Red Field only slept a few hours. His stomach growled and knotted and kept him from dozing off. His legs were thrashed and sore from the lengthy route his team had taken.

They had replaced him.

They had given up on him.

His squad had completely avoided any possibility of relying on him. Red Field didn’t answer Siplinski’s inquiries about how the test went and why he was so late, or Bren’s explanation for Full Wing’s presence. Red Field knew that if they had gotten the chance, they would have traded him to any other barracks.

The only reason they hadn’t was that nopony in Gale Force Company wanted anything to do with him.

According to the official results, Red Field’s group had finished one hour and thirty three minutes after the allotted time. Red Field learned that most of the tests at Beast could be repeated, but after a certain number of failures, cadets would be expelled from Beast. A week passed and Red Field had garnered five fails, along with a case of tendonitis. Nopony had told him how many fails he was allowed, but he couldn’t assume it to be many more.

He was going to fail out of Gale Force; that was already certain. His short lived desire to avoid fulfilling his parents’ disbelief about his perseverance had died off after several days of intense failure. He knew he could return somewhat easily to his family and honestly say he had done his best. The thought of facing Cyrus still hurt, but Red Field was far beyond the point of hoping to succeed as a soldier. In any case, he didn’t have anypony urging him onward; Black Rain asked him each day if he was out of the program, Bren avoided talking to Red Field at all, while Siplinski took the disdain a step further and avoided showing signs that he was even aware of Red Field.

Full Wing was the worst. Though he was as polite as a thickheaded athlete could possibly be, he was also somewhat successful with only two failures thus far. His very presence, coupled with the relative ambivalence of the rest of Squad Six, told Red Field that everypony, including himself, was ready for him to go.

In this spirit, Red Field found himself standing before a long, muddy trail. The trail, which was really more of a horrid obstacle course in which each obstacle mandated the participant to remain prone, extended from a sandy strip near the base and into the woods. Today was the last day of land nav. The cadets assembled at the start of the course, while Agent Orange stood beside them in a camouflaged poncho.

By nine A.M. Red Field was shivering in the rain.

“All right cadets, this is your final day of land nav. Today you’ll be performing a three hundred yard crawl four times, then returning here.” Agent Orange checked his clipboard. “It looks like ten of you already have five fails.” He looked up. “Any of those ponies who fail today gets kicked.” The ten ponies made no identifying movements, but Red Field really didn’t care if anypony knew. “Now line up before the entrance.”

The entrance was literally one end of the three hundred yard trench. The trench had already filled with sloshing muddy water. Most of the trench was covered in barbed wire, and at portions the trench seemed to end and hit a solid section of turf.

“We’ll be observing to make sure none of you, you know, die.” Said Agent White, who had returned for this particular test. “Just keep your head up.”

By Red Field’s turn, he was terrified of the trench. The punctuated line of ponies ahead of him churned the mud and as Red Field knelt to insert himself under the canopy of barbed wire, he saw a shiny worm burrow into the mud before his snout.

He squirmed and wriggled his way through the crawl. The water leaped and splashed about from the ponies ahead of him and Red Field shivered harder. His vision, obscured by waves and mud, was already dimmed as he tried to close his eyes to the water bugs and unidentified bits of dark matter that bobbed next to his face.

His nose struck a wall. He jerked back. The trench had ended. The rainy sky overhead was still gridded with the barbed wire. He was trapped. He had no room to maneuver and reverse himself. Red Field started to panic. What had he done wrong?

“Under! Go under!” He looked up. Siplinski was kneeling just outside of the barbed wire. “You gotta go under. There’s a little tunnel under there. Keep your legs close to your body.” Siplinski tucked his legs close under his own body. “Like this.” Somepony shouted and Siplinski pointed to the water. “Dude you have to go.” Red Field dipped his head under the water and opened his eyes. He saw nothing in the black mud. Red Field started to feel for the alleged tunnel. His hoof met a curve in the solid mud and he swam forward. Bumping his nose into the wall of the tunnel Red Field realized the crawl bent downward in a U and his fright only increased as he swam to bottom. Pushing his way under the curve, Red Field felt the momentary fright of claustrophobia as he crawled through the muddy tunnel. He broke the surface with a gasp.

“Keep crawling.” Said Siplinski.

Red Field passed under trees and their roots began to scrape him as he crawled past. Leaves filled the channel and he was continually spitting out fallen cellulose. The channel wasn’t dug well and he occasionally became wedged between the narrow banks. Red Field shivered as the rain washed over him and his muscles began to decry his abuse.
After so many mornings of waking earlier than normal and being subjected to harm, his body had lapsed into a shell of dull submission. Red Field was sure the feeling was some form of overexertion and had simply grown used to it. He wormed his way along the trench in a reserved cocoon of illness.

He passed under another tunnel, this time without fear. After two hundred and fifty yards of soaking agony, his mind gave up the tiresome act of being afraid. The pony ahead of him had been steadily growing closer and was now just a few yards ahead of Red Field. The pony had been in the pattern of pausing for a minute, then crawling, then pausing again.

In a few more minutes, the pony before him finally came out from under the barbed wire and Red Field saw a pair of instructors pull him out of the water. Red Field breathed a sigh of relief; the only treatment for his new illness was rest and he waited for them to help him exit the trench. But as Red Field reached the end of the channel, neither instructor came to aid him. He twisted his neck around in an effort to see above him, but Red Field couldn’t tell where they had gone.

“Hey! Hey I need a hoof!” He shouted. He heard hoofbeats and in a moment both soldiers took hold of him.

“That was fast. Did they start you early?” Asked one.

“No?” Answered Red Field as they set him on his hooves.

“Just follow that back to the start.” The instructor pointed to a washed out path leading back along the trench. Red Field had forgotten he would complete the course three times. The illness drew back and he began to feel seriously exhausted. He experienced a peculiar, and frustrating sensation jogging back along his journey in just a few minutes when the trek had taken him half an hour. Once back at the start, Agent White looked him over. The older stallion glanced over Red Field’s filthy body and nodded that he should again return to the start. Red Field thought to ask for some water, if only to take a short break.

“Excuse me-”

“You should have nothing to say cadet, you’re ahead of schedule and doing fine.” Agent White said. “Now get going.”
The illness of exhaustion was unfortunately not severe. As Red Field again crawled through the murky course, his muscles fell into a languishing state of pain that resided just below the threshold of collapse. However after a few more minutes, Red Field was directly behind the next pony. The other cadet was substantially larger than Red Field and he grunted and panted as he writhed through the canal. Red Field sighed and waited for the pony to move. The rain picked up and he sank down in the water in a pointless effort to avoid the wet lashing. In a moment, an instructor appeared over them.

“Hey! Move your ass! You’re holding your teammate up!” He shouted to the other pony.

“S-sorry sir.” The exhaustion was evident in the cadet’s voice and Red Field felt a little sorry for the pony.

“Sorry doesn’t bring your dead teammate back to life.” Said the instructor. “He’s pulling his weight and you’re stalling him.”

“Sorry sir, it’s just-”

“There are going to be forty more ponies all backed up behind you, how long do you think they’d survive in-” The soldier looked up. “What? All of ‘em? Okay, does White know?” The two cadets waited for him to finish his conversation with the unseen speaker and return to berating them. In a second, he looked back down to them. “Little incentive coming cadets.”

He left them and the other pony muttered a dismal curse and began to exhaustedly tug himself onward.

Red Field waited a minute or so to allow the pony to create a little distance between them. He dipped his snout into the water and was just starting to writhe forward when something like a firework popped and exploded on the bank beside him. Another firework detonated on the other side of the trench. A puff of bright red sparks showered onto the water from what appeared to be a frighteningly large sparkler laying atop the bank. The dark trench was now illuminated a flickering white-red. Red Field scrambled away from the flares. A series of puffs and pops exploded along the banks of the trench and now the entirety of the trench was doused in sparks. The pony ahead of Red Field desperately pushed himself along.

The trench started to fill with thin white smoke from the flares and Red Field began to hyperventilate. He heard the pony slip and lodge himself in the narrow channel. Red Field, dizzy with terror, threw both fore-hooves into the pony’s rump.

“Goddamn it GO!” Red Field rallied his sickened muscles, trying to force the pony out of his way. The pony was still attempting to free himself when Agent Orange appeared over them.

The soldier took one look at the pair of halted ponies and knelt before the other pony.

“Cadet why aren’t you moving?” He asked over the hiss of the flares.

“I’m, I’m stuck sir.” Said the blue pony.

“Cadet why aren’t you unsticking yourself?”

“I can’t. I’m-”

“Cadet unstick yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

“Stop trying and unstick yourself.” The cadet began to wriggle and squirm in a desperate attempt to appease the instructor. “Cadet there are ponies behind you.” The cadet wriggled harder. “Cadet they’re dying.”

The other cadet paused to catch his breath.

Easing up the barbed wire with his hoof, Agent Orange stepped into the trench.

“You’ll get another chance to repeat this test later.” He reached into the water and took hold of the pony’s shoulders. “Let’s go.” He lifted the cadet out without so much as a grunt and tossed him onto the bank. “Head back to barracks.” He eased the barbed wire down over Red Field. “Keep going.”

Red Field spent the next twenty minutes again navigating the trench. As he neared the end of course, the illness again fell onto Red Field and his fear ebbed away. His muscles again began to growl their suffering at him and he ignored the smoke and sparks. He was somehow hot, despite the grip of the icy water, as he once more pulled himself out from under the barbed wire. Agent Orange stood directly before him.

“I’m sorry sir.” Red Field said. Agent Orange grabbed his shoulders and turned him back toward the course.
“Like hell you are Jesus pony! You’re five minutes behind! Get back to the start and don’t take so long this time!”

