Fallout Equestria: Tomorrow Never Comes
Chapter 2
Transfer
There’s one memory that’s always stuck with me, when my brother and I had ventured far out from our home, as we had always done. This day, however, would prove to be different than our usual days of exploring. We were pretty young; I was somewhere around fifteen, and my brother, Moxie, would have been twelve. Moxie had told me about an old, abandoned camp he had found a few miles off of the road that our home was adjacent to, and wanted me to come with him to help pick through it for anything interesting we might find.
The walk wasn’t too long, but it was rough. The whole trip was constantly up and down hills, and the terrain got pretty rocky about halfway through. I underestimated what my brother’s idea of what a mile was, and didn’t realize that he had walked around three miles out until we finally arrived at the small site. There was a single tent, haphazardly held up with two poles, underneath a large, dead tree. Placed a few feet from the front of a tent was a fire pit, with a pan and a few empty tin cans scattered around the rocks that made up the border of the pit. I wish I could have inspected the rest of the area better than I had, but my attention was drawn to the fire pit, and the still-burning embers that lay at the bottom.
“Hey, Moxie?” I had asked him nervously.
“Yeah?”
“When did you find this place again?”
“Two days ago,” he responded, as he began to trot down to the tent.
“You didn’t notice anything… weird about this place then?”
“Not really.” He had just reached the border of the fire pit, and had kicked a tin can towards the tent. No response. “I did find this weird hat down here though.”
“A weird hat?” I asked, as I joined him beside the fire pit.
“Yeah, I don’t know why anypony would want to wear a hat like it though, it was hard as hell.”
“Where was it?”
“It’s over there.” He pointed his hoof towards a lockbox that I hadn’t noticed. Beside it, on the ground, lay an NCR combat helmet.
=== === ===
Roads.
Roads, roads…and more roads.
The archaic pathways that connected every village, town, and city in the old world were now the old, familiar friends of the merchants and their respective escorts and bodyguards. Though, I don’t know if I ever really had a “friend” in them. Our relationship was more of an acquaintanceship. I can’t really envision being friends considering how lonely, bleak, and drole the highways of the Equestrian wasteland more often than not were.
However, that description may not be entirely accurate as of late. Lonely? Sure. Droll? You bet. But bleak? The small, sparse bits of green that had begun to spring up from the millions of cracks and crevices throughout the miles of pavement were desperately attempting to put that label to rest. To most ponies who were unfamiliar with the struggles of the NCR scientists in the vegetation restoration field, they were simple, scrawny weeds, but to me they were a great symbol. Equestria was coming back, or trying to at least, and with the state of the world right now, that’s all you can ask of anypony.
Hopefully, this is the future we can look forward to. Currently though, lonely, bleak, and droll were apt descriptions.
I never complained though. I’ve always tried my best not to. I’ve heard so much bellyaching from other grunts while on duty I don’t think I could even stand to hear the sound coming from my own mouth. To my relief and surprise, I had yet to hear one complaint out of our new travelling buddy, private Weaver. He had asked a couple of routine questions concerning gear, preparations, and so on, but not once did he utter even a groan. Even after we had passed the four and a half mile halfway point in our journey to the unnamed settlement just outside NCR jurisdiction.
I like ponies that don’t bitch and moan, it makes the whole of whatever you’re doing a hell of a lot more bearable. So, it was only natural that I would end up with a mild hatred of the merchant we were currently escorting.
Timber, the merchant we had the pleasure of sharing this long stretch of tar with, was an earth pony who was getting up there in age. His mane, now a dirty shade of grey, contrasted with his piss-yellow coat about as much as his nervousness and temper contrasted with mine and CB’s calmness. He had no reason to worry, CB and I had walked this particular road dozens of times and we had long been familiar with any ambush point or hiding spot. Still, we remained on guard.
“‘Bout like that damned pencil-pusher to set me up with the most laid back ponies in the base,” Timber once again exhaled tiredly. “Merchants comin’ back with nothing but news ‘bout more raider activity, and I get shafted with the bodyguards again.”
