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

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

“I seem to recall you quitting.”

“I’m sorry sir, I mean to return.”

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

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

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

Red Field took off around the lap.

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

He started to run across them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red Field limped into the cafeteria. Pushing wide the doors revealed a mostly empty room, with a few soldiers sitting on the perimeter tables. Red Field approached the cook behind the counter.

“I’d like a meal please. It was authorized by Blitzkrieg.”

“Yeah, you look like you could use one.” He said with a grin. He handed a tray of extremely soggy hay over the counter.

“Don’t eat it fast, if you puke, you’re mopping up.” Red Field walked to the nearest table and seated himself. He quietly downed the food, returned the tray to the stack and left the cafeteria.

Red Field spent a few minutes outside of the door, ensuring he’d arrived at the correct destination. The tiny stenciled “6” was hard to read in the scant light above the door and he double checked the number before stepping inside. The lights were on, and all three ponies were in their respective beds.

Siplinski was the first to look up.

“Well look who it is!” He said. Bren looked over the side of his bunk.

“Red Field?” He cocked his head at Red Field. Catching sight of the returned cadet, Black Rain turned over on his bed and muttered a phrase containing the word “fuck.”

“What are you doing here?” Asked Siplinski, rising out of his bed.

“Yeah, I thought you quit.” Said Bren. “Flash told us you and that other fucker got kicked out before the end of the first test.” Red Field nodded.

He made his answer as solid as he could.

“I came back.” Before either Siplinski or Bren could reply, Black Rain rolled over in his bed and faced Red Field. He seemed impatient and his question came with a perfectly cynical shrug.

“Why?”

Red Field cleared his throat and attempted to square his stance.

“I want to be a soldier.” He said proudly. This declaration was greeted with silence. All three stared at him and Red Field became aware that perhaps they were not as excited as he was. He thought for a better explanation.

“Uh, well, you’re kinda an asshole.” Siplinski said finally. Red Field felt his cheeks redden and he bowed his head to this.

“Ding ding!” Black Rain said.

“What changed?” Red Field looked up to Bren, who had swung his legs off of the bed and now sat facing him.

“I’ve never done anything tough or tried to push myself in anything besides academics. I want to learn to do something besides think. I just took a physical fitness test that qualifies as the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted in my life. Up until this afternoon I would have given up after the first step.” Red Field braced himself against the side of the bed. “I’m not in shape and I know nothing about the army. But I want to change that.” He looked to his hooves. “And I’m sorry that I was a complete idiot to you before, I don’t know if you want me back, but I would like to rejoin your squad. You guys seem like a good group.”

All three were silent and Red Field started to explain more.

“What division are you?” Red Field looked up to Bren, who was studying him. “What are you looking at?”

“Cavalry.” Siplinski said. “If he missed the first two tests then he has to be Cavalry.”

“Yeah, I think that’s it.” Red Field said.

“Okay then, what branch are you thinking?” Asked Bren. Red Field had no idea about this additional subset and he admitted his ignorance. Siplinski laughed and Red Field heard Black Rain snort in disgust.

“This is the second smallest barracks in Gale Force.” Said Bren. “We haven’t won any team competitions in a long time.” He looked back at his squadmates, then back to Red Field. “And we’re not going to be dominating the battlefield with three guys. We’re not big enough to be picky about new members, and we were all pretty fired up to have gotten anypony in Dispersion.” Bren narrowed his eyes at Red Field. “But you’re a fucking asshole, and we don’t need fucking assholes.”

Red Field’s mouth went dry.

“Sip, what do you think?” Asked Bren, not breaking his gaze with Red Field. Red Field waited as Siplinski rose out of his bed and stood by Bren. He looked down at Red Field. His mouth twisted a bit and he bobbed his head in thought.

“We don’t need him.” He said with a dismissive shake of his head. “So why don’t we hold on to him and see how he does?” Red Field anxiously looked to Bren.

“All right, I guess that makes sense.” Bren said. “Rain, what about you?” All three looked to the supine unicorn. Soft snoring sluggishly rose from the blanketed soldier and Siplinski chuckled.

“Guess that’s a yes.” The red unicorn said with a shrug. Red Field extended his hoof.

“I want to thank you for-”

“Sure.” Bren said, then walked back to his bed and jumped up onto mattress. Siplinski did the same and Red Field was left standing.

“Sirs.” The two looked up. “I’m sorry for before, but I’m going to put my all into this.” He hesitated as he weighed giving another explanation of himself. “I’m a highly analytical thinker, and so if you explained what I need to know to work here, I could assimilate this an-”

“Are you going to listen this time?” Bren asked.

“Absolutely.”

Four hundred and sixteen total soldiers comprised Gale Force Company. These soldiers were divided into the divisions of Airborne, Urban Assault Teams, and Cavalry on an approximate distribution of twenty percent, sixteen percent, and sixty four percent, respectively. Each division comprised several different branches.

Red Field learned that Cavalry was divided into support, medical (nopony wanted to be a part of that branch, Siplinski explained, because they had an extra three months of medical training and they didn’t get any cool weapons) and finally “cloppers”. Both Siplinski and Bren advised Red Field to become a clopper, since he wasn’t particularly suited to hauling the heavy support gear around. Also, since Clopper training was the most basic and failed the fewest number of cadets,

Red Field agreed to make this his goal.

Beyond divisions, Gale Force was split into two separate teams, which were each a mixture of the twenty barracks. The purpose of the teams was to allow more versatility in conducting operations, since both teams could act independently. This organization also generated a predictable amount of team pride, as both teams faced off against one another in a giant war-game once a year. Because of this competition, each team would attempt any possible larceny of cadets to swell their ranks for the battle. Red Field had never known any such pride in his life and he became determined to devote himself to Team Two.

After learning a few vulgar acronyms and how to avoid being singled out for a shitty performance during training, Red Field finally asked his comrades about themselves.

“I’m Cavalry, but I’m at the top of the group.” Siplinski said.

“Yeah, Sip’s been doing this for a while.” Red Field looked up to Bren. “I’m Cavalry too, but I’ve only been here two years.”
They looked over to the sleeping black unicorn and Siplinski chuckled.

“Rain’s Cavalry too, but he’s support.” Said Siplinkski. “He’s also a hardass so don’t take anything he says too personally.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about him.” Bren said. He yawned and checked his watch. “Should head to bed, you’ve got what, another run tomorrow?” Red Field’s legs throbbed. Yet he didn’t so much as think to complain to his newfound brothers.
Siplinski tossed him a rolled-up blanket and told him to pick any bunk. Red Field climbed atop the squeaking metal bunk that sat beside Siplinski’s and laid down. Bren switched out the lights and they fell into darkness. Red Field heard the soft snoring of Black Rain mingled with the chorus of crickets outside the barracks.
He closed his eyes and began to review the facts of Gale Force again. He felt something press his side. Siplinski stood beside his bunk.

“Brohoof.” Siplinkski whispered. “You’re one of us now.” He held up his hoof. Red Field lifted an unsure hoof and gave Siplinski’s a tap. Siplinski knocked his hoof into Red Field’s, producing a hollow clop. “Haha great.” Siplinski walked back to his bunk.