He had one more circuit.

The illness, or perhaps simple resignation prompted him to accept his punishment and trot back to the start of the course. As he trekked back, Red Field saw more instructors kneeling beside the burning trench. Most were shouting or giving disappointed evaluations of the struggling cadets; a few had opened the barbed wire and were pulling out failures.
A line had formed at the start of the course and Red Field breathed a delighted sigh of relief as he slowed to a stop and waited for his turn. The ponies moved slower now that their course was lined with burning flares, however this appeared to be the opposite of the result that the instructors desired.

“Come on!” Shouted a Pegasus with a warthog Cutie Mark. “Flight teams don’t slow down under fire; if you can’t look past a few flares, how do you think you’ll fly against a squadron of gryphons loaded for bear?”

“If UAT can do this under tear gas, you had better be able to get it done with just flares!” Shouted another instructor, who was hauling out another exhausted cadet. Red Field couldn’t hear Agent Orange but imagined he was saying something about cloppers being able to clop through anything thrown at them.

“Cadet, go!” Shouted somepony behind him. Red Field realized it was again his turn. He thoughtlessly knelt and slipped into the water. It was cold, it hurt, he was sick. Red Field mindlessly shuffled through the water. He got stuck behind another cadet. This time he waited only a minute before an instructor opened the barbed wire and plucked the cadet, who appeared frozen from fear. Red Field began again. An oily film had collected over the brown-black water and in his state of sickened exhaustion, Red Field watched the sheen bob and move out before him as he crawled. He came to the first tunnel, swam under, surfaced and crawled further. The walls of the trench had been smoothed and opened a little with the eroding passage of ponies and Red Field crawled a bit faster.

The illness, in a new effort to stop him, ceased to sting his muscles and simply slackened them. Red Field grew tired of the crawl and he began to slow. His body just wished to stop. Red Field reached the next tunnel and dove under. Red Field rose to the surface and saw the finish ahead. The line of ponies ahead was gone, though he was too exhausted to care much. In another minute he was squirming tiredly onto the slick mud. Somepony grabbed his shoulders and stood him up.

“Well whaddya know.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field weakly wiped some mud from his face.

“What sir?” He asked foggily. Agent Orange shook his head and again pushed Red Field toward the start.

“Nothing cadet, head back to the start and join your teammates at attention.” Said Agent Orange. Red Field nodded and clopped clumsily back to the start. The flares were burning out one by one and the dark grey sky was quickly becoming the only source of light. His heart jumped as he saw every other cadet standing at attention already.

He must have taken too long.

Despite understanding his inevitable dismissal from Gale Force, Red Field still hated failing. He weakly jogged a bit faster and took his place along the edge of the group. The procedure for “standing at attention” was never explained, but Red Field had found standing as still as possible while maintaining a blank expression usually sufficed. A few of the muddy ponies around him noticed him, but none said anything. Agent Orange came to the group after a few minutes. He carried a clipboard which he reviewed before standing before them.

He did not look pleased.

“Today was a shitty day cadets.” He pointed behind them, to where the trench lay. “That’s the long crawl, it’s just that: a crawl.” He looked them over and realized that this statement had no effect. “It’s a damn crawl cadets! How is that NONE,” he emphasized this last word with theatrical effect, “Of you could successfully complete it?” Red Field continued to stare forward but he now ignored the pontificating pony. He had done his best, and today had gone relatively well; he hadn’t been paralyzed by fear very much and hadn’t cried at all. But of course it wasn’t nearly enough.

Agent Orange was asking how many cadets wanted to be flyers and if they thought Gale Force’s Air Division had ponies who couldn’t long crawl in it.

“We did have one of you complete the course successfully.” Red Field nearly rolled his eyes to this. Of course somepony had gotten it right. He didn’t need to look around to know that it was one of the stronger, more “soldier” ponies. He took a little pride in knowing that only one of those smarmy jocks had succeeded. He became aware that somepony was standing directly in front of him, and that pony happened to be Agent Orange, who happened to be repeating himself.

“Cadet! To the front!” He said. “We’re not waiting on you.”

How had he completed the test? Agent Orange seemed to share in the sentiment. Red Field took a dumb step forward, then another. He would have kept walking had Agent Orange not pulled him back and turned him to face the other ponies.

“This, cadets, is who succeeded.” Agent Orange said dismally. He waited a moment for the depressing news to sink in.

“Yeah Jesus pony!” The voice came from the center of the group and Red Field was too dazed to identify the speaker.

Agent Orange let out a sigh.

“Cadets, this is unacceptable. Do you expect to secure Equestria’s borders and defend its interests if you can’t crawl through a simple trench?” Agent Orange looked back to his clipboard. “Starlight Dash, Grasshoof, Bold Wing, come see me please.” He turned to Red Field. “It’s your lucky day cadet, head to the mess hall and have yourself a nice quiet dinner. See you tomorrow.” Agent Orange looked back to the remaining group. “Cadets, let’s try the crawl again and see how motivated you can get this time.”

Red Field walked toward the open gate of the compound, still expecting to be called back or sworn at. Only after he entered the empty mess hall, took a plate of steaming, tasteless whatever-it-was and began to eat that he realized he was really done.

Red Field had no reasonable cause to be proud of himself. In the most literal sense he’d completed a single test out of a battery of which he was failing, and this sucesss would have no effect on his outcome. He’d passed one test, which just so happened to be the one that everypony else had failed at. However no amount of logical rationale could suffocate the feeling of pride that rose up within Red Field as he shoveled down his meal.

He’d passed a test.

He’d won.

Everypony else had failed.

True to nature, Red Field spent the next several minutes reviewing exactly what he’d done, and tried to postulate why he’d succeeded. His pride dipped as he realized that he might just be more apt for crawling through muddy trenches than most ponies. Red Field decided to stop analyzing his achievement and return to gloating. He’d done well, and that was enough.

He ate the last of the meal and tossed his cutlery onto the tray. Rising to leave, Red Field felt his legs, which had been slumbering, burn anew. He groaned; no amount of winning could change his physique. He began to walk down the aisle between the two tables. Red Field had only made it a few shimmying steps before he bumped into one of the seated ponies.

Flashpoint looked back at him. A fabric checkerboard, covered in chess pieces, lay before Flashpoint. Red Field saw a notation pad with a few scribbles sitting beside the board.

“S-sorry sir.” Red Field said. “I apologize.” Flashpoint said nothing and Red Field continued to squirm between the benches. The officer watched him, then turned back to his game. Red Field hastily deposited his tray and left the hall.
The sky had begun to sprinkle again. Tired and growing sleepy, Red Field grew chilled in the light precipitation. He hurried back to his barracks as the rain grew heavier.

He closed the door on the downpour. His body was soaked and his mane clung to his head like a limp leech. He headed straight to bed.

“Is that,” Bren was laying in his bed and poked his head over the side to see Red Field. “Red?” Red Field knew he’d been expecting Full Wing. He felt a sense of smug revenge as Bren squinted in confusion at him. “What’re you doing here?” He asked without an attempt to conceal his surprise.

“Done with the Long Crawl.” Red Field said with thespian nonchalance. “Do you have any towels?” Bren pointed to a brown cabinet beside the sink. Red Field thanked him.

“So uh, what happened?” Bren asked. Red Field could feel himself grinning.

“I finished.” He said, finding a towel and starting to dry himself. Bren nodded slowly, and looked as if he were trying to picture something. Red Field dried himself and looked to Bren for where to put the damp towel. Bren pointed to a white nylon laundry bag. Red Field again thanked him and tossed the towel into the bag.

“Say, do you want to play a prank with me?” Asked Bren.

“Uh, what?” Red Field asked.

“Today’s the first day that you can fail out of Beast, like if you failed every test and then failed today. Black Rain thought you were gonna freak out during the crawl and quit before you could even fail. I bet you wouldn’t.” He paused to see if this might offend Red Field. “Since you totally killed it, we have to get him.” Red Field grinned, he liked the sound of this. Bren pointed to his bed. “Just like, pretend you’re sleeping. But like hang your right leg over the side of the bed so he sees it when he comes in.”

The idea wasn’t much of a prank and Red Field could have thought of five or six better pranks along the same thread, but he didn’t feel like contesting a moment of friendship. He laid in his bed, and made certain to droop his leg over the side. Bren took a seat on his bed and started to fidget with his knife. They had only waited five minutes before the door squeaked open.

“Hey.” Said Black Rain. “Long day at Maremont, looks like they’re changing things up- aw motherfucker.” Red Field heard Bren snickering. “Jesus Christ how did he do it?”

“I dunno, just got back here and went to bed.” Bren laughed. “So you got the money?”

“Shut up.” Red Field heard Black Rain pull out some bits. “Fuck this, where’s Sip?”

“Probably still working the crawl. You know, Red got back early, must have done really well.” Bren said.

“Oh what the fuck.” Black Rain clomped over to Red Field’s bed and gave it a rough shake. “Great job kid, great fuckin’ job.” Red Field smothered his laughter as best he could. He relished revenge on Black Rain.

“Heh, we’ll just see what tomorrow brings won’t we?” Said Bren. “Maybe he’ll pull a hat trick in the first game.”

“Go to hell.” Black Rain fell heavily onto his bunk. He was asleep in a minute. Bren eventually walked back to Red Field’s bunk and peeked up at him. Red Field saw he was grinning too.

“Nice.” Bren said, holding out his hoof for a brohoof. Today had been Red Field’s best day at Gale Force. “I’m gonna turn in, that was some funny shit.”

