And Red.” Red Field looked up. He didn’t know he’d done anything wrong. “You were on top of things but you can’t be yelling things to civilians that aren’t mission essential.”

He had been yelling to comfort the dog.

“I was-”

“Eyes to the front at all times.” Locked Breech said.

“That guy wasn’t-”

“Hey, Red, no talking.” Blackout said. Red Field looked over at Blackout. Blackout looked back at him.

“Sure.” Red Field said.

“And you Black.” Locked Breech said. “If I ask you to pilot us out of somewhere, I think it’s reasonable to require you to know how to start the exfil vehicle.” He chuckled. “Okay?”

“Yeah, just got spooked from all that barking. Fumbled the ignition.” He said with a shrug. Red Field had to keep himself from pointing out Blackout’s mistake would have gotten them killed in a higher risk situation.

“And Cat, learn how to pick a lock from this country.” Locked Breech said.

“Guess that’s reasonable.” Said Wildcat with a shrug.

“I should have made sure we had better retention on our guy.” Locked Breech said. “Chess is the only one here who gets an atta colt today. He got ahold of the dog and kept him secure.”

“Heyhey good job!” Blackout began to clap for Chesterfield and Wildcat joined in.

“Oh now who do I thank first for this honor?” Chesterfield asked with a grin.

“Your C.O. for giving you an easy assignment.” Locked Breech said. “Last time was a little rough so let’s do things by the book this time.” He pointed to the map. “We’ve got an hour and a half before this guy heads to work, let’s move out.”

Déjà vu caught Red Field as they piled into the chariot. The sun still waited on the other side of the planet and the moon lit the mountainside. They’d kidnapped Lambchop maybe four hours prior. Red Field climbed into the chariot and took his seat beside Full Wing.

They flew directly down the mountain. The wind whistled past the chariot as they descended toward the grasslands. The angle at which they flew lurched Red Field forward and he was posed like he was about to vomit.

Within ten minutes, Recon team arrived.

Recon dropped Red Field and Full Wing at the edge of the prairie. Red Field wore his ghillie suit and had wrapped his rifle in burlap. The grasses rustled and thrashed around him as he hopped down.

“If there’s more than two armed guards, we’re calling this off.” Locked Breech said to Red Field. “This is still too fast for my liking.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field said, pulling his hood over his head.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Full Wing wore his CCUs; his oversized ghillie suit was still being tailored back at Gale Force. Despite the camouflage on his uniform, Full Wing, his training, and his size still made Red Field’s suit irrelevant. Red Field crouched low and told his spotter to follow close behind. Full Wing could be minimized, not hidden.

The two set off into the prairie.

The grass was tall enough they could walk briskly toward their observation point: a patch of boulders. But as they arrived, they saw the rocks were much smaller than depicted in the map. Only three stones, about the size of those in Red Field’s backyard in Rockvale, stood over the grass.

Red Field slid his rifle atop the smoothest boulder and pulled himself up.

“Get a line to Breech, I’m going to get eyes on.” He said, laying across the stone and righting his rifle.

“Aren’t you going to get skylined?” Asked Full Wing, who still crouched in the grass.

“I’m staying low. And I doubt they’ll look out this far.” Red Field inched back from the edge of the rock nonetheless.

Red Field lifted his binoculars and scanned the farm. Red Field could see what looked like a farmhouse, and a barn. The majority of the space inside the barbed wire was bare mud. The lights were out in the farmhouse and the yard laid quiet. He slowly read over the entire property, spotting no dogs. The mud was trod with countless hoofsteps and Red Field tried not to think about what kind of animals the dogs raised for meat.

“Don’t see much.” He said. “Looks like a pretty bare operation, most of it seems to be space for the animals.” Full Wing relayed this to the rest of Recon. A wind passed over the field and Red Field felt it blow through his mane. He was technically skylined, but who would look for him? “Looks clear of anyone inside the fence, target is probably in the farmhouse.”

“What about personnel? Any guards?”

“I said I didn’t see any.” Red Field said.