Red Field returned to contemplating Cavalry and quickly felt the exhaustion of the day convert into sleepiness. Yawning, he rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket around his body. His hoof still tingled from the forceful brohoof.

Red Field’s eyes hadn’t closed before his bunk rattled.

“Get up, twenty minutes to Beast.” Bren didn’t wait for a response and kicked the bunk again. “Let’s go.” Even after he threw off the covers, Red Field still felt wrapped in the invisible blanket of sleepiness.

Both Siplinski and Black Rain were gone and Bren stood waiting at the foot of the bed. Red Field swung his legs off of the bed and rubbed his sleep-masked face. However, his tightened legs did not extend as far as they typically did and he nearly toppled from the bunk.
Red Field sucked in a sharp breath as a tendon along his inner thigh sharply constricted.

“That’s lactic acid, you get that after a hard workout.” Bren said. Red Field’s shoulders and legs protested the unplanned work by curtailing his steps and forcing him into an awkward trot. “You’ll have plenty of time to stretch out before your run.”

Red Field wasn’t giving up. But as followed the Bren to the cafeteria with his stilted gait, he wondered what he would do. He had reached his physical limit yesterday, what would happen if he reached it again?

The other cadets around Red Field began to notice him. He pretended nothing was amiss. He knew everypony was intensely curious about the unicorn that had mysteriously unquit. Bren thankfully shuffled him out of the cafeteria after a fast meal. Once outside, Bren turned to Red Field. At first Red Field was afraid Bren would mention the embarrassment that would await his return to the group. However Bren seemed more concerned with the possibility of Red Field quitting again.

“It’s just a time trial. You need to come in before seven minutes. That’s not too hard if you don’t go out too hard. Don’t say anything to the instructors, they’re all older guys from the other squads and so they’ll fail you for anything.” Red Field nodded, he would let them sever a limb before he spoke a syllable. Bren looked to the gate of the compound. “Okay yeah you should get going.” He pushed Red Field toward where the first few cadets were gathering. “Just, don’t say anything.” Red Field jogged for the group to demonstrate his confidence to Bren. He was not quitting, OR failing. However his sore body slowed his enthusiasm and he compromised to cantor the rest of the way.

“This everybody?” Asked the orange instructor from the first day. About thirteen cadets had gathered around two sergeants. Red Field stood near the back of the group and silently awaited his assignment. The second sergeant, an older white pony, counted them.

“Yep, let’s head out.” Without a word of explanation, the pair of soldiers started to jog out of the compound. The cadets, having since realized that Gale Force training ran on the concept of “just follow”, trailed obediently after them. Red Field had reached them just in time to begin the run.

The gravel road ran up the hill and into the darkened forest. They had just slipped under the leafy canopy when one of the instructors turned and faced the cadets. Jogging backwards, he spoke over the gentle thrash of hooves through undergrowth.

“Day one of Beast is a one mile time trial. Who here is going to be a medic?” A few cadets gave affirmative responses and the soldier nodded. “Your goal is going to be five forty, Gale Force ain’t big on slow ass medics.” Without looking, he sidestepped a stump and continued speaking. “We got any support here?” This was greeted by generally more enthusiastic affirmation. “Great, you guys want to be hitting five thirty, don’t worry, once you get onto the battlefield your gear’ll slow you down.” Red Field was focusing on steadying his breathing and he did not reply to the next question regarding the “cloppers.”

“You guys just have to beat seven minutes.” The instructor sidestepped another stump. He started to digress into how completely weakassed you’d have to be to fail at clopping. Red Field had his head down and stared at the hooves of the cadet ahead of him. He was just going to make it to the mile for now.

Within a few minutes, Red Field looked up. The trees were carpeted by rich orange-green moss that also appeared in plush patches along the forest floor. Boulders and logs dotted the trail and caused the path to become a winding vein of colorful ponies that flowed around the obstructions. Red Field had never seen such a complex ecosystem and he would have liked very much to stop and observe for a time. But he could study the passing woods only through the blur of the painful run. The pony ahead of him halted and Red Field ground to a halt. A chorus of breathing rose up as the group of ponies attempted to regain their stamina. They had stopped at a meaningless point in the path.

“All right shut up!” Shouted the soldier. “You guys have,” he momentarily conferred with his partner, “three minutes before first group starts their trial.”

Red Field had only counted 167 seconds before the soldier barked for group one to assemble. The first two groups of cadets started on their way, leaving the would-be cloppers to some rest. However their rest passed quickly and as the final group of ponies vying for the lowest position in Gale Force set off, Red Field’s body immediately reverted to its former state of exhaustion.

They ran on no course and Red Field was soon last in the procession. The “path” dashed over logs, buckthorn and anything else that could possibly obscure one mile of distance in a thick forest. Within the first quarter mile his lungs tightened and he began to slip away from the group. Red Field bowed his head and galloped back to the group. He was not slipping away, he was finishing with the group.

The next quarter mile passed terribly.

As did the next.

Nonetheless, Red Field had not fallen behind, and had miraculously navigated to a central position within the group. The sun suddenly dropped onto their backs. They had come to a clearing about the size of a football field. The first two groups of ponies were waiting at the opposite end of the grassy field.

“Clock’s ticking, sprint to the finish cloppers.” Their guide broke away from them and pointed to where the other cadets stood. Instantly, the ponies around him began to gallop, and Red Field was nearly ejected from the speeding mass. He quickened his pace and managed to keep near the rear of the formation. They were midway into the final stretch when the leg of the pony behind Red Field hooked around his leg. The world reeled as Red Field jackknifed into the grass and the sound of hooves began to leave him.

His spell of endurance was broken and his lungs were now parched and raw. He dizzily tried to push himself up. Suddenly something struck him from behind. A hoof frantically pounded his back.

“Get up, get up let’s go!” Said a desperately exhausted voice. Somepony half-grabbed, half-thrust him onto his hooves. Red Field looked to his right. A deep orange earth pony was galloping alongside him. They ran for the finish line.

The instructor stood waiting for them.

“Six fifty three, six fifty four.” Red Field staggered past the sergeant and immediately dropped to a dreamy walk. His stuporous trance took him to the edge of the forest. His vision flattened and the peculiar taste of pea hung in his mouth. He paid no attention to anything but the grass passing beneath his hooves.

He had just wiped the last of vomit from his mouth when the instructor shouted.

“Form up!” Red Field spat and shuffled toward the sound of the instructor. The rest of the cadets were forming into a lumpy group near the finish line about ten meters behind him. Red Field joined them. “This is Beast, you are Cavalry.” Said the orange pony who commanded their formation. Red Field pushed his way toward the front of the group. “When you hear ‘This is Beast’ you reply with ‘We are Cavalry’.” The cadets around him nodded and gave single syllabic acknowledgements of the limerick. He waited a moment, the shouted again. “This is Beast!”

“We are Cavalry.” The answer was comically disparate and sounded more like an appeasement than anything else. The sergeant laughed to himself and shook his head at the untrained ponies. “Jesus Christ, you guys get younger every year.” Red Field realized this was the same pony who had offered him the chess set in exchange for defecting to Team One.
“I’m Agent Orange.” The sergeant motioned to the other instructor, who was helping a cadet to his hooves. “That’s Agent White.”