He too journeyed to his bed and fell asleep after a few minutes. Despite his exhaustion, Red Field stayed awake a long time that night. His smile stayed on his face long after the light faded and the room was robed in darkness. Bren had brohoofed him, they’d played a prank together. While Red Field had seen Bren as just another disapproving member of Squad Six, evidently he had been wrong. The best way to gain the favor of a soldier was to demonstrate ability at soldiering. He smiled.

Bren had bet on him; he wouldn’t ever forget that.

Presently, the door squeaked quietly open and two pairs of hoofsteps entered the barracks.

“Just wash up over there.” Siplinski whispered.

“Yeah okay.” Full Wing whispered back. Red Field heard a squeak, then the raucous rattle of a faucet blasting water into a sheet metal sink. The faucet was instantly silenced. “Sorry, I just-” The faucet was again turned on, but this time only a quiet trickle emanated from the sink.

“Just turn it off when you’re done.” Said Siplinski tiredly. Red Field smiled to himself as he listened to Full Wing attempt to clean himself without rousing anypony in the barracks. No doubt he was covered in mud from the crawl.

From failing it.

In time Full Wing shut the sink off and slunk softly to his bunk. Red Field rolled over and closed his eyes; he really did need to get some sleep. He still had another day of Beast. As the cords of sleep laced over him, Red Field heard somepony stir. Somepony got out of their bed and shuffled across the room to Siplinski’s bunk.

“Hey.” Said Bren. He whispered so quietly that despite being directly above him, Red Field could scarcely interpret what he was saying. “Here.” Red Field heard the soft slap of bits between hooves. “How’d you know he’d make it?”

“He’s half the size of the smallest pony, he didn’t need to be good, he just didn’t get stuck.” Siplinski whispered back. Bren snorted softly.

“Yeah well I beat out Rain at least, he said he’d give up.”

Red Field couldn’t sleep that night. Despite an early dinner and bedtime, Red Field slept terribly that night. He waited for the morning, to fail.

The strangest occurrence Red Field had ever experienced, happened at Gale Force: the weak cadet from Rockvale couldn’t seem to fail. The first few weeks of Beast had ruined him. Constant physical exertion, poor sleep, a diet of nutritional drivel quickly eroded what little health he had.

However, if the first few weeks burned him down, the last few couldn’t scatter his ashes. Red Field’s illness, manifested as only a general soreness and sleepiness, seemed incapable of finishing him off. At week three, the cadets began to meet in classrooms and were given detailed instruction on subjects such as team communication, survival skills, and gear orientation. Bizarrely, Red Field was nearing the point at which he could technically be considered a soldier. He was down to his last failure before expulsion and though Red Field couldn’t help but feel a little proud of how far he’d come, he still knew he wasn’t a soldier.

Fourteen cadets had failed and gone home thus far. Those remaining had changed. The word “like” appeared less in their conversations and less quarrels broke out between them. Nicknames were being issued and the trading of cadets from barracks to barracks grew more and more infrequent as the first of the two war-games neared. The strange patriotism that accompanies such basic designations as “Team One” and “Team Two” was in full swing and the mess hall grew to be a place of bets and debates over anticipated performance.

Full Wing, despite his stupidity, was a strong and tactically desirable pick and several offers and an instance of kidnapping had already taken place in an attempt to sway his allegiance. Barracks Six, though still the smallest and weakest of the constituents of Team Two, felt good. Black Rain had gotten his job at “Maremont” and returned most nights with anecdotes of either somepony saying the funniest thing or “total fucking bullshit” his foreman had given him to do.

Siplinski appeared in more of the tests and exercises of Beast as they grew more and more specialized. He was evidently more experienced than his awkward and excitable nature indicated. Bren apparently worked with one of the machine shops tasked with maintaining the chariot fleet and usually only spoke on such matters.

Red Field didn’t give a shit about any of them.

Besides betting on when he’d be kicked from the Company, the members of Squad Six also addressed him as they had on their first day, like a colt. Full Wing was treated to a few poker parties at Barracks Twelve and more than a few occasions had found him sneaking off base with the other stallions.

Red Field just got asked if he had fucked anything up each day. Red Field knew he was going to fail, and even if he didn’t, no one wanted him. Gale Force was at its most bearable when he could just be a face in the ever-shrinking herd of cadets, a face with the nickname “Jesus Pony”. In the weeks of Beast, nothing had changed for Red Field. He hated his teammates, felt sick, and was going to fail soon.

He sat at a desk too small for him, filling out a multiple choice exam on the proper way to approach a fortified hill position under third-tier inclement conditions. He’d spent thirty seconds on the exam and had drifted through the questions without thinking much on them. They were all just memory questions, applied to a hypothetical scenario. All of the classes were this way. Apparently rote memory was beyond some ponies, as the last round of tests had weeded out two more cadets.

Red Field shaded the last oval, set his pencil atop his desk and waited for the timer to sound. He was still sore from the morning’s run and tried to get comfortable. He glanced around the room to see if anypony else was done with the test. Nopony was.
He then looked back to the test and reread the questions. He wondered what circumstances would prompt the Company to launch an attack in pouring rain on a cliff-mounted pillbox.

The military philosophy of Gale Force Company had never been told to him, or any of the cadets for that matter. According to banter, Gale Force Company “fucked shit up”, though this had not been expounded upon. Red Field puzzled over how they’d trained for weeks and never been told who their enemy might be. Besides the very first night, they hadn’t seen the commander of Gale Force Company. Either Lewerc or Blitzkrieg headed larger exercises and Red Field didn’t even know where the commander lived.

“Time!” Called the proctor, who also happened to be a CQC instructor by the name of Crunch. Red Field heard a few groans amidst the clacking of pencils. He sighed and readied himself for the next exercise. The schedule for Beast had become: workout in the morning, MSRP’s(horrid dried meals that came in unappetizing brown wrappers) then several hours of class, followed by more exertion until dinner. Red Field had come to rely on class time as a rest from the painful exercise of training.

He dismally waited for the proctor to inform them where they’d be heading next.

“All right cadets.” Crunch looked down at a paper on his desk. “Today is advisement, there’s an advisor in each barracks. Head back there and he’ll take it from there. Leave your tests on the desk. There will be no more exercises today.” The cadets gave a cheer of jubilance and the classroom quickly emptied.

The day was muggy. Every day at Gale Force was muggy. The river, named “Victor Charlie” in reference to some war game that had taken place before Red Field’s arrival, gave off enough humidity to make Red Field long for the constant dusty dryness of Rockvale. The sun hid behind a haze of clouds and Red Field was sweaty before he’d gone ten paces.

“Hey dude, wait up!”

Full Wing was the only pony in Gale Force who was kind to Red Field. The friendly, stupid-dog sort of kindness of Full Wing grated Red Field. Full Wing had still been brought on to replace Red Field once he finally dropped out, and that made the magic of friendship difficult to conjure between them.

Full Wing was sweating too, and he was even panting as he caught up to Red Field.

“Geez it’s hot out here. Glad we don’t have anything more today, I’d die.” He said, wiping his brow.

“Yeah.” Red Field said. Full Wing knew full well that he annoyed Red Field, yet he continued conversations long past their proper expiration.

“We got that advisor though.” He looked over at Red Field. “You know anything about that?” Red Field had no rational reason to know any such thing. He shook his head. “Yeah, I bet he’s just going to tell us like what jobs we’re probably going to do if we finish Beast.” Military jobs were called posts, though Red Field had given up trying to explain anything to Full Wing. He just nodded and eventually Full Wing stopped talking.

They reached their barracks and Full Wing bowed away from the door.

“After you.” He said with a smile. Full Wing wanted to find out what the advisor would say so that he could prepare evasions to any answers that might intimidate him. Red Field didn’t care, he had no stake in Gale Force and ascribed no value to what an advisor might say.

Without a word to Full Wing, Red Field opened the thin screen door and walked into the barracks.

The “advisor” was Agent White. The doctor had set up the small card table that had been tucked in the closet of the barracks. He sat behind the table with his forehooves hooves resting atop one another. He smiled as Red Field entered.

“Hello Red Field, take a seat.”

Agent White had memorized every cadet’s name over the past few weeks. Agent Orange only referred to cadets as “you” and “goddamn it cadet” but Agent White addressed each pony by name. How much he knew about each of his students Red Field didn’t know and he readied himself for whatever the older pony might say.

“How have you been Red Field?” Asked Agent White.

“Good.”

“How is Beast going for you?”

“Fine.” Said Red Field. Agent White looked down to a sheet of paper on a clipboard.

“Are you having any difficulty with the academic side of the course?”

“None.”

“Any difficulty with the physical side?”

“No.”

“Really.” This response caught Red Field off-guard and he returned his attention to Agent White. Agent White chuckled. “You’re down to one strike on your record and have not passed a single climbing or rappelling course.” He cocked his head. “You do know that I observe the exercises?” Red Field grew uncomfortable as Agent White waited for a response. The medic returned his hooves to the table. “Red you’re a pony of intelligence, not strength.”

“Yes sir.”

“What are you planning on branching, assuming you pass Beast?”

“Clopping sir.”

“Cavalry you mean?”

“Yes.” Said Red Field. Agent White looked at Red Field as if he expected Red Field to give the last portion of the joke.
“Your plans are to join a group whose average is three hundred pounds on bench press?” Agent White knew about enough Red Field. Red Field was trapped and since he didn’t consider it prudent to mention that he was only still at Gale Force to say that he hadn’t quit, he acted ignorant.

“Oh, well, I don’t really know of anything else.” He laughed a bit. “I’m not a Pegasus so I can’t-”

“You haven’t been paying attention to any of the instructors when they make recommendations and list potential posts?” Red Field had ignored everything the instructors had mentioned about posts on account of the fact that he wasn’t going to get one. He had no time to think of a plausible excuse and Red Field just replied in quiet honesty.