“Breech wants you to check the exits of the house.”

Red Field ran over the house again.

“Front door, side door, can’t see the other side but possibly a cellar.” A patch of grey atop the porch caught his eye and he looked back. A dog sitting on a rocking chair came into focus. The dog’s head was tilted back against the headrest of the chair and his mouth was open.

In the lap of the sleeping dog lay a Molot.

“Shit, one guard on the porch of the house. He’s asleep.”

“Is he the only guard?” Asked Full Wing.

“Yeah, it’s just him.” Red Field said once he was certain.

They sat in silence for about two minutes. Red Field continued to watch the sleeping dog, occasionally flitting his sights to the other doors to the farmhouse.

“Has he moved at all or been asleep the entire time?” Full Wing asked.

The rest of Recon was trying to decide if they should continue.

“He looks like he’s been asleep for a while.” Red Field said.

“They want you to keep eyes on.” Said Full Wing. “They’re moving.”

“Roger that.” Red Field pulled the DMR to his shoulder. Red Field heard the soft rumble of chariot behind him and a shadow passed over his body. The sky was turning a light pink as the sun began to rise. The chariot flew only twenty meters off of the ground as it slid toward the sleeping farm.

Red Field peered through the scope at the porch. The dog still slept. The chariot came into view as it passed over the fence and hovered only a few meters above the roof of the farmhouse.

A rope fell over the side of the chariot. Locked Breech climbed out of the chariot and begin to slide down. Another rope fell over the side and Chesterfield followed after Locked Breech.

“How’s the guard?” Full Wing asked. Red Field looked down at the sleeping dog. It had risen and leaned against the deck, looking out over the farmyard.

“Shit he’s awake. He’s up.” Red Field said. “Fuck, tell them to hold off.” The ropes dangled just to the right of the porch. The dog would see them if he leaned.

“He’s up, don’t move.” Full Wing said into his radio. Both roping ponies stopped just above the roof of the porch. Locked Breech drew his hoofgun. “Red, what’s going on?” Full Wing asked.

Red Field watched as the dog continued to look at the empty farm.

“He’s looking at the farm, isn’t suspicious.” The dog turned and looked back at the door. Another dog exited the house. “Got another one coming out.” The second dog carried a Molot. “He’s armed. There’s two armed dogs right under you on the porch.” Locked Breech motioned for Chesterfield to climb back and both ponies began to pull themselves up.

“Red, they’re dropping the op, watch those guys.” Full Wing said. Red Field didn’t reply. Both dogs were talking. They turned toward the door to the farmhouse.

“They’re going inside.” Red Field said. Both dogs stopped, the first laughed and pointed to the barn. They turned for the steps of the porch. “Fuck, they’re moving into the yard.”

Locked Breech and Chesterfield were still climbing to the chariot as the dogs walked from the porch and into the yard. The sun was peeking into the Rail Mountains and poured light into the farm. The massive black shadow cast by the chariot lay on the ground just a few meters ahead of the dogs.

“Tell them to stop climbing.” Red Field said. Both ponies stopped moving so quickly Red Field wondered if they had somehow heard him. They looked down at the yard and saw the dogs walking directly toward the oval shadow of the chariot.

“Red, Breech says if they turn around you gotta hit them.” Full Wing said.

“I know.”

The dogs were about two hundred and thirty meters away, walking at a thirty degree angle from his position. A negligible breeze bent the stalks of grass beneath the rock on which Red Field laid. The two dogs passed through the shadow of the chariot and Red Field set the DMR to fire.

He waited for one to turn.

The dogs talked like friends and the one who’d exited the house laid his rifle over his shoulder like a shovel. Red Field noticed the dog who’d been sleeping on the porch was significantly older. The pair reached the barn and younger one unlocked the door. Waiting for his companion to open the door, the older dog looked out into the field surrounding the farm.