The wagon he pulled rolled on down the road, occasionally bouncing over a bump or groove in the pavement, bouncing up the cart’s tarp revealing the various packs of rations and water bottles intended to both nourish the inhabitants of our destination, and provide them with a reason to side with us. Funny how that works. All this was supposed to be was a basic supply drop, but this apparent gift of generosity would take on a political meaning inevitably.
Timber once again slowed his pace as we began to pass a rock formation perched on a hill to our right.
“See that?” He turned his head back towards me to say, “we pass by a sketchy damn place like that, and y’all don’t even wanna check it out before we walk right past it.”
“Look, you nervous wreck,” CB replied, “that’s the fourth time you’ve wanted to stop the cart, just so the three of us can go up ahead and poke around in some hole that I already knew was coming up. And guess what? You’re oh for three now, and I can guarantee you won’t get lucky with this one.”
“That actually looks like it could hide a few ponies,” Weaver spoke up, “I can understand the other spots, but are you sure we shouldn’t check this one out?”
“No need,” I answered, “The way the rocks are angled we were already able to see if anypony was there a couple of yards back. There’s nopony up there.”
“Oh, right,” Weaver mumbled.
“Don’t know why no one but me wants to make sure we ain’t gonna end up strung up by no Brighter Dawn tribal,” Timber once more decided to pipe in.
The Brighter Dawn, as they liked to be called, were a more recent thorn in the Caravan Defense’s side. A relatively small tribal outfit compared to pre-NCR groups, but they were still able to strategize pretty well. Well, most of them were anyway, some of the idiots like to introduce themselves like corny-ass supervillains or some shit. Or, that’s what some other soldiers have said. As far as I know, I’ve never encountered them. If I had, they weren’t too inclined to had me a business card before popping off a few potshots.
This is how it went for any other “sketchy damn place” we happened upon. Timber would bitch a little about us not taking a half hour to scope out an old, rundown shack before getting within forty yards of the thing, despite the fact that me and CB knew about it even before we set out that morning. We had walked this stretch of road so many times it seemed, that we would probably notice if a certain pebble was out of place, having been blown by a strong wind or knocked over by sompony’s dragging hooves.
Highway 18, as it was known to the NCR mapmakers, was one of three main roads leading out of Fort McCanton, stretching far away to the southern lands, making a few wide turns before it extended beyond the borders of the NCR. I don’t know what it was called before the cartographers put a number on it, but I’d sure like to. I feel like I somehow wouldn’t mind travelling down “Heartspring’s Lane” or “Morningdew Road” as much as I would Highway 18.
I wish a lot of things were called by their original names, the ones now lost to time. As far as I know, every town still retained its superficial identity, its soft and fluffy name. Junction R-7 was the most well known, hell it’d probably be known by that name until the end of time, especially with its importance in the wasteland. Being the capital city of the largest, most organized, and essentially ONLY government body in the wastes can certainly add an air of significance, to the location and its name.
Towns and cities were easy to name and map, the big prominent signs on the roads going into their borders helped a lot with that I imagine. The roads themselves though, were not as lucky. Anything printed on paper fared poorly to the effects of time, and that included maps. Cartographers damn near lost their minds whenever they got a hint that a map may have survived in a certain shop or house, but very few were ever recovered by the NCR.
If I had to be assigned to any other position, there are very few I wouldn’t want more than cartographers. I already said that I had expected menial duties when I signed up, and cartographers got their fair share of that, but I don’t think I’d be able to handle a job that was performed behind a desk ninety percent of the time.
I couldn’t dedicate myself to something like that. Not to say that our cartographers didn’t do good work for a good cause, I just couldn’t allow myself to live in that…….safety. Anywhere the cartographers went, the army had already been there a week.
I had told myself when I signed, I wanted a job that would allow me to provide some kind of service to the rest of the wastes, a job that would put me on the frontlines of change.
A job that would put me in danger.
=== === ===
“Aaannndddd, we’re in the great gray area!” CB proclaimed as soon as we had passed by a makeshift outpost, flanked by three NCR soldiers who were taking their turns on border defense. Timber was long acquainted with nearly every soldier who had border duty, so we were allowed past no questions asked.