“No sir.”

Agent White looked at him and Red Field lowered his eyes. He had grown to realize that nothing was more offensive to the ponies of Gale Force than a lack of motivation.

“It must be hard to cope with all of these aggressive stallions around.” Red Field looked up. “In test scores and exercise scores, you’re nearly the perfect inverse of the average cadet.” Agent White smiled. “I was fortunate to go to a medical school where the most we ever did was form a croquet club.” He took the clipboard and set it into his bag at his hooves. “But I still have a place here. Red, you’re a pony gifted with a brilliant mind; you could be a very valuable asset to the company.” He took a paper from his bag and set it before Red Field. “Read this over, I’ve highlighted the posts that I think you might be interested in. I’ve also crossed out any posts requiring a mile time of better than seven minutes.” Red Field looked up from the list and saw the Agent White was smiling. “I know you don’t like it here, but there’s more than just lifting weights and running.” He shrugged. “Anyway, this concludes your advisory and I see no reason to recommend your removal. Please send in the other cadet from your barracks.” Red Field nodded and rose from his seat. Agent White spoke before Red Field reached the door. “The first of the war games is coming up. If it doesn’t go well,” Agent White also knew about Barracks Six, “remember that it doesn’t count toward anything. And the day after you’ll be doing hooves on with the weapons of Gale Force, a lot of cadets find that day to be their favorite.” He added with a smile.

Outside, Full Wing was pacing before the doorway.

“Hey dude! He ready for me?” Asked Full Wing. Red Field nodded and started to walk around him. “Hey.” Full Wing caught his shoulder. “Anything to expect?”

Red Field had read the list before he’d left the barracks. Four of the jobs he could perform outside of Gale Force for more money and with less “stallions”. Two of them did not interest him in the least, and performing them at a military academy interested him less. The rest were either too closely related to soldiering or too mundane to even consider.

He shook his head.

“Nope, no surprises.”

He still had an hour before dinner, but without friends, a job, or even a barracks to lie in, Red Field listlessly trudged to the mess hall. The particular odor emanating from the kitchen indicated they’d be eating stewed tomatoes with a salad of greens that had been dehydrated prior to Red Field’s birth. That was one of his more favorite meals. Red Field walked across the empty room and sat at a table bordering the wall. He didn’t want to be near the door when the crowd of hungry cadets came rumbling in for their dinner. Red Field had sat for some time when the door again opened. He looked up and saw Flashpoint.

Flashpoint had first intimidated him, the quiet grey officer intimidated every cadet. Flashpoint followed his namesake and shadowed nearly every training exercise, but he’d failed to actually do anything, at least anything intimidating. He’d held a few more rhetorical exchanges with cadets and failed two for on the spot for sarcasm toward him. That had maintained his reputation and kept the cadets in fear of him.

Red Field no longer feared Flashpoint, he had quickly seen the officer as a professional soldier whose sole concern was selecting only the best cadets. He didn’t appear to care about looking tough or making exceptions for anypony and wasn’t a problem for cadets who didn’t make themselves a problem; Red Field probably respected Flashpoint more than any of the other instructors or officers at Gale Force. The grey pony scanned the room and didn’t seem to notice Red Field. After seeing nopony of note, he walked to a table near the center of the room and took a seat. Flashpoint had with him the same flannel roll and accompanying box which he placed atop the table.

After a few minutes, the door opened and another officer entered. It was the same officer that Red Field had seen Flashpoint with a few weeks before. The officer, a greenish-yellow unicorn who looked nearly as squared as Flashpoint, walked over to him and sat down. They began to talk and Red Field again closed his eyes.

He remembered the impending war game.

The peculiar illness which had overtaken Red Field had gradually damaged the part of Red Field’s brain that felt fear, or shock, or really, any strong emotions. Swimming through the chilly waters of Victor Charlie had only been miserable, and even falling five meters and swinging into the side of the rappelling tower had only tugged at his sense of fright. The illness had reduced most of the previously terrifying exercises into simple misery.

But the war game brought the fear back. Red Field had heard very little about the actual rules or even objective of the war game in his time at Beast. Most of the talk between the soldiers and officers was only bets and ribbing; apparently everypony already knew how the game itself worked.

Red Field started to consider the name, and this unnerved him the most. Surely they wouldn’t use real weapons, but how close would they come? How much was game and how much war? Gale Force was a military academy and the game was easily the most important topic to the soldiers; the battle would be full of utter chaos, no matter how many rules and safety regulations were in place. Red Field pictured himself being stabbed or knocked unconscious by an overzealous competitor. His stomach turned. Why couldn’t he have failed before this?

The doors banged open and a few raucous voices shouted that they were hungry, signaling the end of his peace. As Red Field sat up, he saw several pieces sitting atop the unfurled cloth before Flashpoint and the other officer. Flashpoint and the officer had taken out notepads and were scribbling down their positions. After a moment, they swept up their pieces and returned them to the box. Rolling up the board, Flashpoint smiled and gave his opponent a hoof-shake. More ponies filed into the mess hall and Red Field’s ears began to hurt. Both Flashpoint and the officer left.

“Jesus pony! Yo! Over here!” Blue Streak called to him from the line. “Saved you a spot!” In the course of Beast, Red Field had come to be something of an irregularity in terms of his reputation. Nopony ever considered him for a group leader, or even chose him for group exercises. Yet he wasn’t the weakest. Odd as it was, after his anomalous success at the Long Crawl, Red Field had gone on to succeed at a few more athletic challenges. His body, though still grossly undersized, could, it seemed, perform to some degree. This, in addition to the occasional aid he rendered to his classmates during “harder” sections of the bookwork, had grown at least a little favor for “Jesus pony”.

“All right, be right there.” Red Field called back.

Red Field wasn’t friends with Blue Streak. Most of the time Blue Streak seemed to ignore Red Field, or ask him a few bland questions then forget about him for the rest of the conversation. But Red Field always accepted his invitation; at least with Blue Streak he looked a bit more like he belonged.

“So what,” Blue Streak set his tray down beside Red Field, “are you planning on branching?” Red Field shrugged.

“Bookkeeping.”

“Hehe makes sense.” Said Blue Streak. The hall around them filled over the course of the next few minutes and Blue Streak’s friends joined them. They’d all come to expect Red Field’s silent presence and most nights they just talked around him. They’d talked for a few minutes on something when Red Field heard his name.

“Yeah, what about Red?” Asked Pyre, a reddish-orange unicorn who bragged about going into ordnance. Red Field waited for them to repeat the question.

“Are you thinking of joining Barracks Thirteen?” Asked Blue Streak. “For the game at least?” Red Field shook his head and returned to eating. “They’ve already got like six more cadets to join.” The ponies at the table shook their heads and a few gave dismal laughs. “They’re gonna blitz everypony.

“Do you know what we’re even using?” Asked Salt, a greyish earth pony. “Like as weapons?” Red Field’s ears lifted to this. Several ponies answered but Salt’s brother, Light, answered over the others.

“Yeah, we’re using markers.”

“No no.” Blue Streak shook his head. “It’s paint, like to mark hits and stuff.”

“It’s paint, on fake knives and shit. I don’t know the rules or anything but Orange was telling a few guys that it’s basically all knives and no spells.” Said Light. They continued to discuss the particulars of the game, but Red Field had heard enough. He rose from his seat and nodded to the group. On his way back to Barracks Six, Red Field began considering methods of contracting an illness to prevent him from participating.

He was not getting stabbed or slashed by anything, no matter how far into Beast he was.

Red Field was in the habit of arriving back at the barracks before any of his teammates. Many nights the older members of Squad Six had been out working, or socializing and Red Field had been unpleasantly awakened by Black Rain’s drunken accusations against the other workers at Maremont. Even Full Wing was gone a lot, working out and “hangin’ with the guys”.

Surprisingly, Red Field found all four of his squadmates sitting in their bunks, eating their dinner. Siplinski was the first to look up.

“Oh hey Red.” He said, his mouth full of old greens. Red Field saw that they were wearing their uniforms. He had interrupted a meeting. This sort of thing happened from time to time. Red Field occasionally found himself with Barracks Six when he really didn’t need to be with them.

“What time should I come back?” He asked. Red Field usually went for walks whenever this happened.

“Shit uhh, how about-” Began Bren.

“Three hours.” Black Rain called loudly from his bed.

“Um, guys.” Said Siplinski as if he saw an unsightly elephant in the room. A chewing-filled pause descended as the other ponies tried to ascertain his meaning.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” Said Bren.

“Fuck.” Said Black Rain. Red Field waited to learn about the elephant. Black Rain rose out of his bed. He wiped a bit of stewed tomato from the corner of his mouth. “Hey kid, you don’t like it here. Maybe go talk to Flashpoint to see if you can opt out of the game.”

“Hey come on.” Bren said to Black Rain with a hint of distaste. He hopped from his bed and approached Red Field. “Red, we were going to spend a couple hours tonight practicing for the game. You’re a part of Barracks Six, so you’re supposed to be with us.”

“No you aren’t. You can just stay here and read, or sulk or whatever.” Black Rain said, stepping around Bren.

“Rain knock it off, he can come if he wants.” Said Bren.

“I agree with you!” Said Black Rain indignantly. “He doesn’t want to come!”

Red Field didn’t want to go and romp around in the forest with pretend knives to make a strategy for a game they were inevitably losing.

But he also didn’t like Black Rain.

“Sure, I’ll go.” He said with an amiable shrug. He was losing a few hours of rest, and was going to spend time with Barracks Six, but the confounded sigh from the black unicorn was worth his trouble.