At eighteen times magnification, the scope showed the soft haze of cataracts within the older dog’s dark green eyes. His muzzle was fuzzy and a lighter shade of grey. He looked like a grandfather. The younger dog opened the door and the older dog followed him inside. They shut the door behind them and Red Field took a deep breath. Both Chesterfield and Locked Breech climbed into the chariot and the vehicle drifted away from the house.

“Red, they’re going to set it down in the field.” Full Wing said.

“Got it.” Red Field watched the door of the barn as the chariot flew back over the fence.

Red Field’s heart rate slowed as he returned the rifle to safe. He gave a sigh of relief at not having to shoot a grandfather for accidentally spotting trespassers. He kept watch over the barn with his binoculars as the chariot landed behind him.
Two more dogs, much younger than the first two, walked to the barn from the farmhouse. Thankfully, the chariot was out of sight and these dogs seemed much sleepier than the other pair. They too went into the barn.

“Are we good?” Full Wing asked. Red Field nodded as he slid off of the rock and they made their way back to the chariot.

Locked Breech allowed Blackout to fly them back to base. He sat in the copilot’s seat and undid his vest. Chesterfield stretched out on the floor of the chariot and closed his eyes. Wildcat leaned against the side of the chariot with his legs ahead of him.

“Well that didn’t work.” Said Wildcat.

“Sure didn’t.” Chesterfield said. “Wasn’t too fun hanging there with some dog with a Molot right below me.”

“It was a terrible plan to begin with.” Locked Breech said, stuffing his vest under his seat. “That café was easy enough, but we can’t be dropping into compounds with armed guards with an hour of prep work. We should have just waited and done some actual recon. I should have called it off before we left.”

“Princess ain’t big into waiting.” Said Blackout.

“Yeah well if it’s mission safety or her patience I know what we’re choosing. We’ll go back tonight, or tomorrow morning.” Locked Breech said.

“What is her rank? What authority does she have?” Asked Wildcat.

“She has full authority.” Said Locked Breech. “Hope she’s smart enough to leave the tactical planning to the officers though.”

“Be funny to see what happens when she crosses paths with Bombs Away.” Said Blackout.

“I doubt that’d be very pleasant to watch.” Locked Breech said. He looked back at Red Field and Full Wing. “Solid work on that spotting, both of you.”

“That shadow thing. I didn’t even think of that.” Chesterfield added. “You definitely saved us back there.” He held up his hoof to Red Field for a brohoof. “That's the way Red.”

“Thanks.” Red Field said, giving Chesterfield a brohoof. "I'm looking out for you guys."

Luna exited their barracks as they landed.

“Impressive expediency.” She said. “Any trouble?”

Locked Breech climbed out of the chariot and shook his head.

“We didn’t move on the target, they had-”

“What was the problem?” Luna asked, dropping her kind intonation.

“The farm had at least two guards, we were not in a position to drop in and capture the target without alerting them.”

Luna cocked her head at him.

“Two? Is that an issue for you?”

“We didn’t have the capacity to capture him without firing on the guards.” Said Locked Breech.

“Is the terrain poor for a hot extraction?” She asked. Locked Breech paused, realizing Luna did not understand why they’d aborted the mission.

“We can return tonight and capture the target. We did not have time or the situational control to proceed without harming anyone.”

“Oh.” Luna raised her eyebrows. She looked back at the chariot. “You say you can return tonight?”

“Yes madam.” Locked Breech said.

“Very well, make the necessary plans and be ready to move as soon as possible.” She said.

“Yes madam, of course.” Locked Breech pointed to the barracks. “Get some rest team.”

“I’ll send my assistant Nacht with you.” Luna said as the ponies disembarked past her. “He is a capable soldier and he’ll help with the extraction.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re a closed unit, we can take care of this.” Locked Breech said.

“He is an eminently cooperative operator; he’ll only augment your force for this mission.” Luna said. Locked Breech gave her a listless nod.

“All right. We’ll need him to be ready by 2230.”

“Certainly.” Luna said. “I assure you he will be of great aid.”

Locked Breech did not reply, but followed the rest of Recon into the barracks.

