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.

Next Chapter: Chapter 13 Estimated time remaining: 9 Hours, 52 Minutes