“Great!” Said Siplinksi. He gulped down the tomatoes and jumped from his bed. “We need to get Full Wing though.”

They walked back to the mess hall. The night was more humid than usual and the sticky air hung dead around them. The only noise from the four was the disgusting smack-smack of Siplinski eating his mushy tomatoes. Bren led the way and was on the lookout for Full Wing, and Black Rain trailed close behind him. Red Field heard Black Rain grumble every few steps.

Red Field’s presence disrupted the chemistry of Barracks Six with an unexpected severity.

“So.” Siplinski finished his tomatoes and licked his lips. “What’s our plan this year? We still recon? That didn’t go too bad last year.”

“No.” Black Rain said. “We’re getting assigned at the team meeting. And shut the fuck up till we get there.”

“Hey relax, okay? Let’s grab Full and get an early look at the terrain.” Bren said. Black Rain shook his head, grumbled, and jogged ahead to the mess hall. Bren slowed down to match Siplinski’s pace. “What’s up his ass?”

“UAT’s probably going to Team One. I heard something about it today.” Siplinski replied. “And, you know.”

Red Field knew he was the “you know”.

“Still wouldn’t kill him to chill the fuck out sometime.” Black Rain reemerged from the cafeteria with Full Wing in tow. The Pegasus’ mouth was full of greens and he looked from one soldier to the next.

“Dudes!” Some greens spilled from his mouth. “What’s goin’ on?” Bren flicked his head back toward the gate.

“We’re heading to a team meeting for the game.” Full Wing jogged out to them, followed by Black Rain.

“Sweet! We got some killer plan?” He asked. Siplinski nodded.

“We’re probably recon.” Red Field heard Black Rain clear his throat and Siplinski stopped. Full Wing asked what recon was and Red Field could tell tonight would be very unpleasant.

The forest was overgrown with the dense antennae of garlic mustard. Buckthorn scraped at their hooves and legs and soon Red Field regretted his decision to participate. Macmillan forest had almost no trails, despite the years that an entire company of soldiers spent running and navigating the woods. Bren seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of where they should go and he led the group.

Nopony spoke one the trip.

Eventually a familiar wooden fort came into view. Red Field realized it was the same fort he had started his ill-fated land navigation from. They passed under the rotting arch and into the dirt courtyard. A few officers were looking over some maps atop the same dirty table that Agent Orange had stood on. They looked up as the group entered.

“Rundown doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” Said one of the officers. Bren nodded and looked back to Black Rain, who seemed to have been the driving force for their early arrival.

“Do we want to look over hill eight?” Black Rain asked. “That’s always the swing point.”

“Eight’s covered in foliage. You can’t see five meters into the base.” Said one of the officers.

“Oh damn.” Bren said. “We’ll probably send extra guys to cover there then right?”

“What’s so special about hill eight?” Asked Full Wing.

“It’s what Team One will try to take.” Said Black Rain as he turned and walked from the fort. The rest of Barracks Six followed him. Siplinski and Bren began to explain the tactical importance of hill eight to Full Wing, and occasionally they glanced over to Red Field, to see if he was interested. Red Field was more interested in making sure he didn’t trip over anything painful on the way. But he heard and absorbed every word.

Hill eight was home to an outpost from which am expansive view of Macmillan and of any approaching forces, could be had. The hill was steep, and as he climbed up the grassy incline, Red Field had no skepticism regarding Siplinski’s story of how four survivors of Team Two atop the hill had held off forty members of Team One during a rainstorm.
Full Wing pestered Bren for stories of Barracks Six’s exploits on Hill eight, but Bren told him to wait. Finally they reached the top of the hill.

The summit of the hill was only about ten meters square. The outpost was no more than a tower big enough for one pony. Even without standing in the tower, anypony atop the hill could see over the ground cover below. Red Field couldn’t help but feel a little impressed at the view. He imagined he would have liked to read on Hill eight.

“All right look guys.” Black Rain was speaking now and Red Field was back to Gale Force. The other members of Barracks Six looked to the black stallion who stood at the base of the miniscule tower. “Full.” He pointed to Full Wing. “You should know that we’re not a big part of the battle.”

“Haha that’s cool dude, I’m fine with that!”

“I mean we get destroyed like every game.” Full Wing was silent to this. “We’re a small group and we’re not coordinated like a lot of the other barracks.” He let out a sigh “I think our best bet this year is just recon.” He looked to Siplinski. “You’ve been talking to Quantico, does it sound like we could do that?” Siplinski nodded and Black Rain nodded in response. “Okay, so, the plan would hopefully be to flank left.” He turned and pointed out from the hill, away from the direction they had come. “They’re going to hit here hard, so we’d probably just see if we could find a fault in their advance and send in some guys to hit them.” He turned back to them and he was grinning just a bit. “Or at least hit them ourselves, sort of a kamikaze mission to slow them up.”

“Hell yeah!” Said Full Wing. “I’m down with that!”

“Yeah that’s cool.” Said Siplinski in a disturbingly relaxed tone. Even Bren seemed open to this and gave an agreed nod.

“That’s sounds like a good idea.” He said.

Silence fell over Squad Six, and Red Field imagined this was because of him.

“Hey! Can I check out the tower?” Asked Full Wing.

“Haha yeah, head up and take a look!” Said the newly-enthused Black Rain. Full Wing headed up the tower and began to marvel at the view. Black Rain called up some stories about soldiers who’d stayed up there even during lightning storms. Red Field was looking into the forest below and thinking about how many tax bits were spent on the war game. Somepony stepped beside him.

“Hey, you know what recon is?” Asked Bren. Red Field didn’t find it hard to guess.

“Yeah.” He replied. They listened to Black Rain talk about the great spell fight atop hill two.

“Are you going to actually be in the game?” Asked Bren. Red Field started to speak. “I mean, it’s not going to be much of a game. Everypony from UAT’s on the other side and they have yet to lose a game when they fight as a team. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t even go this year but it means a lot to Rain, and I think Siplinski’s pretty into it.” Red Field had never concerned himself with the possible winner of the game and a paradigm had shifted for him.

“We’re going to lose?”

“Yeah pretty bad, Barracks Thirteen has gotten like twenty more cadets so it’s not even going to be close.” Red Field wanted very much to see Black Rain get his ass kicked for once.

The battle would be short and he’d just surrender at first chance anyway.

“Yeah I’ll probably come.” He said after a moment of false deliberation.

“All right cool.” Bren said with a smile. “And hey sorry for not really including you in anything. Usually the first couple weeks are pretty competitive for cadets for the war game. You just, you know, never really seemed into the whole thing.” He shrugged. “But now it really doesn’t matter.” Red Field didn’t care how bad Bren’s apology was; he was going to see Black Rain get trounced, and that was more than enough.

“It’s fine.” He said with a shrug. Bren turned back to the rest of Barracks Six. Siplinski was seated atop the hill and was throwing stones off the incline and Black Rain and Full Wing were still conversing about other battles.

“Hey we should head out, they’re gonna start soon.” Bren said. Black Rain nodded.

“Yeah, we better go.” Full Wing jumped from the tower and landed softly on his hooves after a single beat of his muscled wings. Siplinski rose to his hooves and groaned.

“All that extra undergrowth is gonna make it hard to hold this place tomorrow.” He said worriedly.

“That’s why we’re gonna hit ‘em from the side and break their advance!” Said Full Wing. Red Field was also going to see Full Wing get put in his place; maybe the game wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

Walking back down the hill and through the forest, they saw other squads from Team Two walking toward the fortress, which was already filling with soldiers and cadets. Bren led Barracks Six into the palisade enclosure and they were squished and jostled as they tried to find a place to stand.

The deep tones of stallions talking to stallions bombarded Red Field’s ears and he was glad when he heard somepony finally call over the commotion.

“Let’s start this!” The soldier, an officer that Red Field had seen in a few exercises, had a tan mane and a light green body. “There’s a few more coming but we should get this started now. How many of you is this your first war game?” About ten hooves, including Red Field’s, were raised into the air. The officer nodded. “Great! Glad to see we have some new guys.” He picked up a clipboard. “I’m adjutant Captain Herstal, I’m a supervisory officer under commander Lewerc, but in case you didn’t know, both Team Commanders abdicate command to their staff for the game. That means me and adjutant Captain Obendorf,” he motioned to another officer standing beside the table, “are going to be your leaders for Monday’s battle. Under us are three lieutenants who’ll be in charge of the three divisions for Team Two, and then from there it’s just barracks by barracks.” He looked out at the group. Herstal looked like the kind of pony that would enjoy a job in algorithmic trading. “I’m just going to go over the rules quick so everypony knows what we’re doing.” He flipped the page on his clipboard. “The first war game is an attrition conflict, both sides are attempting to capture and hold an objective position. Weapons are melee only, no spells of any kind are permitted.” He pointed out into the forest. “For them the objective’s going to be the bridge just above sawmill island, bridge delta 2 if you are familiar.” A few nods from Team One. “Our defense objective,” Herstal continued, “is hill eight.” To this Team One cried out in anger and disgust. Herstal, who did not appear to be a particularly staunch stallion, held up his hooves and tried to explain. “They changed the rules since last year on account of the standoff on the landing pad. I know it’s sudden and I did see the plant growth at the base of the hill.” He paused as he realized that now would be a good time to insert some good news. “But you guys are Gale Force, you can hold anywhere.” Even Red Field could tell that Team Two was going to get destroyed. Herstal received more boos and he nodded, “I realize this is not an optimal matchup, but I think we still have a chance. Let’s break into teams now and get our POA laid out. Barracks Two and Four and Six meet with Quantico, Eight, Ten and Twelve, you’re with Stoner, and Mesa is in charge of Fourteen through Twenty.” He dismounted the table and Red Field was again pushed and shoved as squads dispersed to find their leaders.