“You guys have a working radio, right?” CB yelled over to one of the soldiers as Timber yanked and pulled the wagon to make it over the small arched bridge that crossed over a small stream that flowed out from the front of the outpost.
“You got it!” one of the ponies, a unicorn, yelled back. “This one spent some time in maintenance, so if you get left high and dry out there you can blame those assholes!”
“I think the blame game’s the last thing we’ll be wanting to play,” I called back over my shoulder, “if shit goes down bad enough to call it in!”
“Doesn’t mean I want eyes glaring at me during the wake though!” the unicorn soldier laughed back.
“Hey….uh, corporal Holder?” I head Weaver call up ahead of me. “Can we get some help over here?” Weaver was behind the wagon, still stuck on the incline of the bridge, trying to push it over.
“Yeah, hold on,” I called ahead as I hurried my pace.
When I reached the rear of the wagon I noticed that the right wheel was laid in a gap in the planks, and the frequency of swears coming from the front of the wagon indicated Timber’s annoyance with the situation. I leaned my shoulder on the body of the wagon and gave a good push. I was surprised at how easily the wheel escaped.
“Shit, you needed help with that?” CB said, glancing over at Weaver as he caught up with the group.
“What, the thing was stuck wasn’t it?” Weaver asked, trying to avoid eye contact.
“There’s maybe a hundred pounds in the back of that wagon,” CB chuckled at the private. “How the hell did you get an assignment with the shape you’re in?”
“I don’t know, I can match everyone during drills. I mean, Timber was having trouble with it too.”
“Timber’s also as old as that fucking bridge is,” I joked. “And you’re what, nineteen?”
“Eighteen,” Weaver quietly replied, slowly trying to make his way to the front of the wagon, and away from me and CB.
“Fucking hell,” CB said “Were you that eager to get away from your folks?”
Before Weaver could answer, Timber once again stopped the wagon to voice yet another complaint that I’m sure would have come up sooner or later anyway.
“Will at least one of you sorry bastards come up to the front? I’m pretty sure takin’ a bullet before the fucker you’re escortin’ is part of your job description!”
“Aw shit,” CB exhaled, making sure he was talking loud enough for Timber to hear, “we must be about to pass by a sketchy looking shrub.”
“You just remember who writes up the satisfaction reports, grunt!” Timber promptly shot back. “I’ve seen it happen before, and I can have you workin’ in the latrines if I word it just right.”
CB just laughed. “Yeah, yeah, calm down I’m heading up.”
CB and me both knew the kind of weight a report from Timber would carry, and it was even lighter than his wagon. Timber was a running joke incarnate with anyone who had a job handling papers at the base. He’s filed reports on guards who didn’t offer him a drink from their canteens for goddess-sake. No, CB didn’t have anything to be worried about.
I was more curious as to what the answer was to CB’s earlier question to Weaver. I hung back further from the wagon so I could match pace with the private.
“So Weaver,” I asked, looking over at him, his eyes shooting up from the ground to meet mine, “what was it that made you sign up so early?”
“Uh….I guess private Cotton Ball kinda said it,” Weaver replied quietly.
“Oh, you’re not gonna want to say that when he’s close enough to hear you” I laughed.
“But, that’s his name isn’t it?”
“Not to anyone that’s a lower rank that he is. Hell, I outrank him and I don’t think I’ve ever called him that but once.”
“Does he not like his name or something?” Weaver asked, getting a little braver with his questions.
“That’s a story I don’t even know, but I feel like it’s a long one so I don’t really worry about it. Anyway, that’s getting off topic from what you were saying earlier.”
“Earlier….about what?”
“About why you signed up.”
“Oh. Well, like I said, Cott,-uh… CB pretty much got it. My parents.”
“What, does your dad like to hit the bottle a little or something like that?”
“Well, that and everything else. Can’t really say my mom tried her best to improve the situation either. Best we could hope for was for her to throw us out for a couple of hours.”
“So you just signed up when you could?” I asked, feeling myself reach a comfort area in the topic at hand.
“Yep, on my birthday actually.”
“What a present,” I chuckled, “so, what’re you doing when you get out?”