“Are we really taking that weirdo with us?” Asked Blackout once they’d returned to their room. Locked Breech shook his head and laid down on his cot.

“She’s pissed we didn’t shoot those dogs and get the guy right then. I’m not going to piss her off twice in thirty seconds. She’s under a different R.O.E. than what we’re used to.” He said. “Best thing is to let command deal with that at some point and just let her have her way.”

“So, we’re stuck with that guy for the op?” Chesterfield asked. Locked Breech sighed and pulled the blanket over his legs.

“We’re keeping him in the vehicle the whole time, tell him he’s security. Right now let’s just get some sleep.”

“Roger that.” Chesterfield said. Recon returned to their beds and soon all were asleep.

Red Field felt a bit better after sleeping. He awoke at 2200 with a severe hunger and devoured most of an MSRP before the rest of Recon arose. Though almost a day had passed since Recon had kidnapped Lambchop, Red Field felt as if only a few hours had gone by. His skin itched from sweat and he wished he could take a shower. But the other ponies awoke before he'd discarded the wrapper to his MSRP.

Blackout went to the planning table but Locked Breech, who was changing the battery in his radio, shook his head.

“We’re doing exactly what we did before, but hopefully without a bunch of dogs waking up.” He replaced the cover on the radio and picked up his backpack. “Load up everypony.”

“Okay then, meat farm kidnappers, take two.” Said Wildcat.

“Always love retrying stuff after it doesn’t work.” Said Blackout. He picked up his rifle and tossed his vest over his shoulder. “Bombs Away better get Luna out of here soon and let us do our jobs.”

“Hope this one goes better than before.” Chesterfield said.

Red Field hadn’t even changed since they’d returned to base. He pulled his ghillie suit tight to his body and adjusted the collar. He could smell his sweat already starting to molder.

Locked Breech motioned to the door.

“You can finish gearing up on the way over. I want to be ready to shove off as soon as possible in case that Nacht guy is late.” Locked Breech turned to the sniper team as they walked out of their room. “Same positions as earlier, but make sure you’re suppressed. Same R.O.E but take them out if you have to. The Princess wants this done and we’re not going back a third time.”

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field, not at all comfortable with murdering a farmer over an Alicorn’s impatience.

“Good evening sirs.” Nacht stood next to their chariot. He wore a version of their CCUs, though his was in the same dark blue pattern as Luna’s outfit.

He was unarmed.

“Good evening.” Said Locked Breech. “We were planning on having you remain with the chariot to provide security.”

“The Princess would like for me to accompany you inside of the farm and help you with extraction.” Said Nacht.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Said Locked Breech.

“The Princess was very clear in her instruction regarding supplementing your entry team. Either I will join you or I will notify captain Fo and allow him to send his best dog.”

“No, that will not be necessary.” Locked Breech said. He took a deep breath though his nose before speaking again. “You must understand that we do not typically allow outside persons to join our teams.”

“Then allow me to demonstrate my capability, Captain Breech.” Nacht said.

“Do you have a gun?” Blackout asked.

“I thought it best to allow you to give me one to standardize our loadouts.”

“Of course you did.” Blackout said. He unholstered his hoofgun and thrust it to Nacht. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Yes.”

Nacht took the weapon and remained passive as Locked Breech gave him two extra magazines.

“You’re to stay behind myself and my team when we enter. Do not fire unless I explicitly authorize you to.” Said Locked Breech.

“Captain there is no need to attempt to hamstring me.” Said Nacht, sounding somewhat bored. “I will follow you and act only on your command.” He tucked the hoofgun into his uniform. “Are we ready to leave?”

“Yes.” Locked Breech said. “Take a seat near the back.”

Nacht sat beside Red Field, saying nothing. Red Field could hear Blackout and Wildcat whispering to one another in the seats across from them. They were looking out at the forest beneath them, but he knew they were talking about Nacht.

Red Field was pretty sure Nacht could hear them too.