“Hey it’s still okay guys. We’re still gonna recon then hit their left flank hard.” Black Rain said to the rest of Barracks Six. “It might even be better since we’ll be hitting their entire force off guard.”

Lieutenant Quantico was a tall grey stallion who looked a little like an older version of Flashpoint. He was talking to another group as Barracks Six approached him. He smiled, gave the leader of the first squad a slap on the shoulder, then turned to Bren, who was apparently the leader of Barracks Six.

“Sergeant.” Quantico’s voice sounded only a few years older than Bren.

“Sir.” Said Bren. Quantico looked over Squad Six, then back at Bren.

“What are you thinking?” He asked. Siplinski stepped out beside Bren and came to attention.

“We were thinking recon sir, take the left flank and alert you to any weaknesses and maybe set up an ambush.” Siplinski said. Quantico verified this plan with Bren, then looked down to clipboard he held. He looked it over for only second.

“I’m putting you on perimeter duty. We’re running double security and we need-”

“What?” Interrupted Black Rain. Quantico looked up.

“Perimeter duty, soldier.” He said. “You’ll be on the ten to two.” Black Rain became panicked and the desperation was evident even in his formal tone.

“Sir, I think that-”

“You are on perimeter duty.” Quantico said. “It looks like you have one more member than what I remember and we need more force on the front, now that the hill is their only target.” He pointed toward hill eight. “You have your orders, now move out.”

Despite the forest around them being alight with the conversations and communication of the other squads of Team Two, Barracks Six walked in silence. Red Field walked behind the group and watched the leaves and plants pass by underhoof.

They were going to lose anyway, what did it matter where they spent their time?

He knew how disappointed Full Wing must be, and a part of him felt a little sorry to have ruined his fun.
They reached hill eight, but instead of climbing the incline again, Bren led them around the base of the hill, and toward a thick, green swatch of weeds. A deep trench which curved around the front of the hill lay behind the weeds. He heard Siplinski sigh when the trench came into view.

Red Field didn’t know what “perimeter” was, but he sensed it wasn’t a particularly pleasant duty. Bren reached the trench and without missing a step, hopped into the muddy chasm. Water splashed around him and he cursed aloud. The past several days had been rainy. Siplinski slid in after him, then Black Rain, Full Wing, and finally Red Field.

The trench was about two meters deep and the water was about half a meter deep. The trench gave each pony about a meter of space. The water stank, and Red Field felt his skin crawl as bugs skimmed along the surface.

Siplinski was the first to say something.

“Wow, this is shit.” He said.

“No fuckin’ shit!” Said Black Rain. “This is the worst fucking bullshit possible and it’s because of that fuckin’ idiot.” He pointed to Red Field, who was trying to stand as far away from everypony as possible. “Goddamn it you stupid fucking-”

“Hey knock it off!” Bren said. “Stop bitching about everything, we’re in this shithole job and there’s nothing we can do besides do our best. Does everypony know what we’re doing here?”

“Uh I don’t.” Said Full Wing. Bren turned to him.

“Perimeter means we’re the first line of defense.” He pointed to the garlic mustard that surrounded the trench. “They’re most likely going to come from that direction. This trench is here to slow them up. He pointed to a sloping ramp that led out of the trench and up the hill. “If we get attacked in here, somepony’s going to rush up there and let the guys up top know.” He looked up and down the trench. “It’s pretty tight in here so let’s spread out as much as we can and start marking off sectors of view.”

“Of what?!” Asked Black Rain. “There’s a wall of fucking plants, we can’t see a fucking thing!” The garlic mustard grew so densely that anypony looking out of the trench only saw a mass of thin green shoots. Red Field started to pull down a few of the plants, before realizing that their roots were so thickly intertwined that he couldn’t wrest them from the ground.

“Barracks Six!” Quantico stood above the trench, just above Red Field. “Are you getting set up?”

“Yes sir!” Called Bren. “Are we all supposed to hold this trench sir?”

“That is the idea soldier, I’ve talked with Stoner and Mesa and we’re running a broken pyramid defense so we need your whole squad posted up here. This is the only real blind spot in our defense, so we need you guys to let everypony up top know once you are getting moved on. We’re launching the trap once they hit you guys so you’ve got to let everypony know right away.” Everypony in Barracks Six gave their agreement “It’s on you to make this work.” He said solemnly.

Even Red Field knew that was a lie; anypony atop hill eight could see advancing attackers. If he had to guess, Barracks Six was positioned as a stumbling block for the onslaught of Team One.

They finalized their plan after about five minutes. Barracks Six spread out along the short trench. Red Field was relegated to the corner. They left the trench as soon as possible and Black Rain led them around the hill and surrounding area to confirm the plan with the rest of the squads.

A collapsing pyramid plan, Red Field learned, meant stationing forces in a triangle facing outward from the hill. The base, which was Barracks Six, would alert the rest of the Team which would theoretically now be behind the attackers. If all went to plan, the attackers would be surrounded and routed.

In all of their meetings with the other squads, nopony in Barracks Six was ever told what would happen to them once they came under attack. And as Red Field followed his teammates back to base under the darkness of night, he felt his stomach turn once more. He was almost assuredly going to get stabbed or slashed or injured in some way.

Later that evening, the cadets journeyed back to the gym, where Crunch taught them another course on hoof-to-hoof combat with the rubber knives they’d be using during the game. The first CQC course had been Red Field’s second recorded failure. He’d learned the basic moves and attacks, but couldn’t even match the weakest cadet, and according to Crunch, “hit like a bitch”. Crunch demonstrated a thrust with the knife. He was a scarred and sinewy black stallion who self-classified as “not somepony you’d want to run into in an alley”. Somepony leaned over and shook Red Field’s shoulder gently.

“Yo Jesus pony.” Whispered Blue Streak. Red Field had learned how to respond when accosted during a lesson. Keeping his eyes directed forward and giving no indication that he’d heard anything, Red Field gave a slight “hmm?” from pursed lips. Blue Streak put his mouth uncomfortably close to Red Field’s ear. “You hear that UAT is on the other team tomorrow?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Hmm.”

Crunch called for a volunteer and a Pegasus timidly offered.

“Those guys are seriously scary, like they’re total commandos.” Whispered Blue Streak. Red Field began to grow nauseous as he recalled his unpleasant run-in with them at the beginning of Beast. “They have got to have killed ponies at some point.”

“Is there something you want?” Red Field unhappily whispered. Blue Streak chuckled.

“Yeah, there’s a bet going around that you’ll either cry or get injured during the game by them.”

Crunch told the Pegasus to “come at me bro”, which seemed absurd even in a training scenario. Blue Streak shoved his mouth practically into Red Field’s ear.

“I bet with you, I found out that you can surrender if you get in a fight.” He whispered. “All you have to do is surrender to the first guy who attacks you and I’ll win two hundred bits.” The Pegasus only made a hesitant step toward Crunch before he was assaulted. Blue Streak spoke again. “I’ll give you fifty bits if you make sure not to cry and don’t get injured.” Crunch had flipped the defenseless pony on his back and mock throat-slashed him.

“Mmhmm.” Red Field agreed.

“Sweet, remember, all you have to do is say you surrender.” Whispered Blue Streak.

“If that happens, you’re dead and you go back to base!” Said Agent Orange, who was in charge of adding the particulars of the rules to the demonstration. “And if that happens with Crunch, you go to the afterlife.” He added with a laugh.

Red Field was already repeating his surrender as they were dismissed for the day.

Most of cadets attended the base-wide poker game the night before the game. Red Field would have gone, if he had liked poker, or had any friends who did, or if he were a different pony. Red Field sat in the mess hall for a while after the other ponies had left, then he went for a walk.

The humidity had gone down, and the night air was comfortably warm. The grounds of the base were occasionally peaceful, and the night was almost pleasant for a stroll around the compound. Red Field walked along the fence and looked out at the dark forest. He looked around at the interior of the base. It was mostly deserted. A few mechanics were working on a chariot and the clink of their tools sounded like a small, ringing triangle.

Gale Force could be strangely peaceful at times. Red Field passed by a smallish building which resembled a typical Equestrian house. He’d seen the building many times before but never discovered what it was. He walked around to the front of the building.

It certainly looked like a house.

A small stepping stone path led to what looked quite a bit like a front door. A little frosted glass window was inlet into the door and Red Field approached the door to see if he could discern anything on the other side. He froze as the door opened and Commander Lewerc stood before him. The commander was looking back inside and was laughing to somepony, he was still laughing a bit when he looked before him.

“Red Field!” He said. “Did you need something?” Before Red Field could reply, Blitzkrieg stepped around Lewerc, he too was chuckling.

“We’ll have to see about that.” He said to Lewerc. Red Field had never seen Blitzkrieg smile. He too noticed Red Field. “What are you doing cadet?”

“I was just out for a walk, and I wasn’t sure what this building was.” Red Field said. “I’m terribly sorry if I trespassed.” Blitzkrieg grunted and began to leave, his apparent good spirits replaced with his typical expression of reserved dissatisfaction. Lewerc, though, seemed entirely fine with Red Field’s presence.

“This is Commander Bombs Away’s home cadet.” Said Lewerc. “We just finished dinner.” He cocked his head. “Did you know there’s a poker game tonight for all of the cadets?”

“Yes sir.” Said Red Field as Blitzkrieg strolled away. Lewerc frowned at Red Field, then stepped out of the doorway.

“Walk with me.” Said Lewerc. Red Field followed him and they walked toward the center of the base. “How has your training been?”