The other instructor was appropriately named. As the snow white pony joined his cohort, Agent Orange swept his hoof over the group.

“That out there is Macmillan woods, that’s where we’re going to make you into soldiers.” A few of the ponies looked back at their future training grounds, but Red Field kept his eyes focused on the two unicorns. He would find a map of the forest and commit it to memory as soon as he could.

“Don’t worry.” Agent White spoke now, his voice lacked the thick, sharp thread of aggression and he sounded at least a decade or so older than Agent Orange. “You guys are going to get to know Macmillan soon enough.”

“Heh, yup.” Agent Orange said. “Today is the first step in becoming cloppers. You guys got the easy job, only requirements are not fucking anything up beyond belief.”

“Or, you know, injuring yourselves to the point where treating you would not be financially advantageous.” Agent White said. A few cadets laughed nervously.

“Gale Force Company is home to the strongest air force in all of Equestria, we get the Wonderbolts out here on a monthly basis to train our flyers.” Agent Orange said and looked over at Agent White. “EOD techs are what, mostly math and science majors from Cantorlot?”

“All of them have at least an undergrad in mechanical science or magic-based explosives.” Agent White said.

“They’re some of the smartest motherfuckers in all of Equestria, they’re going to be stopping IEDs and whatever else you guys find out in the field.” Said Agent Orange. “Urban Assault Teams are all capable of full ready position for at least twelve hours.” Red Field sensed the speech was headed to a derogatory ultimatum. “And then we have you guys. Cloppers. Most of you wouldn’t even hack it in college I’m guessing.” Red Field felt his resentment for Agent Orange already growing. “Cloppers are what?” He conferred with Agent White again. “Eighty percent of GFC?” Agent White shrugged. “Most of the company is guys like you.” Orange singled out a blue and red unicorn that stood near him. “What’s your name cadet?”

“Haystack sir.” Replied the anxious pony.

“Do you like taking orders Haystack?” Asked Agent Orange. “Well you will.” He said over the shy semi-agreement. He turned to the rest of the cadets. “You guys might not be smart, or strong. But you’re the first hooves on ground zero. You take orders from everypony. Air force can’t assault a bunker, EOD can’t defuse a wave assault.” He frowned in thought. “Well, I guess Urban Assault can do anything, but there’s not a lot of them. Anyway Cavalry are the ones who get it done. And even when air support pulls out and ordnance can’t rain hell, you guys will get it done. That’s because cloppers do it alone.” He finished with a certainty indicating that this was a key proponent of the philosophy of Cavalry’s lowest tier of troops.

Cloppers did do it alone.

Nopony found any water in the clearing and Agent White and Orange appeared unconcerned by this.

Sixteen down and backs came after the run. Red Field figured the heavy gallops to and fro across the field were some sort of short twitch muscle conclusion designed to supplement their previous mile and would complete the day. He just finished his sixteenth repetition and was catching his breath when Orange shouted for the cadets to get their asses over to him.

“All right, now you guys are warmed up.” He said to the mess of sweat-soaked ponies. “Now’s when the workout begins.”

Red Field’s heart pounded somehow faster. They weren’t done.

The great glowing globe of sun skittered sluggishly through the deep, cloudless expanse of blue sky as the cadets engaged in their first day of Beast. They ran another mile, this time in single file. The shade of the woods was worthless to the overheated ponies that weaved around the trees. They returned to the clearing. Red Field felt sick now, his stomach reeled with every step and he began to worry for his health.

“All right all right form up.” Agent Orange waited as the exhausted ponies grouped together yet again. “This is your first day, so we’re going easy on you and bringing you water. But after today it’s going to be your responsibility to bring a canteen.” The scintillating tinkle of magic cut through the air. Red Field looked into the sky. An olive-green chariot flew over the trees and descended toward them. It towed a blue plastic basin the size of a hot tub. “Oh shit, good timing.” Said Agent Orange.

The green vehicle touched down before them. The cadets, mad with thirst, bolted to the basin. Red Field was crushed between two Pegasi but he still gulped and bit into the water. On a less desperate day, Red Field might have made a comment about the dull taste of rust in the water, or asked about the lining of the container, which he worried might contain bisphenol. However his throat was swollen with thirst and he pulled in the water as fast as he could.
The surface of the water began to dip and all of the cadets leaned down to drink more. Red Field felt his hooves leave the ground as the two ponies pinching him leaned forward. His face plunged underwater, then his body somersaulted in after him. The chilly grip of the water felt good, but as Red Field burst to the surface, he heard the angry shouts of the other cadets. They curtly him why the fuck he was getting his sweat in the goddamn water; Red Field saw an oily layer of sweat originating from his soaked body filming over the water.

Before he could stammer an explanation, Agent Orange shouted for the cadets to form up. Everypony immediately abandoned the basin. Red Field sloshed after them.

He pushed his way into the group, water trickling down his mane. A few ponies shoved him away from them and he miserably perceived his newfound reputation. Day one of Beast was rapidly approaching a singularity of discomfort. Agent Orange was asking them to pipe the fuck down as Red Field unhappily took his place near the front of the group.

“Cadets, this is Lieutenant Commander Flashpoint.” Said Agent Orange.

Flashpoint’s body was a slate grey, what could be seen of it. He wore an immaculately fitted uniform that was speckled with digitalized forest tones. The outfit ran all the way to his grey hooves, which ended in black, anodized horseshoes. A single strip of obsidian sliced through his pewter mane. His nose was a solid chunk of greyed marble cut into an almost perfect ninety degree angle. The stallion’s icy blue eyes slid over the cadets.

“Class of Five Five Six, I am the head officer of Beast. While Agent Orange and Specialist White will be leading your daily exercises, I will be overseeing your progress.” A chill settled on Red Field. Flashpoint’s voice wasn’t rough or booming like any of the other instructors, nor was it rumbling and deep like Lewerc’s. The words were wrapped in a slightly nasal, and midrange octave; Flashpoint sounded like he was Red Field’s age. “However, despite my distance from you, rest assured that I will be intimately involved with your training. I’ll be enforcing infractions. This is your only warning: refusal to complete any exercise will result in immediate expulsion from this program.” He noticed Red Field’s overhydrated condition and walked over to where Red Field stood. Flashpoint was only centimeters taller than Red Field, and their eyes met.

“Cadet, please explain why you are wet.” A few snickers came from the ponies around them and Red Field anxiously thought for the most professional response possible.

“You see sir, I er,” Flashpoint waited without a word, “I was caught between two other ponies and as they leaned forward to- to drink, they pulled me in.”

“You were incapable of drinking via extension of your neck?” A few more chuckles came from the ponies around Red Field.

“No sir, it was very crowded, I had to lean. The water was draining quickly as well.” Red Field said. Though his expression remained static, Flashpoint released a fantastically unamused sigh.

“Cadet, are you aware of how many vertebrae are within an equine’s neck?” He asked.

“Seven?”

Flashpoint was silent, and Red Field feared he had accidentally committed some sort of rank blunder by answering. Flashpoint released Red Field from the momentary interrogation and returned to his group address.