“Red, you and Full are going to that same rock." Said Locked Breech. "Chess you’re with me again. Cat and Black are holding the chariot. Once we get the target, we’re bringing him to the yard. We might raise some alarms if we don’t muzzle him fast so be ready for a fight.” He pointed at Red Field with this last sentence. “Forever one team, right?”

“Forever one team.” Repeated everypony but Red Field and Nacht.

“Red?” Full Wing poked him. Red Field looked up. Everypony was looking at him.

“Yeah.” He said.

“What’s our motto?” Asked Wildcat.

“Forever one team.” Red Field said. The ponies nodded and Red Field felt the chariot start to descend.

“Don’t forget that when you’re watching out for us.” Blackout said as the sniper team climbed out and into the grass. Red Field and Full Wing walked out into the field and the chariot lifted off.

They took fifteen minutes to find the same rock. A mass of clouds weakened the light of the moon and they stumbled a few times on their way. Red Field climbed up on the rock and drew his rifle. He’d remembered a night vision scope and had clamped the bulky gizmo just ahead of the primary scope of the rifle. He flicked the switch and the machine whirred.

A circle of sickly green lit atop the DMR.

The farm was deserted. A single light on the first floor of the farmhouse gave a meager glow and Red Field looked to the porch for the dog he’d seen earlier. The dog sat in the same rocking chair, his rifle lying across his lap. He was awake and he looked into the darkened farmyard with a bored frown. He was Red Field’s only target and Red Field lowered the stadia of the reticule onto the dog’s chest. Red Field slowed his breathing and soon the crosshairs were slowly looping across his target.

“Got the same guy in sight, he’s on the porch. Awake. Only one in sight.” He said to Full Wing.

Full Wing relayed the message to the chariot, which had since slid over the farmhouse. Red Field watched as two ropes slid to the ground. This time, Chesterfield and Locked Breech slid to the ground without hesitation. They landed on the side of the house out of sight of the porch. The dog continued to look out over the farm. Nacht’s grey form, almost invisible against the dark backdrop, swung out of the chariot and down the rope. He landed beside the two UATs without disturbing the dirt at their hooves. Locked Breech pointed to the back door of the farmhouse and Chesterfield knelt to pick the lock. Locked Breech watched one corner of the house and Nacht slid to the other.

“How’s the guy out front?” Asked Full Wing.

“Good, he’s not moving.” Said Red Field. Nacht stood on the corner of the house closest to the porch. He stood on two hooves and had an experienced grip on the pistol. His dead eyes stared ahead. Red Field worried a bit for the drowsy dog. Chesterfield opened the door and tapped Locked Breech’s shoulder. Without any notification, Nacht turned and joined the two at the open door. Red Field watched first Chesterfield, then Locked Breech, then Nacht step into the darkness.

The dog on the porch continued to gaze into the night while the UATs broke into his house. A moth brushed Red Field’s cheek as it sought the dim glow of the night vision. The scope dipped while Red Field clenched his jaw. The dog yawned as the crosshairs returned to his chest.

“Red, is that guy still there?” Asked Full Wing.

“Yes.” Red Field said irritably. The moth was flitting around his ears and Red Field writhed inwardly as the dusty insect bumped his skin.

“Keep an eye on him. They’re about to grab the target and they might make some noise.”

“Okay.” Red Field slowed his breathing and took the rifle off of safe. The farmhouse remained dark. The moth drifted in and out of Red Field’s ear and he was on the verge of stabbing at it with his hoof.

The dog stood. He arched his back as if he was listening to something.

“Shit, he’s-” Red Field began. The dog bolted into the house. “Fuck he’s going into the house, I don’t have eyes on. He’s in the house, he’s alerted to something.” All three ponies bolted out of the back door. With them was a tall diamond dog with a bag pulled over his head and his arms zip tied behind his back.

“Red watch for that guy. They’re coming out.” Full Wing said.