“Fine sir.”

“I have to say, I’m very pleased you reconsidered and are back at Gale Force.” Lewerc smiled at Red Field. “You’re a capable pony and I know there’s a post that would suit you.” He sounded like he was trying to convince Red Field of something.

“Thank you sir.”

“I understand how unpleasant Beast has been. Specialist White and I discussed your performance and records and I can see you’re more of the intellectual. I had asked him to show you some of our posts in intelligence, did you get a chance to look at those?”

“Yes sir.”

“What did you think?”

“I think they look interesting.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of all of the different posts available. Right now you’re down for being a clopper. I wanted to make sure you knew there were jobs besides sleeping, eating, and lifting for company members.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well good, I’m very impressed with how you’ve done in Beast so far, I know you can take it all the way.” He gave Red Field a pat on the back. “Remember, tomorrow’s game doesn’t count for anything. I look forward to seeing you graduate soon.”
Red Field bade the commander goodnight, then went back to his barracks and ran through his surrender speech until the rest of Squad Six returned.

A breakfast of oats, the first he’d had since coming to Beast, stewed within Red Field’s nauseated belly. He trekked behind Full Wing and brought up the rear of the procession of Barracks Six as they marched from the mess hall to Macmillan forest. They had awoken an hour early, apparently the war game often ran late and everypony wanted to get an early start. Dew still shone on the leaves and branches of the plants around them. Red Field wasn’t sleepy, his heart raced in his chest and his belly twisted with fear. Despite the fact that he would avoid combat via surrender, Red Field was still terrified of the battle ahead as the other soldiers and cadets of Team One exchanged last minute plan changes and tips.

Team Two was going to get destroyed. That rumor had already permeated the company and no amount of planning was going to save them. Red Field hadn’t slept the entire night before, as he had helplessly envisioned the terrible fate which lay in store for “the base of the collapsing pyramid”. Black Rain had already made plans to abandon post to join in a raiding party which he maintained could “save everything”.

Bren and Siplinski had brought along a deck of cards and Full Wing said he might do a little hill workout; Barracks Six was not prepared to “go all the way for victory.”

They came to the staging area in just a few minutes. About forty folding tables were loaded with rubber knives. Twenty or so officers were donning striped outfits; apparently even war games needed referees. All around them came the ribbing and exchange of boasts as the two teams prepared for battle. Red Field’s heart pounded as Siplinski brought a load of knives back for the squad. Red Field took his frightfully. The knife was covered in scratches and gouges.
The bottom of the hilt unscrewed and a tiny tube of red paint fell into Red Field’s grip. The other soldiers around him were smearing the paint across the blades of their weapons; Red Field began to shake with fright.

“Here.” Siplinski took his knife and spread on the paint for him. “Make sure you put more on if you kill somepony.” He said, apparently not realizing who he was addressing. Red Field numbly took the knife, he was on the verge of pretending to pass out to keep himself from actually participating in the impending nightmare.

“Hey!” Somepony smacked his shoulder. Blue Streak stood beside him. He was wearing a striped t-shirt and carried a thick rulebook. “You look great, you got this!” He said, his grin more affiliated with the prospect of winning his bet than his facetious confidence in Red Field. “I got a job helping one of the refs and I’ll give you a hoof if I can, like when he’s not looking.”

“Excuse me, could you see if I could do that too?” Red Field asked. Blue Streak saw how close he was to crumbing.

“No no dude! You gotta do this! It’s really not that bad! Do you remember what I said about surrendering?” Red Field was about to plead more desperately when Blue Streak again slapped his shoulder and pointed. “Holy shit dude that’s UAT!” He said in a disturbing reverence. Red Field looked to where Blue Streak pointed.

UAT seemed to both fulfill and dispel the stereotypes circulating about the elite group of ponies. On the one hoof, they were secretive and shadowy, as they trained off base and were only occasionally seen showering or eating. On the other hoof, a sort of unspoken and unreasoned requisite for UAT was said to be a beard. However, in the dull, overcast morning light, Red Field saw only about four or five of the stallions had beards, and the rest were clean shaven. They weren’t much taller than the other members of Gale Force, and there were even one or two that were Red Field’s height. However the subtle lines and angles of each pony’s body betrayed their legendary physique. Oddly, most were unicorns, with only a few earth ponies, and not a single Pegasus.

The group of about twenty or so ponies stood at the far end of the row of tables. They wore green digitized uniforms, and black metal horseshoes. The team’s commander was talking with one of the referees.

Blue Streak stared at UATs as if they were the next incarnation of Nightmare Moon herself. He gave Red Field a final, wordless pat on the shoulder, then trotted over to meet the group. The UAT commander and the referee continued to converse, and the rest of UAT stood around, seemingly disinterested in the commotion around them. They hadn’t even taken their weapons yet.

The rest of Barracks Six caught sight the UATs.

“Simo, I don’t see Simo.” Black Rain said, hurriedly scanning the group. “You think he’s hurt?”

“Nope, there he is.” Said Siplinski, pointing to a short white unicorn.

“Fuck, that’s a whole team.” Black Rain said. Red Field watched the UATs, a few talked with one another, but none responded to any of the cadets or soldiers who sidled up to them. Red Field couldn’t tell if they were intentionally acting pretentious or if they were genuinely disinterested in the war game. He was still observing them when he heard the crowd around him grow quiet. He looked back and saw Commander Bombs Away accompanied by Blitzkrieg and Lewerc, standing at the other end of the rows of tables.

“Gale Force Company, attention!” Said Blitzkrieg. All of the ponies hastily formed into their squads and stood at attention.

“Today’s the annual Team on Team war game.” Bombs Away voice called. “This exercise was started seventy years ago as a means for the entire company to practice hoof-to-hoof combat and to learn a little about war without modern weapons.” He was walking down the rows of ponies. “I realize that a lot of you see this as just a big game. But it’s my hope that you can learn something about cruder fighting.” He stopped in the middle of the company, about ten meters from Red Field. Bombs Away looked around. “This is not how we will fight. We fight with better training, better weapons, better tactics, and better planning.” He paused and looked around at the teams. “But if we ever fight like this, we’ll still win.” He started down the line. “If you ever find yourself in a fair fight with you enemy, in pure hoof-to-hoof combat.” He said as he passed Red Field. “Plan A has certainly failed.” A few ponies laughed as Bombs Away reached the other end of the lines. “That being said, the game starts in fifteen minutes. Make your way to your starting positions.” A cry of “yes sir!” rose from both teams.

Red Field was still wincing from the sudden shout when Siplinski grabbed him by the mane and yanked him backward. All around them, soldiers and squads were galloping and bolting to and fro. Leaders shouted orders and subordinates shouted agreements. Red Field nearly toppled over as Siplinski shoved him after the rest of Barracks Six, who were running full tilt toward hill eight.

“Come on! We gotta get set up!” Said Siplinski with renewed vigor. Red Field’s heart was racing and he had forgotten about his terror as he bolted after his squad. They reached the hill in just a few minutes. Siplinski leaped into the trench without an instant of deceleration and deposited a splash that rocked the water. Red Field landed a few seconds after him with a “plunk”.

“Go, get to your side!” Said Black Rain. He pointed to Red Field. “Get in the fuckin’ corner, watch for anypony!”

“Full, where’s Full at?” Asked Bren. Full Wing was sprinting up the hill. Both Bren and Black Rain shouted up at him. Full Wing had been so excited he’d forgotten his station and was rushing up to the top of hill eight. The previous detachment and even resignation to the battle had turned and everypony, even Red Field, was focused on the impending battle.

After Full Wing had returned, Black Rain made certain everypony was in their position and had their sight angles down. Red Field, sitting in the far left corner, could see around the edge of the weeds. He saw groups of what he hoped were Team Two ponies fanning out into the falling pyramid formation. His heart raced as somepony hammered his shoulder.

“Hey! See anything?” Asked Siplinski. Red Field told him of the groups of ponies.

“Hey, it’s just Stoner’s team getting set up.” Bren seemed to have calmed somewhat. “We’ve still got like eight minutes till it starts.” For a moment, all five caught their breath. Then Siplinski stepped to the middle of the trench.

“Let’s get a battle plan.” He said, talking even faster than normal. “If they come in Rain’s sector, I’ll cover his back while you,” he pointed to Bren, “come at them from the front and try to occupy them.” He motioned to himself. “Same thing, one of us gets my back and the others go to engage them.” He pointed to Bren. “You’re in the corner, so you either need to pull back and we fight as a group. Or you can try to hold them for a couple seconds while we rush in behind them.”

“I’ll try and hold them; you guys will get them from behind.” Bren said.

“And if anypony comes at Red Field, we’ll rush in to get his body.” Said Black Rain.

“Just try and hold them. We’ll kill ‘em as long as you keep their backs to us.” Siplinski said to Red Field.

“Okay.” Red Field said . He was so frightened that he didn’t recall his plan to surrender. Siplinski turned to Full Wing.

“You gotta fly as fast as you can. I know it’s going to be hard to tell what’s going on in the adrenaline of the moment, but the second we come under attack, you have to go.” He said severely. Full Wing was giving his “hell yeah” when a siren wailed through the forest

“Shit.” Said Black Rain.

Sweat ran down Red Field’s face and he struck at it as if the small salty drop were a fly. His ears twitched and searched about and every falling leaf in the forest terrorized his nerves. Red Field was utterly readied for the impending attack.

At least for the first twenty minutes.

Bren was leaned against the wall of the trench. Black Rain was leaned against the opposite side, listening for anypony approaching. Red Field was crouched in the embrace of the muddy corner. Siplinski stood in the middle of the narrow moat, he was methodically cracking all of the joints in his body.