“Report each day to the main gate of the compound at 0700. You will continue this for four weeks and three days as you progress through your general training. At no point will you be allowed to skip or otherwise miss a day of training. Again, as the acting officer of Beast, I will not hesitate to throw you out.” His instructions ended without the typical obscene conclusion Red Field had come to expect of the officers of Gale Force and Flashpoint simply walked to the chariot. The group still stood solidly, waiting for the tight-lipped pony to depart.

“Flash’s our resident military genius.” The cadets looked to Agent Orange as the sounds of the chariot gearing up for flight hummed through the air. “Flash!” Shouted Agent Orange. Flashpoint looked up from the dashboard of the vehicle. “Any advice for the rookies?”

Flashpoint paused and again looked over the ponies. His eyes stuck to Red Field for a second, and Red Field tightened his stance.

“Professionalism. We are a military organization committed to professional conduct and our mission is to remain at the forefront of modern warfare.” Said the dusky unicorn. The chariot lifted off the ground seamlessly and arced a gentle U back toward the base.

“All right! That’s Flashpoint. He’s real, so, don’t fuck with him.” Agent Orange said with a laugh. “Let’s get back to clopping!”
Red Field was still looking over the trees. A drop of water, now uncomfortably cold, ran down his back.
He had no idea if he had just fucked with Flashpoint.

The sun stabbed dusty yellow beams of light through the forest. Red Field’s body ached, a deep, thrombosis sort of ache. They had run another mile, then done push-ups, then run a half mile, then finished with a sort of crawling exercise where the cadets couldn’t use their hind legs. Agent Orange had applied a crass title involving handicaps to the final exercise; most of the other cadets thought it funny, or at least acted like they had.

Red Field wasn’t sure.
As he mantled a fallen log and gingerly stepped over a gnarled root on the “cooldown run”, he appraised himself as entirely unsure of just about everything in his immediate future. He wasn’t sure if his body would hold up. The first day had pressed him to his limits, then shoved him over the precipice. He wasn’t sure if he had inadvertently displeased Flashpoint via their sparse interaction. And he was still unsure of many of the aspects of Gale Force Academy. And of course he was in no way sure of even passing the next day of Beast. His leg overextended and he groaned as it twitched. Regardless, Red Field was certain of the most important aspect of his immediate future: he was not quitting.
They ended at dinner time and the cadets were sufficiently hungering.

Agent White herded them away from the dining area and toward the showers.

“Go in here, scrub off, report to the mess hall.” He opened the door to a misting tiled cave and pointed inside. “See you at Day Two.” Red Field’s stomach grumbled, but his muscles relaxed. Hot water would be an excellent way to decompress.
The walls of the communal shower were lined by steel showerheads that were a salty grey from years of hard water. A drain the size of a storm sewer grate sat in the center of the slightly sloped floor, and the white clouds of industrial soap bubbles popped and lurched across every surface of the room.

Red Field saw the rest of the cadets already bathing. The aspiring Cavalry found places around the room and were soon lost in the rapt joys of showering. Red Field slunk to a corner and sat down. For the first time since his arrival at Gale Force, his body felt relief. The soft mumblings of the other bathers and gentle splash of the warm water slowed the world around him and his body loosened farther. Rest felt heavenly. The salty taste of sweat ran into his mouth. He found a pearl colored bar of soap propped up against the wall and began to lather.

A draft of uncomfortably cold air slithered over him.

Five ponies, all richly tanned champagne unicorns, and all very muddy, had entered. All five were nearly the same tone color, and Red Field saw that their Cutie Marks were each a dagger flanked by silvered tree branches. They were chatting and their rolling laughter bounced off of the thick stone walls. As they strolled to the nearest showerhead, the first of the group saw the cadets.

“Whoa, this Dispersion?” One asked. All five looked over the little group.

“No, this must be EOD out for their monthly shower.” Said another. They shared a raucous laugh. “You all cadets?” The ponies nodded and the unicorn spat into the drain. “Cavalry?”
More nodding.
The five, who had since commandeered soap and were washing themselves, poked one another and chuckled some more.

“Looks like we’re going to be seeing more deployment than usual.” One of them said with a guffaw. “Since it looks like Cavalry’s supplanting their desk warrior teams.”
The five continued washing and after a few awkward seconds, the cadets resumed their competition.

Red Field had crossed midway thru the room when something took his right fore hoof out from under him. He slipped and fell face first onto the drain. His head swam from the impact and he made out the muck and filth and whatever else washed off the bodies of soldiers, inches below the rusted grate. He heard laughter. Red Field picked himself up and looked about him. The other cadets were laughing at him.

A crushed bar of soap stuck to his right fore hoof and waited to stumble him again. He was dismally scraping the tallowed surface of his hoof when one of the tanned stallions laid a hoof on his shoulder. Red Field looked up at the burly pony. The pony’s eyes were a deep hazel, and he cracked his jaw mirthfully. The stallion didn’t look directly at him, but out at the group of cadets.

“See this?” The group of soldiers shook with laughter and the stallion thumped Red Field’s shoulder. “This is what we’re talking about.” He turned to Red Field. “What’s your mile?” Red Field was still disoriented and his voice came out in an innocent daze.

“Uh- let me think.” He said. The stallion laughed.

“Jesus Christ.” The stallion shook his head and chuckled darkly. “You’re in for a rough time kid.” He shook Red Field a little. “Don’t think that because you don’t look like him doesn’t mean you won’t fail.” He said to the rest of the cadets. “There’s a long way to fall in Beast.” All around Red Field rose the snorts and chortles of the other cadets. Red Field felt the stallion that held him laughing, and he felt the flow of tears, cool against the steaming shower water, running down his face. He pulled away from the soldier and marched toward the door. He didn’t bother to dry, and marched out into the warm twilight dripping wet.

He had stopped crying by the time he had reached the mess hall, and Red Field wrung his mane four or five times before he entered. Red Field was exhausted, despairing, and wanted to eat and go to bed.

The long tabled hall was crowded with soldiers and cadets and Red Field threaded into the long line running parallel to the counter. The night’s offering was a maple hay bake that tasted like a 3M product gone awry; although taste mattered little to Red Field. He only wanted to make it till bed. He found a seat at an unoccupied table and started to down his meal. He was two-thirds of the way through the unappetizing hay when a hoof landed next to him. He looked up.
Lewerc held a tray of his own.

“Mind if I sit here cadet?” Red Field shook his head and the commander seated himself beside Red Field. “So, how was your second official day?”

“Fine.” Red Field replied. Lewerc took a bite of hay. He turned to Red Field. The Pegasus spoke quietly, despite the overarching noise of the cafeteria.