“I don’t know,” Weaver replied, speaking a little louder than he had been throughout the conversation, “maybe go back and try to fix the house up a little. Show my parents that I’ve done something worthwhile.”
“Huh, I’d wait a couple more years to see how things go before I say that,” I chuckled back at him. “So, you’re going back, after you signed up to get out?”
“Yeah, well I have a sister that I need to help out once I get a decent bit of money. If it weren’t for her I just might live on base. She was the only thing keeping me sane there.”
My pace quickened slightly, as if automatically, to match my heart beat. “It’s fine, I’ve got it this time,” I thought to myself.
“What about you corporal Holder?” Weaver looked over at me, and tried to match my increasing pace, “do you have anyone you visit on leave?”
I’m still amazed at how fast just a small amount of thought on the subject could trigger a headache, a fever, shortening of breath.
“Uh, corporal?”
A series of thoughts that need to be kept... locked up somewhere, out of fear of another week’s worth of nightmares if brought up again. Just... seal them behind a brick wall, yeah, that’s what always works. Works a hell of a lot better than what that doctor told me..
“You can hear me, can’t you Holder?”
“What?” I twisted around and glared hard at the private, fighting heavy breathing.
“I said do you have anyone that yo‒”
“No,” I said. Quick and easy.
“Really? You don’t live with anyon‒”
“Nope, sure don’t,” It was getting harder to answer; I hoped Weaver would pick up on the situation by now.
“Damn, but you don’t live on base, right?”
“Uh..no. Look I think we’re coming up on….something up ahead that needs scouting.”
I didn’t bother to turn around to see if Weaver had finally taken the hint, I just needed to move, to walk next to CB for a while.
I hoped Timber wouldn’t pipe in with another damned complaint as I passed him.
I just needed to move… to walk next to CB for a while…
Just needed to move…
=== === ===
Another mile down the highway was helping a lot; being able to talk to CB instead of Weaver even more so. I hoped the kid didn’t think he had pissed me off too bad, but from how quiet he had been trudging back behind the wagon it looked like he might have thought just that. I don’t really think I had been angry, just...short? No, that’s not it. Whatever I was feeling, I didn’t want to feel it anymore, at least for the rest of the trip.
We were still about a mile and a half from whatever town we needed to be at, and I was looking forward to a nice, boring drop off, and then a nice, boring walk back to the base. Same as it always was. Timber, though, was bound and goddamned determined to put those hopes to rest.
I swear, every fucking quarter mile it was always something about some “sketchy damned cellar” or some “sketchy damned barn” or some “sketchy damned ponies in the road.”
Wait, what?
“I said,” Timber piped up again, “them bastards up there are actin’ pretty skitty. You gonna tell ‘em to fuck off outta the way or what?”
“What, nopony gets to walk on the same road as you or something?” CB joked, noticing the couple of ponies treading slowly down the road towards our group.
“Huh?” Weaver spoke up from the rear, trotting quickly up to the front to see, “Are they from the settlement? Coming to meet us or something?”
“If they are,” I answered, “nopony told us anything about it. Traders or scavengers most likely.”
We’d met ponies travelling our way on escort assignments often enough, and most of them had either wanted to buy something off of us or sell us something. Weapons, medicine, random shit they found in some hole full of more shit, anything that could be carried in a saddlebag had been advertised. The only thing me or CB had ever bought from anypony while on an assignment was water. With some escorts being particularly long, the last thing you want is something else to carry, and the first thing, usually after about half of the trip had passed, was some watery goodness. With this trip however, I didn’t plan on doing anything that would make the escort take longer than it already would.
As the ponies drew nearer, I noticed just how ragged their clothing appeared to be. So much so that I began to wonder if they lived in the old brick building a ways ahead to our left. Either that, or whatever settlement we were headed towards really needed some relief. The way the ponies lazily continued towards us it looked like we would meet in the middle near a rock formation to our right. Huh, guess I didn’t remember this road as much as I thought I did, I thought those rocks were a little closer to the building.
Maybe I was letting myself get a little too bored if that little detail bothered me.
“How’s the wagon-pulling been?” One of the ponies asked, looking back to Timber. I had been so bothered by the rocks that I didn’t even notice that the ponies had slowed a bit in front of us.
