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.

Next Chapter: Chapter 16 Estimated time remaining: 7 Hours, 39 Minutes