“I can see that.” Said Red Field, sweeping his scope from the open door to the front porch. The ponies inside the fence ran toward the ropes hanging beneath the chariot, which had drifted a few meters from the house. Red Field immediately saw they couldn’t climb back up with such a large dog. Locked Breech saw this too and waved for the chariot to land.
The chariot was still two meters off of the ground and Locked Breech and Chesterfield were hoisting up their target when the older dog ran out of the door behind them. He saw the two UATs and lifted his rifle.

Red Field let out his breath and the crosshairs settled on the dog.

A burst of dark blue magic gripped the muzzle of the dog’s rifle. Nacht had been hiding against the wall of the house and even Red Field hadn’t seen him. Nacht’s horn glowed for only an instant as he took hold of the gun. He whipped the rifle upward and the front sight struck the dog in the face. Red Field’s eyes narrowed as he winced. The grandfather dog fell against the wall of the farmhouse and Nacht turned for the chariot.

Wildcat had grabbed their target by the scruff of his neck and managed to drag him into the vehicle. Locked Breech and Chesterfield grabbed Nacht’s fore hooves and pulled him up as they lifted off. Red Field looked back at the grandfather laying by the door. He was holding his face.

The chariot ascended sharply, throwing a small dust storm into the air. Lights appeared in the windows of the farmhouse and Red Field heard barking as the chariot shot toward them. The vehicle created a crater in the grass as it lowered over the rock.

“Get in, we gotta go.” Said Wildcat as Red Field and Full Wing jumped in. Red Field stepped back to his seat and started to strap himself in as they pulled away. The meat farmer lay in the middle of the chariot and Chesterfield had his hoof dug into the dog’s back.

“Keep that guy secure.” Locked Breech called. "We're out of here."

A burst of gunfire banged into the side of the chariot and everypony ducked.

“Fucker's firing at us.” Blackout shouted. “Red, hit him.” Red Field swung his DMR up and looked back at the farm.

The chariot swayed as they banked and Red Field pushed his support hoof against the frame of the door to steady the rifle. He caught sight of the dog firing at them. The chariot had already put two hundred and fifty meters between them and the grandfather.

His aim was off by several degrees since he hadn't adjusted from his first shot. Blood ran down the dog’s head from where the sight had struck him. The sniper waited and the dog fired again. The bullets missed the chariot and Red Field watched the tiny figure’s arms shake as the recoil knocked him around.

They were now four hundred meters away and the Molot's sight would obscure the entire chariot.

“Red hit him.” Blackout shouted. The ground around the farmhouse was illuminated sharply as the occupants turned the lights on. The old dog’s night vision would be gone with such a sudden burst of light. Red Field watched as two more dogs bolted from front door. The old dog was still looking in the chariot’s direction, but he lowered his rifle. The other two dogs began barking at him. Red Field saw him shake his head.

Red Field slid the rifle off of the door frame.

“Hey, we’re still in range!” Blackout shouted.

“He’s not going to fire anymore.” Red Field said, taking his seat beside Nacht.

“What?” Blackout asked.

“We’re gone.” Locked Breech said. “Black, keep your eyes forward.”

Blackout stared at Red Field, in his eyes Red Field saw a mixture of shock at Red Field’s disobedience, and disgust at Red Field’s unwillingness to kill a dog who posed no threat to them. Red Field stared back, willing to answer for what he knew Blackout would bring up when they returned to base.

I’ve often wondered what would have happened if Red Field had fired on the old dog, whose name was Bonemeal. I have wondered how such a story might differ from this account of Red Field. Certainly Red Field would have killed the dog, at least within a few shots. I am curious as to why Luna's assets did not flag Bonemeal in their search for the Conspiracy. In any case, Bonemeal soon fell to his death after being knocked off a cliff by one of the infamous and unpredictable gusts of wind characteristic of the mountains of Mohs.
I decided perhaps Gale Force might have been saved, and perhaps more lives might have been spared, had Red Field killed Bonemeal as they pulled away from the farm. But no matter how many alternative stories I consider, Red Field’s always ends the same way. A tragedy, as I have come to understand it, is the fulfillment of a person’s most consistent traits.
Red Field’s story would have been a tragedy, even if he’d never left Rockvale.