“I reckon it’s been about as good as it’ll ever be,” Timber shot back dryly.
“That’s just how it goes, huh?” the unknown earth pony chuckled heartily. Upon close inspection I noticed that not only was his clothing ragged, it also seemed to be really tight around his chest. “Damn,” I thought, “ we probably should have delivered some fabric or clothing too.
“You guys looking to buy ammo or meds?” the grey unicorn mare casually inquired, “looks like your ammo bags are a little skimpy, huh?”
“Shit,” CB chimed in, “why bring twenty pounds of ammo along on an escort like this?”
“Oh short trip huh? What’s that in your pack?” the unicorn mare asked CB, “nine mil’ rounds?”
“And the gun to match!” CB said, motioning past his radio to his submachine gun hanging from a strap. “Hey, you guys said you’ve got meds, right?”
The earth pony stallion stepped forward to answer, “Oh, you forget that pack back at home?”
“Nah, just remembered that I needed another pack of liquid hypodermic. I had to use some on a cut a couple miles back.”
“You’re in luck pal, we just stocked up.” the earth pony answered quickly; turning back to dig around in a saddlebag worn by the unicorn mare.
The look CB quickly shot my way told me everything I needed to know. I doubted this guy had a pack of liquid hypodermic needles in his saddlebag. I moved my back to angle my battle-saddle so that I could easily reach my hoof back to it, at the same time giving private Weaver another hard glare, this one with a purpose behind it.
Seeing me adjusting my gear seemed to be enough to put Weaver on his toes enough as it is, the look was the finishing touch. I saw him move to the right of the wagon and position himself a ways behind CB.
The earth pony seemed to have found what he was looking for and moved back up to speak with us, removing a smaller sack from his partner’s saddlebag.
“Alright,” he spoke up, “it looks like I was thinking of another supply we had loaded up, but I can get you some of the stuff you need if you can do a quick favor for me.”
“Sure thing,” CB calmly replied, “what’s that?”
CB was playing it a little slower than he usually does. “Good,” I thought, “Maybe he had learned that you didn’t always have to jump straight to the worst scenario.”
As the earth pony yanked a revolver out from the sack with his muzzle, the unicorn levitated an automatic pistol out from her other saddlebag and floated it in front of her face. Each weapon was focused on me an CB.
“Or,” I thought again to myself, “maybe you should sometimes.”
I didn’t take my eyes off of the stallion, whose revolver was aimed right at my dome, but I could hear Weaver make some sort of squeaky, panicked sound behind me. I imagined CB was just as still as I was.
“This wagon and its contents are now property of The Brighter Dawn,” the earth pony stallion announced sharply, “you are to remove yourself from the wagon and leave the area at once, any sudden actions will result in us killing the fuck out of you all.”
“Great,” I thought, “fucking supervillains.”
“What the fuck did I tell ya?!” Timber yelled annoyedly, “maybe ya should clear the road when I’m on it, ya jackass!”
“Shut up you old shit,” the unicorn mare ordered Timber, “you; telescope…” The mare was referring to me by my cutie mark, a spyglass crossed over a full moon. Why she mentioned the telescope and not the large, overly visible moon is beyond me.
“I guess you mean me, huh?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.
“We’re not fucking around here, smartass,” The stallion replied in annoyance, “get that fucker out of the harness.”
“Alright, alright,” I quipped, “just give me a second, these straps are older than the old shit that’s hooked into them.”
I slowly turned towards Timber and the cart he was attached to. On my way over to the harness I flashed a quick glance over at CB, and hoped that Weaver really was ready for anything to happen. I began unhooking the top half of the harness with my mouth, unhooking the leather strap and letting it fall to Timber’s side. Once that was out of the way I kneeled down a bit to undo the lower strap that would loosen Timber from the wagon. On the way down, though, I just so happened to knock a small, metal canister that was hooked near the bottom of the wagon into my right hoof. I maneuvered my hoof near my mouth to mock struggling with the strap. I felt the pin finally pull free of the canister and I gripped the lever attached to the side tightly.
“Okay,” I said, pulling myself off of the ground, remaining beside Timber, “that should have it.”