“I spoke with your instructors, I informed them of your ‘special circumstances’ and they are going to hold you in probation.” He paused and made certain nopony around them was listening to them. “You’re going to need to act a lot better from this day forward cadet, we don’t tolerate poor discipline.” Red Field felt the tears perched at the edge of his eyes. He remained collected as Lewerc informed him of the terms of the probation, and how only a single behavioral violation would remove him from the program. Once he had finished, Lewerc asked if Red Field had any questions. He didn’t. “Good.” Lewerc wiped his mouth with a napkin and crumped the paper up. “You know, Blitzkrieg told me about your test last night. You’re lucky to be here. He doesn’t make exceptions, especially for ponies he doesn’t like. Consider yourself very lucky.”
Red Field rose out of his seat, as the first tear had fallen. He heard somepony call for Lewerc and the commander rose after him. Red Field bumped into someone as he made for the door.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. The other pony said nothing and stepped aside; Red Field looked up to see who at Gale Force could be so polite.

Flashpoint had no expression.

He stared down at Red Field. Red Field’s stomach turned as the other unicorn righted his carton of milk, which had tipped.

“Sorry.” Red Field repeated timidly. The officer who Red Field was fairly certain he had fucked with continued toward his table without saying a word. Red Field looked back as he reached the door. Flashpoint was sitting with some other officers. They were talking, and Flashpoint was saying something. He paused midsentence and looked up at Red Field.

He had absolutely fucked with Flashpoint.

He was crying before he reached barracks six. A few soldiers, on patrol, or just loitering or doing whatever the hell soldiers did noticed him, and Red Field heard their mumbles and sniggers. He didn’t care. He reached Barracks Six and peeked his head inside. The building was derelict and thus he entered without cleaning himself off.

Red Field climbed onto his bunk.

The tears were rolling now and the misery of the day pushed them out with a furor. Red Field lay on his side and began to sob. Gale Force Academy was everything he feared it would be. Nopony listened or cared or took two seconds to consider anything. He curled up like a foal and wept quietly. Red Field squeezed out his sorrow over the course of the next few minutes, and the blanket under his head had grown damp by the time he receded to sniffling. The room was more humid than the outside, and he had started to sweat. Red Field threw off his blanket. He felt sick.

The door whined open and somepony slunk in.

Red Field heard the indescribably annoying smacks of somepony downing a container of yogurt without a spoon.

“Mm.” The pony kicked the bed, jarring Red Field. “Mm.” Red Field rolled over and looked over the side of his bed. Siplinski’s red tongue snaked into a white carton bearing the emblem of a strawberry. He nodded to Red Field and gave another muddled “mm.” In a second he extracted his tongue from the container and smacked his lips. “So how was your first day?” Siplinski asked in his rapid cadence. He tilted his head at Red Field. “What’s wrong?” He asked, licking some yogurt from his nose.

“Just, hard day.” Red Field said shortly. Siplinski tossed the carton to a rusted garbage drum that sat on the back side of the wall. The paper cup bounced off of the rim and landed on the concrete floor with a wet thwap. Siplinski grunted and rolled onto his bunk. Red Field heard the unicorn settle himself onto the mattress. He said no more and neither did Red Field.

Bren returned to Barracks Six in half an hour. The blue Pegasus’ hooves were smeared with grease and he went to wash them at the small sink by the door. Red Field’s face had since lost its tearstained luster and he was staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep.

“Hey.” Siplinski said.

“Hey.” Said Bren as he lathered his hooves. “Just got off now, we had two broken axles and one of them almost sheared off a wheel.” The gushing water rumbled in the sink and Red Field’s minute drowsiness dissolved. “Rain’s trying to get a position with Maremont so he’ll be gone for a while.” Bren twisted the faucet and Red Field heard his wet hooves clack to the ground. “Where’s the kid?”

“Tired, rough day at Beast.”

Bren grunted, then walked over to Red Field’s bunk. He pulled himself level with Red Field.

“Hey.” Bren frowned at Red Field like he was an infant with a soiled diaper. “You get your ID?” He asked tiredly. “You’re going to need to get that, if you don’t-.” Red Field produced the little card and Bren glanced it over. “Okay good.” Bren went back to his bunk and laid down. Red Field’s mournful frown was returning when Siplinski jiggled his bunk again.

“Hey, how’d you get your Cutie Mark? You never told us.” He asked. Red Field heard Bren sit up as well.

“I was playing chess when I was a colt. It appeared at some point.” Neither of the two said anything. The door swung open and Black Rain strode inside.

“I placed thirteen out of forty five candidates.” He said. The dark stallion’s uniform was pristine, save for a few grease stains hastily swiped across the digitized sleeves. He started washing his hooves in the sink.

“That’s not bad.” Bren said. “That’s way better than most of the rest of the guys.”

“Yeah but,” Black Rain started to unbutton his jacket as he walked to his bunk, “I got a bunch of rewelds which fucked with me. Like I got got ‘em done, but they weren’t pretty.” He groaned as he slumped onto his bed. “How were the chariots?”

The three started to discuss their respective days. Red Field soon guessed that Bren worked as a mechanic and Black Rain was attempting to get a position in some sort of manufacturing with the oddly named “Maremont” unit. Red Field was laying on his side, roughly one third of his bottlenecked attention rested on the conversation, and the rest was occupied in his misery. His mind was sluggishly searching for an adage or truth with which to endure with. The other ponies were talking about their rival squad when Red Field heard his name.

“Your Cutie Mark.” Black Rain was leaning against the base of his bunk. “Let’s hear the story.” His impatient expression showed that his opinion of Red Field hadn’t gotten any better since last they spoke and Red Field took a moment to craft his statement.

“I got it playing chess, I’m not sure when exactly.” He cleared his throat. “I was looking for somepony to match me and I never felt it appear.”

“Was there like some troll you had to beat at chess to rescue your family?” Black Rain sounded serious.

“Uh, no.” Red Field said.

“You were just playing chess one day and that’s how you got your Cutie Mark? Just, playing a board game?” Asked Black Rain.

“Yes.” Red Field said quietly. A protracted pause descended as the other ponies evaluated this.

“So, what’s your talent?” Bren finally asked.

“Analytical perception and cognition. I’m good at solving problems that I’m educated on.” Red Field felt a smile on his face as he spoke. He loved talking about his talent and he even sat up in his bed a little bit. “I spent a while studying my mark, and I realized that it represents how I function best in an environment that runs on solid facts and end goals.” The sorrow of the day lifted and he spoke more freely. “I do very well when given information and time to process-”

“Yeah great.” Black Rain said. “You know that like, none of that matters in Gale Force right?” Red Field’s smile left him. Black Rain shrugged. “Look, I’ve seen some dumbasses make it here because they were strong and did what their COs said. But those guys are strong. You’re not.” The words brought reinforcement to the impression of the day and Red Field felt his eyes begin to swim again. Black Rain walked back to his bed and laid down. “Orange told me how you did today and,” He sighed, “Jesus Christ.” Black Rain pulled the blanket around his heavy frame, squeaking the metal bedframe. “We have PD tomorrow, let’s turn in early.”

“Shit, yeah. Sip, hit the lights.” Bren said. The room clicked into darkness and the ponies shifted themselves about in their beds. The chirping of crickets radiated through the walls and Red Field also heard soft pat of warm teardrops rolling from his snout and landing on the thin mattress. The only adage that came to mind was actually a mining proverb he had heard in Rockvale.

All the picks, plywood and pyro in the world won’t make a mine. Ponies make mines.