They’d heard nothing.

Every now and then, somepony would profess to “hearing something” but the forest was as still and quiet as it should have been. Siplinski popped his neck and Black Rain turned on him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He whispered. Siplinski bowed his head without saying anything. Black Rain turned back to listening to the forest.

“I’d heard from a couple guys last night that they might be sending some runners ahead of the main attack to test our defenses.” Bren said. Red Field’s ears noticed a crack in a twig about twenty meters away. He hadn’t heard such a noise before. “We have to watch for anything, even little stuff.”

“I think I heard something.” Red Field said as quietly as he could. Only Siplinski noticed he had said something. The red unicorn turned around.

“Did you say something?” He asked. Red Field licked his lips, which were suddenly dry.

“I think something over that way, like a twig snapping I think.” He said a little louder. Siplinski flicked his head to Black Rain and the bigger unicorn sloshed over.

“What is it?” He asked Siplinski. Siplinski deferred him to Red Field. Red Field pointed out to the forest.

“I think I heard a twig snap.” He whispered. Black Rain nodded and pushed by Red Field. Carefully pressing his hind hooves into the muddy wall of the trench, Black Rain lifted himself upward and poked his head out of the trench. He scanned for a few seconds, then bade Siplinski to take a look. Siplinski rose up too, and Red Field waited nervously as the pair of exposed soldiers looked for the source of the noise. He heard another crack from the same direction and anxiously considered telling them.

Siplinski and Black Rain dropped down after a moment.

“Nothin’.” Said Black Rain, wading back to his position. Siplinski also returned to his station. Red Field’s heart raced as he waited for whatever it was that his comrades had missed to descend on him. After fifteen minutes, he began to relax again. Black Rain had stepped away from the wall and was now practicing a few jabs and slashes with his knife. Siplinski sloshed over to Bren and suggested they trade positions. Red Field let out a long breath and watched a piece of bark float along the still surface of the water. Bren agreed to trade places and began to ease past Siplinski.

Something in the forest snapped.

Everypony froze. Bren hurriedly returned to his original position. Siplinski pressed himself against the wall closest to the noise, along with Black Rain. The noise had sounded like a large branch cracking in two. It had also sounded close.
They waited for whatever it was. Red Field held his knife under his chin. The blade dipped a bit and led a thin line of red onto his chest. He adjusted it and wondered if he might claim to have killed himself to escape the impending attack. However he was much too terrified of what lurked on the other side of the plants to consider rising out of the trench. He wiped away the paint and waited. Presently he heard Siplinski ask Black Rain what the noise could have been.
“
Dunno. Could have been a rope.” Whispered Black Rain.

“You think they’re roping in from the trees?” Asked Siplinski.

“I dunno know the fuck’s up, we’re stuck in this goddamn trench.” Said Black Rain. They heard distant shouting, and a whistle blow several short bursts. “Group contact.” Black Rain said. “Means they might still be a few hundred meters out if we’re just meeting them now.” He pulled away from the wall a little bit. The shouting erupted again, along with a few more whistle blows.

“God, I hope that’s not UAT.” Said Siplinski. Black Rain shook his head.

“There’s no contact with UAT, refs don’t need to watch for any rule breaking. They just drop down behind you and cut your throat.” He said. Red Field’s skin began to crawl.

Squad Six would certainly come under attack first. Or would the UATs bypass the trench entirely and simply sneak up the hill and secure it before anypony knew what was going on?

In a minute, Black Rain relaxed.

“We’re clear.” He said with a certainty that seemed overconfident to Red Field. “That’s gotta be their main attack force running into one of our recon teams.” He said. He again started to knife the air. Siplinski began to relax as well and he began to crack his joints again, which had since regained their crack-ability. Red Field wasn’t so easily pacified, and kept listening for any sounds of movement.

Another half an hour passed and Red Field was still straining for anything in the forest. He’d heard several noises which he considered suspect, but had decided against alerting his squadmates. He was nevertheless convinced that somepony lurked nearby.

Red Field theorized the various manners in which approaching enemies might have caused the noises. But how plausible was each explanation? How much could he really expect of his enemies? Would they be foolish enough to break a twig? Was it plausible to assume two instances of a plant snapping back a in less than three minutes were the signs of an approaching soldier?

Red Field hadn’t expected how much paranoia and self-questioning guard duty brought on.
He didn’t even notice the hair-like legs of the water strider curiously stroking his leg.

The noontime sky, though still overcast, had grown much lighter. Bren leaned against the wall of the trench. Black Rain did the same and pressed his chin to his chest as he rested. Siplinski was sitting beside Full Wing on the small ramp.

Red Field had made a game out of his listening. He graded each sound immediately after hearing it. Any sound not meeting a required suspicion level was disregarded. Qualifying sounds he then analyzed on the basis of their position and plausibility of a pony being in the proper position to create such a noise. From there he created a mental map of suspect directions and areas, and made certain to search for trends or patterns indicating a likely enemy presence. Red Field also made random spot checks on sounds which did not meet the suspect standards, as part of his process of vigilance. He’d poked his head up several times and used his view to create a mental map that he could interpose the various sounds onto.

Red Field knew nopony was there.

Red Field had heard some shouting, and a few times the battle had sounded close. But after many hours of passivity the members of Squad Six knew they weren't in any great danger. Red Field was growing hungry and began to wonder about lunch when Black Rain pushed himself off of the wall.

“Fuck this.”

“We still have to be careful.” Bren said. “They’re probably just getting to us now, our guys probably put a good fight.”

“No way.” Black Rain said with a shake of his head. “Fuckin’ UAT should have dropped down on us or taken the hill some other way by now.”

“They’d have let us know if the game was over.” Said Bren. Black Rain sighed and wiped some mud from his leg.

“How much longer do we have?” He asked.

“Six, eight hours?” Said Bren. “This one’s the short one right?”

“Hey I still have my cards if you guys want to do some poker or something.” Siplinski said.

“Good shit.” Black Rain said. Black Rain and Siplinski were in the process of deciding what game they should play, and Bren was still leaned into his corner.

The very green and very camouflaged head and shoulders of somepony oozed over the side of the trench directly above Bren. The pony clutched a knife in his mouth and was slowly sliding over the ledge and toward Bren.

“HEY!” Red Field cried. His shout startled everypony, and the cards went flying as Siplinski jumped. He looked to Red Field, but Black Rain looked to where the small pony pointed.

“Down Bren!” Shouted Black Rain as he dashed at the attacker. Bren, who was already startled by Red Field, dove into the muddy water. The aspiring assassin, seeing his quarry escape, lunged downward in an attempt to catch him with a swinging blow. Black Rain covered the distance between himself and the pony in a quarter of a second. With a swift blow, Black Rain grabbed the pony by the mane and shoved his face deep into the mud. He hacked a swipe of red paint across the pony’s neck while slapping away his enemy’s weapon. Another pony leaped from the garlic mustard and tackled Black Rain from behind. Red Field saw him stab his knife into the unicorn’s neck. Siplinski caught this next attacker by the throat and flipped him into the water. He dispatched this foe with a single slash across the belly.

The ponies poured into the trench like lemmings. Two stallions tackled Siplinski simultaneously and all three sank under the water. Bren shouted for Full Wing to run, then was slashed by another attacker. At least seven more ponies were now in the trench. Red Field watched in horror as his squad was immediately killed off.

Their attackers were coated in smeared camouflaged paint. The ponies of Team One were nearly all Gale Force Soldiers, although Red Field made out a couple cadets. One of the attackers shouted for somepony to get the runner, and a Pegasus shot out of the trench and after Full Wing.

“Hey, are we clear?” Asked one of the soldiers. One of them spotted the little black and white unicorn huddled in the corner. Red Field nearly fainted as all seven of the attackers turned on him.

“Hang on! Let me get this one!” Said somepony behind them. Red Field saw a smallish cadet, one with the grin of a colt with far too much testosterone, step out in front of them. He lifted his knife and displayed the blade with a sadistic twirl.

“All right, you got him.” Red Field saw Agent Orange standing behind the cadet. His instructor noticed him and gave the cowering pony a flick of the head. “’Sup Jesus pony.” He said with a similar grin. Red Field’s heart raced as the other cadet braced himself.

Red Field’s teammates had risen from the water and watched him.

“Come on Red! Get this motherfucker!” Shouted Bren. Red Field nearly gagged on the piercing fear that overtook him as the stallions shouted orders and advice to him and his opponent. The other pony lurched toward him.

“I surrender!” Red Field cried.

Everypony stopped. Agent Orange laughed. Then everypony from Team One laughed.

“Ha! I knew that would happen!” Said Agent Orange. He gave his protégé a pat on the shoulder. “You got an easy one this time, next one will be harder.” The other cadet, who Red Field saw was a black Pegasus, paused, then looked up to Agent Orange.

“Can I still clean him?” He asked eagerly. Agent Orange looked back to Red Field, then gave an approving shrug.

“Sure!” Red Field was shaking as the other cadet approached him.

“Easy now, it’ll all be over soon. Promise you won’t feel a thing.” Said the cadet. With all of the other ponies watching, he ran the end of his knife along Red Field’s neck, leaving a thin line of paint. He made a sweeping gesture around Red Field’s neck, as if he were collecting the unicorn’s dog tags as a trophy.

“Now let’s take that hill!” Shouted Agent Orange. The other squad erupted into cheers and they splashed out of the trench, leaving their fallen enemies behind. The water splashed back and forth, further soaking the ponies.

A few of Siplinksi’s cards floated over the muddy waves.

Next Chapter: Chapter 8 Estimated time remaining: 13 Hours, 7 Minutes