As soon as the last word escaped my mouth I allowed the canister in my hoof to drop to the ground, and metallic ping could be heard as the lever separated from the rest of the cylinder.
“The fuck‒” BANG!
The confusion from the earth pony stallion was the last thing I heard before my senses failed. My hearing was gone but I still retained some sense of sight as I had closed my eyes a few seconds before the stun grenade exploded. I knew Timber wouldn’t have been as prepared, so I quickly found his body in my partial blindness and drug him along with me as I moved as fast as I could behind the wagon. I knew CB would have had the same preparation and would have gone for Weaver, I just hoped he hadn’t stumbled too far away from where he was standing for CB to tackle him before the effects of the flash wore off.
I knew I had around five seconds to put as much ground between us and the tribals as possible before they could eventually see well enough to aim. Through my shrinking blind spot I spotted a lone-standing wall we had stopped beside and made a break for it, Timber’s shirt still in my hooves. I could only imagine what must have been going through his head when he was suddenly blinded. Hell, if he made it out of this he’d probably file a report on me for that.
Falling drunkenly to the ground, I looked up and noticed I had underestimated the distance to the wall, and that we were still laying mostly exposed on the side of the road. It was around this time I regained most of my vision and began to regain my hearing as well. Looking back towards the tribals I saw that they too had fled, as best as they could, in the opposite direction from the wagon. I noticed the unicorn mare running for the formation of rocks on the side of the road, when she spun around with her automatic pistol levitating near her head and squeezed off a few bursts of fire in our direction. The shots hit the road in front of us and whizzed over our heads as I essentially threw Timber the rest of the distance behind the wall. I followed shortly after.
My senses now fully repaired, I scanned the area for CB and spotted him crouching behind a rock that barely concealed his body. I also noticed that Weaver was nowhere to be seen near him. Looking up over the wall, I glanced forward and saw Weaver laying in the dirt beside the wagon, completely exposed and rubbing his ears with his hooves.
“Weaver!” I yelled, hoping his hearing would allow him to hear me, “Weaver!”
Weaver’s eyes shot up towards my voice and soon spotted my head peering over the wall at him. Even as we laid at least seven feet apart, I could still see the confusion in his eyes.
I knew that we didn’t have any time for anyone to be confused.
“Weaver, get your ass up and move into cover!” I yelled at him once more.
As he hurried to raise himself out of the dirt, a shot impacted the ground a mere foot to his right, soon followed by several more smaller shots impacting the road and wall. I saw enough before ducking back down to realize that one of the tribals had somehow hidden a high-calibre rifle somewhere, and were now firing at us with it.
Weaver sprinted a few feet past the wall on the opposite side of me and threw himself to collapse into it. His breathing was fast, and I was surprised to see that he hadn’t lost his helmet in the fray. I crawled over Timber and ignored his cursing to lay next to Weaver.
“Are you hit?” I asked him, slightly raising my voice to be heard over the occasional gunfire.
“What?” He yelled back at me, still slightly deaf from the blast.
“Are you hit!?”
“No, I’m fine!”
A sudden shot hit the top of the wall just over our heads, making me wish I had been wearing my helmet before this situation. As I remembered laying my helmet on the back of the wagon, I also remembered laying my pack containing the magazines to my battle-saddle there as well, and cursed my amateurity.
“What the hell was that corporal Holder!?” Weaver still yelled.
“A little distraction!” I yelled back, “Can you hear good yet?”
Weaver gave me a confused look, “What?” he finally yelled.
I took that as a “no” as I crawled over Timber one more time to place myself on the edge of the wall closest to the road and to CB.
“I’ll admit!” CB yelled at me from across the road, “You got me with that one!”
“Are you hit!?” I yelled back.
“Negative!”
“How’s the radio!?”
“A - Okay!”
I wasn’t too worried about calling in for backup for two tribals, but to be anywhere without contact to an outpost was a little worrying.
“I want you to lay down some cover while I grab my mags from the back of cart!” I yelled back at him.
“Can do boss man!” Weaver yelled back once more, levitating his submachine gun over the rock, cocking it with his magic, and began firing on the rock formation. Unicorn magic had always set a little uneasy with me, but I was all too grateful for it now.