Up then, that proverb had meant nothing to him.

Endurance, dedication and intelligence wouldn’t make him a soldier, being a stallion would make him a soldier. And Red Field was not a stallion.

Red Field’s stomach hurt, his legs wobbled, and a miserable frown fixed to his face. He jogged alongside the rest of the aspiring cloppers toward another day of exertion. Agent Orange was describing the forest to them.
Red Field lent only a little attention to listening to retain the concepts and keywords; Agent Orange’s “lecture” was not particularly erudite.

“Lotta genders been reassigned in these trees.” Agent Orange galloped backward over a small boulder. “Lotta pussies been discovered here.” Red Field’s hoof swiped the granite and he staggered a few steps. “Beast is more than just getting thick. Take a look around you.” Red Field kept his eyes on the path. “This is the one place in Equestria where you can learn everything you need to know about being a soldier. You guys are going to be learning concealment, assaulting positions, doing land nav, and a whole bunch of other shit right here.”

“Also, it’s worth noting.” Agent White spoke now. “There are no venomous snakes or insects in this forest. But if you get hurt, it’s a long limp back to base. Or if it’s serious, we have an old stretcher at the course that your teammates can carry you back on.” The irony in the medic’s laugh was uncomfortably unamusing. Agent Orange shared in the laugh.

“But hopefully nopony gets hurt today.” The sleepy cadets didn’t offer an inquiry about the day and he continued after a brief pause. “We’re doing the ropes course.” Red Field’s stomach turned in instinctive terror.

The forest was primarily flat, with a few knolls rolling past the cadets. However the ropes course had been leveled and cleared. The clearing was about thirty meters square and ten or so logs were dug into the ground in a random pattern. Suspended from the logs was a predictable mess of dark brown ropes.

Red Field had never been exposed to any unreasonable heights in Rockvale, except once. On a class trip out to a Talie mine, he and the other students had been afforded the chance to peer down into the black abyss that held their prospective careers. The mine had been pitch black and Red Field stared and stared and stared into the chasm, trying to understand it. Then he had seen the tiny pinprick of orange that his teacher explained was a torch. The awful wash of petrifying relativity that accompanies grasping the magnitude of such a drop had imprinted itself in his mind. And after reading up on the correlation between intellect and degree of fear of heights, Red Field had come to terms with never pondering any heights that would allow him to double in speed before landing.

“Twenty meters high.” Agent Orange unlocked a rusted metal chest sitting beneath one of the logs. Red Field stared up at the ropes, which swayed in the morning breeze. He wondered what would happen when Agent Orange found out he would not be climbing. The sergeant hauled out a gnarled mass of harnesses and karabiners. He dumped the wadded materials to the ground and faced the cadets.

“Drop and gimme forty while I sort this out.”

As the group slowly pumped out pushups, Red Field began to hear that he was not alone in his fear.

“No way I’m going up there. I can’t keep my balance through all that.” The pony next to him said. Red Field’s snout bobbed into the dust, then rose upward as he looked at the course above him. About forty meters of suspended rope sashayed to and fro in the air; Red Field hadn’t even thought of how poor his own equilibrium was. He too was glad he wasn’t going up there.

“Right!” Agent Orange dumped the first freed harness down in the dust, the thick metal clasps clinked like a guillotine. “Who’s up first?” He asked the prone ponies. They sat up, but none volunteered. “Not talkative OR bold, Jesus, you wonder why none of you are going to make UAT.” He clopped his hooves. “Okay then!” He pointed to Red Field. “Thanks for volunteering, show the rest of these foals how it’s done.”

“N-no sir.” Red Field’s voice cracked. Agent Orange seemed prepared for this and shook his head as he started toward the balking cadet.

“Nope, can’t back out of volunteering.” He reached Red Field and jerked him to his hooves. “I’ll help you hook up.”

“N-no.” Red Field said. Agent Orange pushed him toward the harness.

“I said, you can’t un-volunteer.” The sergeant said. He picked up the harness and started to orient it over Red Field.

“I didn’t volunteer!” Red Field squeaked. Agent Orange dropped the harness onto Red Field.

“One more time cadet and you’re out.” A breeze lifted some of the slate colored dust up against Red Field’s hooves and he realized that everypony was staring at him. He swallowed and became mute from shame. Agent Orange snapped the clasps onto him and tugged him toward the first pillar.

“Please.” Red Field whimpered. Agent Orange connected the harness to a rope which ran up the log.

“Okay!” Agent Orange addressed the spectating cadets. “We’re gonna be running this a couple of times today, slowest time gets dropped from Beast.” Red Field’s terror had already climaxed, and this new element of competition produced no response from him. “Head on up!”

The bent metal prongs serving as a ladder were flaking with rust; Red Field was so scared with the ascent that he only made the cursory assessment that they might be structurally deficient. Each time his hoof clinked against the metal, Red Field grew more and more numb. He rose up the pole like a mechanical infant, extending one leg, then the next. Once at the top, his terror grew into a storm.

The day was not particularly windy, but Red Field was now above the tree line and short bursts of wind ruffled his mane. He looked around the green fuzz of the leafy forest canopy. His eyes dipped. Red Field’s hooves grew moist and he clung to the pole. The cadets looked like small seated mice, and again the terrible relativity of a great height overwhelmed him.

“First set of ropes, timer starts once you get out there.” Agent Orange called up. A gust of wind caught Red Field and he realized he was covered in sweat. He looked forward and saw a single rope swaying before him. Above that was the cable to which the harness was connected. He had nowhere to go but forward.

Slowly raising himself up to the apex of the log, he eased his fore-hooves into the air. They caught the bobbing cable and he knit them tightly. He looked down at the seated mice. Then up at the rope. Red Field placed a shaking hoof onto the rope, which instantly jerked to the right. He flipped in response and the blood rushed to the left side of his face. Red Field stared down at the mice. The mice stared back.

The cable and rope distanced themselves more, and Red Field spread-eagled further. The world pulsed and throbbed to the beat of his galloping blood and Red Field realized he was whimpering again. Another cry of “Jesus Christ” rose up to him.

“Cadet! This is a competition, of which you are a part. Get your ass moving!” Agent Orange called up to him. Red Field’s mind grew numb to the degree in which he was essentially deaf, mute and blind to everything save the ambient notion of petrification. He icily slid a hoof forward, and the rope jiggled in response. He eased the next hoof forward. Eventually, he reached the next log and Red Field took hold of the wood.

“Cadet! That took you three minutes, for Christ’s sake, you better not take that long for the next section!” Agent Orange feigned exasperation, but Red Field heard the laughter in his voice. The numbness stoppered Red Field’s emotions and he looked ahead to the next section. It looked identical to the previous section, except that this rope was at chest height.
“Inverted climb, that means-”

Red Field knew exactly what it meant.

His mane became a forest around his vision and Red Field stared ahead toward the pole that pointed to the sky below him. Each time he plucked a hoof from the cable from which he was suspended like a bat, the entire rope swayed back and forth. Even through the haze of fright, which was deafening, Red Field could still make out the biting burns that the slowly passing rope left on his thighs. By the time he reached the log and clumsily reverted himself, the pain was so great that he had forgotten all about being afraid. The white skin had been scrubbed away by the rough, thatch-like weave and as he clung to the pole, the rough wood rubbed his wounds. He ground his teeth together.