I waited until I had guessed that CB had fired around half of a magazine, and sprinted out to the rear of the wagon. Immediately I collapsed behind it, and immediately shards of wood began to splinter in all directions around me. The distance from the wall to the wagon couldn’t have been more than six feet, but I wouldn’t doubt it if a couple of shots had landed in the pavement around my feet on the way over.
I instantly found my ammo bag, as well as my helmet, and threw the pack over my back with a quick hoof up and over the wagon’s railing. As soon as I had adjusted my saddlebag for the run back to the wall, a large round impacted the area I had placed my hoof earlier and decimated a large portion of the wagon. I knew after viewing the impact that one of the tribals wasn’t just using an ordinary hunting rifle, somewhere, a sniper was trying to pick us off anywhere we stuck our heads out.
My heart beginning to race with the urgency to get off of the road, I looked back and saw CB finish reloading and begin firing somewhere other than the rocks. I didn't bother looking where, I just darted for the wall. And that’s when I felt it.
If somepony were to take a sledgehammer and hit me in my calf with it, it probably wouldn't have hurt as bad as the bullet that had just done the same job. Clenching my teeth and shutting my eyes, I must have fell just fast enough to land back behind the wall. Dragging myself up to the wall to dig into cover, I looked at the wound on my left hid leg.
A small arms round. It had gone directly through my leg without hitting the bone. I was lucky in that regard. Though I was still bleeding heavily, I would at least be able to walk, despite how fucking bad I’m sure it would hurt.
“Oh shit! Holder!” I heard Weaver yell from the other side of Timber, who had chosen to lay near-motionless behind the center of the wall with his hooves over his head.
“It’s nothing,” I half-lied back to him, “you got any bandages?”
Weaver began digging around in the pouches in his uniform before he finally brought out a roll of cotton bandaging, unrolled a portion of it, and threw it to me. I wrapped my leg as tight as I could, subconsciously cursing everything under the sun in the process, and nodded at Weaver, who returned the gesture and positioned himself back in his original posture to best protect himself from the gunfire that had yet to cease on our position.
I remembered CB’s aiming before I had made it back to the wall, and crawled closer to the wall’s edge to yell to him.
“What the hell are you shooting at!?” I called across the road.
“They’re coming out of the fucking building down the road!” CB yelled back in response.
“Shit...seven armed at least!”
Seven...what the hell had we just walked into? This wasn’t just some looting gone wrong, this was a planned ambush.
“They’re dug in behind the rocks up ahead in some trenches!” I heard weaver yell across the road once more.
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
“Fuck it!” I screamed back, “Get on the horn and radio the outpost. Tell them we need all they can send up here ASAP, I’ll lay down some cover!”
CB nodded in agreement and swung his radio off of his back and onto the ground in front of him. I hit the lever on my battle-saddle so it would swing forward an‒ *click*
“What the fuck?” I said aloud. I kicked the trigger again. *click*
“Son of a bitch!” I yelled in frustration. “Weaver!?” I turned around to face the private.
“My shit’s locked up, lay down some fire so CB can radio the outpost!”
“I don’t have a gun!” Weaver yelled back over the increasing amount of rounds impacting our cover.
“What!?” I looked at him in complete frustration.
“I dropped it when I was blinded and I couldn’t find it!”
“Fucking perfect!” I yelled to myself.
I looked over at CB, who was holding the telephone to his face with his magic and turning a tuning knob with his hoof, yelling into the receiver. Bullets all the while pinging off of the rock to his back.
“Priority! This is callsign Tango Zulu to FOB two, eight, seven, receiving heavy fire from multiple hostiles approximately two clicks south of your location along Highway 18! Requesting immediate assistance on our location, how copy, over!”
As I heard CB radioing in for help, I struggled to get my battle-saddle unjammed, with no success. I swung it off of my back and began trying to force it open with my hooves, also to no avail.
“The hell’s wrong with your gun!?” I head Timber yell from his spot on the wall.
“Don’t worry about it!” I called over my shoulder, too frustrated to deal with any kind of complaints he may have of the current situation.