“Cadet! Three more sections! You’re four minutes behind, hurry your ass up!” This time the laughter was easily audible, as the other ponies watched the struggling cadet scrape his leg and cry out.

Red Field grew numb to the numbness now. The fear became rote and the pain in his legs took precedence in his mind. His focus sharpened and he flew through the next few sections which were basic evaluations of varying forms of equilibrium. He was clamoring down the final log when Agent Orange greeted him.

“Jesus Christ cadet, my stopwatch-” Began Agent Orange.

Red Field jumped the last two rungs.

“Who is Jesus Christ?!” Red Field hadn’t even realized he was angry and the outraged question startled him almost as much as it startled Agent Orange.

“Wh-” Agent Orange blinked and took a step back as the demand hit him. “I,” he thought for a moment, “well I’m not sure. He makes a nice swear, that’s good enough for me.”

Red Field started to notice just how angry he was. The world tilted beneath his hooves and he felt sweat rolling down his body. He couldn’t feel the burns on his legs or even the notion that Agent Orange might fail him for impudence. Agent Orange took hold of him and started to undo the harness. Agent Orange shouted for the next cadet to ready up.

“Go for a mile run.” The harness lifted free of Red Field’s back and the cool air assuaged his sweaty suffocated skin.

“What?” Red Field asked.

“Go for a mile run. This is your only warning.” Agent Orange shouted for the next cadet to “get their ass up here.”

“What?” Red Field repeated. Agent Orange shoved him toward the treeline.

“You need to learn to can that attitude cadet, now get your ass on a run.”

Red Field had no idea how to calculate a mile. The woods were nondescript. There wasn’t a damned way he could accurately measure a mile in the foliage. His legs burned with each step. The climb had drained all of his stamina and he ambled along like a zombie.
Red Field had every right to be outraged and he exercised each with indignant relish.

Agent Orange had not given him adequate instruction, practically destroyed his performance by shouting obscenities every ten seconds and had finally sent him for a run for asking a legitimate question.

Red Field wondered if maybe he had asked whether or not Agent Orange had been able to see his the end of his colon from the position of his head, then the punishment would have made sense. But as always, it wasn’t about a rational process with Gale Force. Red Field jumped a log and decided to base his mile on time and head back in ninety or so seconds.

Something caught his hind leg and he jackknifed into the creeping Charlie. His face landed in a soft pile of what he hoped was mud and Red Field’s senses throbbed with the impact.

“Who the hell is this?” Whispered a voice behind him.

“The fuck?” Asked another.

Red Field was shaking from the fall as he started to rise up. Something grabbed him by the shoulders, flipped him over and clamped a hoof over his mouth. His captor dragged him back toward the log. The hooves gripping him were smudged green and brown and smelled like camphor. In a second, the pony shoved him into the mildewed crevice under the log. Two stallions lay under the log, one was a thin pony who wore a woodland outfit rimmed with fronds, and the other was a bulky mustang who was currently restraining Red Field.

“The hell is this?” The thin one asked.

“Red Field.” Red Field’s voice was a desperate, expiring sigh as the weight of the larger pony compressed his lungs. “I’m sorry for-” the soldier atop him again clamped a hoof over his mouth.

“Shit.” The thin pony whispered. “Contact rear.” Nopony spoke and the pair held their breath. Red Field heard nothing save the creak of poplars and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“Fuck.” Said the mustang. He rolled over and thumped the other pony. “You take the kid, I’ll button hook right, break contact. Secondary regroup location. Drop ten seconds after me.” He was still muttering curses as he quietly slipped out from under the log. The mustang was only about ten meters from the log when a long string of what sounded like mechanical flatulence rang out amidst the trees. The mustang bolted suddenly and vanished into the undergrowth.

“Dammit!” Whispered the other pony. “Go.” He rolled off of Red Field and shoved him out from under the log.
Red Field’s camouflaged captor galloped directly behind him, spurring him on like a jockey. Red Field sprinted through the trees as several more strings of popping and snarfing rattled the woods around them.
“Pull up here!” Shouted the pony as Red Field leaped a sunken boulder. Red Field frightfully clung to the side that faced away from the snarfs as the pony drew up against him. “Shit! Where’s the-” Something wet and viscous wapped into the rock before Red Field’s nose. As he recovered from his flinch, he saw a dollop of blue paint trickling down the grey slate. His captor swung around and suddenly pulled Red Field to his chest like a beach towel. “You’ll never take me alive!” The thin pony shouted to the unseen foes.

Red Field caught sight of about ten ponies peering out from behind trees and from under the carpet of undergrowth. They wore shaded gas masks and for a split second they stared at the strange white unicorn spread across the soldier. Red Field heard a loud pop over his ear and the gas masked ponies tightened themselves against the trees. Something hit his thigh, it stung like an oversize bee sting and he was just tilting his head to check the injury when another hit him, then seven, then twelve. In a moment a swarm of invisible, paint-filled bees assaulted him and he screamed. The pony wasn’t holding him anymore and Red Field fell to the ground in a stinging, whimpering ball.

“P-please stop, don’t, please.” All of the imaginable phrases regarding surrender and pleas for mercy were spilling from him as somepony yanked him to his hooves. He heard laughing, and beneath the multiple levels of fear, a part of Red Field was very unsurprised.

“Who the hell is this?” One of the ponies had removed his mask and it was cocked atop his head like a butyl medusa. He was looking into Red Field’s face, yet Red Field got the impression he wasn’t being spoken to.

“Goddamn.” Somepony pushed through the group of soldiers. It was the slim, frond-fringed pony that had first captured Red Field. His green suit was mottled and speckled with almost as many multicolored splats of paint as Red Field’s body.

“Yeah I don’t know. Motherfucker jumped our hide like a steeplechase and we figured he was onea you.”

“Not us.” Somepony said.

“Who the hell are you kid?” The frond-covered pony asked Red Field.

“What in the hell is going on here?” A rich green stallion who stood a head and shoulders over the other ponies pushed his way into the group. Red Field recognized Bombs Away as the commander caught his shoulder. “Who are you and how did you get here?”

“N-nothing sir!” He blurted out. “I mean, I’m-”

“Name, rank.” Said Bombs Away.

“I’m Red Field sir, I’m a Cavalry cadet. I was just out for a run and somepony tripped me. I’m sorry sir.”

“Cadet this is an Urban Assault Team; they’re out here training to conduct operations that will prevent soldiers like you from ever having to see combat. What in God’s name are you doing out here interrupting that training?”

“No sir nothing.” The attention of the group rested on him and Red Field began to stick under the pressure. “Nothing, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Where’s your training group?”

“I was out taking the ropes training, then I was told to run a mile. I was just trying to go back.”

“That explains it.” Bombs Away turned to the Urban Assault ponies. “Run it again.” He looked back to Red Field. “Cadet! Come with me.”

Neither spoke as they walked.

Gale Force Company’s commander led Red Field through the forest. The paint splattered across Red Field’s body was filming over and each step caused the scabbed liquid to reopen and drip down his body. Red Field itched horrendously.

Red Field had noticed a trend in the events of Gale Force: First he was assigned some difficult task which he failed, then he was reprimanded without adequate instruction on what to do on his next effort(various states of shock and terror were randomly interspersed). Nothing ever went well at Gale Force, so Red Field’s degree of surprise only rose a little when Bombs Away brought him back to the ropes course and flagged down Agent Orange to inform him of Red Field’s infraction.

“Bombs Away!” Agent Orange saluted his commanding officer. “We’re running the first of the ropes,” he noticed Red Field. A look of dread came to his face as he pointed to the paint-stained cadet. “Shit, did he-”

“We were running a basic evasion Sergeant. Your colt here broke in and turned it into a hostage rescue.” Bombs Away pushed Red Field toward Agent Orange like a dog he had found digging in his garden. “You weren’t supposed to be running anypony in that area today.”

“Apologies sir, he mouthed off and I just sent him for-”

“Not keeping a hoof on your cadets is no excuse for sending them off to interrupt the training of the other wings, sergeant.” Bombs Away said. “Deal with the infraction properly and don’t send any more of your ponies off into Macmillan on runs.”

Bombs Away walked back toward the forest. Both Red Field and Agent Orange stared after him, before Agent Orange grabbed Red Field by the shoulder.

“You get to administration back at base and let them know you fucked up cadet.” He said through his teeth. “And don’t you dare think about changing your story or I’ll throw your ass out of this program right fucking now.”

“Where is that?” Red Field asked. Agent Orange closed his eyes and sighed.

“Jesus Christ, it’s where you got your Goddamn ID.”

Agent White shouted for Agent Orange and he looked back to the training he was supposed to be administering. Another cadet clung to the top of the second pole in the course, paralyzed with fright and unwilling to budge. The orange stallion sighed and muttered another Jesus Christ and started toward his primary occupation. Red Field only stood for a few seconds this time; he was getting used to Gale Force and was learning to operate on an information-scarce basis.

The walk back to the compound at least gave him time to wipe off most of the paint and stagnate in his misery. The gooey paint smeared and soon Red Field ended up looking like a pony-shaped compress of tutti-frutti. Every hour dug him deeper into the pit of mistakes and inadequacies that he would have to eventually face up to if he actually made it through Beast.

He’d have to get fit; Red Field wasn’t sure if he was genetically viable for the degree of fitness that “clopping” would demand. Then he’d have to make an astounding turnaround in his interactions with his superiors; Red Field worried that first impressions were the only impressions in Gale Force and he would be relegated to indefinite disapproval from the officers and instructors.

Red Field reached the edge of the depression that sloped down to the base. He stopped and looked out over the buildings. Red Field thought back when he’d quit. He remembered standing outside of his home.

“He doesn’t want to be anything but smart.” He could still hear Cyrus' certain, hopeless words.

Red Field started down the hill. Nothing Gale Force threw at him could hurt more than the thought of going home and knowing those words were correct.
Red Field reached the green yurt of a building and politely knocked on the frosted glass window. A formal “come in” emanated from the door and Red Field stepped inside. The windowless room was dark and cool and Red Field took a few tentative steps forward.

“Uh, I’d like to report an infraction. I was told that I needed to-”

“I see, take a seat please.” As Red Field’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the gloom pulled away and he saw a lone pony sitting behind one of the desks. “What kind of infraction?” Asked Flashpoint.

The pressed plywood chair dug into Red Field’s back and the glow of a reading lamp that had seen far too many years of work illuminated the desk between the two. Flashpoint had pulled from a drawer a small, pink sheet and was now scribbling Red Field’s ID number onto the sheet with a ballpoint pen.

“Nature of your infraction?” Flashpoint was still writing.

“The,” Red Field hesitated and his tongue stopped in mid vocalization. “I was participating in the ropes course-”

“Which one?” Red Field hesitated again.

“The first one, we’ve only done one. I was atop one of the poles that we were to climb.” Red Field realized that he wasn’t sure where the infraction had occurred. “I wasn’t performing satisfactorily, and I had difficu-”

“Did you complete the course in the allotted time?”

“Yes, I think? I was first so I don’t know if my time was the-”

“Did you suffer a medical emergency during or after the exercise?” Flashpoint still hadn’t looked up from the pink page.

“No sir, I was just afraid of heights.”

“Cadet.” Flashpoint looked up at Red Field. Their eyes met and Red Field’s stomach turned as the dark stallion recognized him. “Please tell me what happened.” Red Field had no idea what he should confess, and Agent Orange would undoubtedly be on the lookout for any misreporting.

“I complete the course, and I, as I dismounted.” Red Field swallowed, drawing a bit of dust that was swirling around the lamp into his mouth. “And I spoke in a somewhat derogatory manner. I guess I-”

“Cadet, Gale Force is a military institution.” Flashpoint spoke abruptly. “We do not tolerate any form of indiscipline.” He stared directly into Red Field’s face, and Flashpoint’s blue eyes looked almost glazed under the glow of the lamp. “Not because we want to just stick to the rules and ruin anypony’s fun.” He took a sharp breath and continued to watch Red Field. “But because war, and the work of Gale Force tolerate no lack of discipline. You are here to receive training that could very well determine the result of life or death for you and your teammates. If you are serious about becoming a part of the Gale Force Company, you need to radically reevaluate the way you perceive authority. If this is not possible for you, then you are instructed to quit immediately.” Flashpoint hadn’t blinked and his eyes seemed to track every twitch of Red Field’s. “Cadet, this is your first and only warning.” Flashpoint looked back to the paper. “Because Agent Orange did not recommend any specific disciplinary action toward you, and this is your first offense, I will release you with no punishment.” He looked back at Red Field. “However, be advised, very few ponies who mouth off so early make it into this establishment. I strongly suggest you reevaluate your line of thinking.”

“Yes sir.” Red Field’s nod was a nervous tic and he attempted to sound as acknowledging as possible.

“Now please explain why you are covered in paint.” Flashpoint said as he filled out the bottom of the sheet. Red Field began to itch again.

“Agent Orange sent me for a run and I accidentally found my way into another training ground.” Flashpoint seemed indifferent to this additional infraction. He set the piece of paper into an empty file folder and pushed it into the cabinet at his hooves. He looked back to Red Field.

“I see. This has been noted in your record. You are dismissed cadet, shower off and report back to Beast in the morning.”
As Red Field rose out of the chair, his paint-stained back unstuck loudly from wood. The amber shaft of light that greeted him as he opened the door was accompanied by a breath of soothingly fresh air. He was glad to escape.

“Cadet.” Flashpoint reclined in his seat a bit, though he was still staring at Red Field. “What did you say to Agent Orange that upset him?

“I asked him who Jesus Christ was.”

A slight wave of amusement undulated through Flashpoint. He cocked his head and gazed out the door above Red Field’s shoulder.

He looked back to Red Field.

“As I said cadet, I strongly suggest you reevaluate your approach to interaction.” He was laughing. Just a bit.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Red Field mumbled.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6 Estimated time remaining: 14 Hours, 40 Minutes