“Fuck, let’s just leave! All they want is the damn cart!”
“No! Just stay where you are!” I really wasn’t in the mood for whatever plan he had at the moment.
“Fine! You can stay and deal with these jackasses, I’m heading for that house down a ways.”
I turned quickly around to face the wall, but Timber was nowhere to be seen. Looking down the road, I saw Timber beginning to gallop away from the firefight.
Away from cover.
“Timber!” I called down the road after him.
He just kept on running down the road, never looking back. Not when I called him, not when I saw the rifle shot impact his back and send him rolling through the dirt.
The sniper had picked Timber off after he had ran no more than fifteen feet from the wall and sent him tumbling to a stop a few more feet in the direction of the house he believed would provide him sanctuary.
“Goddammit!” I yelled to no one in particular, “Crazy old fool, I told you to stay down!”
I turned to Weaver and saw him staring wide-eyed in Timber’s direction, seemingly in shock. I knew if he kept on like he was now he’d start acting careless and get hit himself.
“Hey, hey!” I yelled to weaver.
Weaver just looked up at me, shock still in his eyes.
“Forget it now, you hear me!? Focus on what’s happening now or you’re gonna get tagged, you got it?”
I saw him nod, but his mood didn’t seem to change any. I couldn’t worry about it too much now. I looked over and saw CB once again laying down what little fire he could, while trying to levitate the radio’s receiver to his head.
I bent back down and continued struggling to fix my battle-saddle. I could see nothing wrong. No parts were locked up, nothing was jammed in any of the mechanisms, it just wouldn’t swing open to allow me to fire it.
“AHH‒”
I looked up and across the road to see CB gripping his left foreleg. He had been hit.
“CB!” I called out. I didn’t know what I was planning on saying. There was nothing I could do.
Nothing I could do…
Nothing…
“I’m fine Dusk, I’m just running a little dry over here!” CB yelled back to me, “They’ve got our position, support’s gonna be here soon!”
I wasn’t going to do this again. No, not again. I yanked violently on my battle-saddle, pulling any piece in any direction to force it to open. It was about that time I heard the noise.
I had heard it before, in weapons training. The loud, signature “click-clack” of a mounted machine gun being loaded. I knew it was coming in an instant, so I pulled my weapon back against the wall in Timber’s place, and threw myself against the cover.
Dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire rounds began pelting everything around us, in addition to everything else that was already shooting at us. I didn’t understand. Why not just move up and finish us off? Surely they must have known that they outnumber us, why keep up suppressing fire like this?
Whatever the reason, the lead rain kept falling all around. The sound of the muzzle was so loud it couldn’t have been more than forty yards away, maybe in the rock formation. I knew I noticed something different about those fucking rocks. Sons of bitches organized a full squad to attack a single caravan.
During the barrage, I looked once more back towards CB. The rock he had used for cover was proving ineffective against the fixed gun emplacement, and he was struggling to stay in cover as pieces of rock flew around his head. His very cover was being destroyed from behind him.
While watching helplessly as CB took yet another bullet to the shoulder, a round impacted in the wall directly in front of my eyes, blinding me. I tried to look around, but my eyes burned from the flying debris. I rubbed my hooves in my eyes furiously, and when opened them again, the world seemed to slow down around me.
Everywhere around me, I saw bullets flying through the air before impacting and exploding on any and all surfaces available. I turned my head to check on Weaver, and I saw him hunched down, his back against the wall with his hooves on top of his head, crying openly. I saw nothing but fear in his face. Nothing but the utmost feeling of “Please, I don’t want to die.” He sat there rocking himself, as if either pleading with the world itself to make it stop, or just waiting for the one round that would send him instantly into blackness. The round that would ensure that he’d never have anything to fear again. I couldn’t watch anymore.
Still in my lucid state, I turned away from the crying private and towards my friend and partner. I saw him across the road, holding himself, in pain instead of fear, blood coating his shoulders and forehooves. All around him tiny explosions burst in the dirt and rock, sending their miniature shrapnel in all directions. It’s as if the world itself tries to finish the bullet’s job in the form of debris. I saw him lean down over the radio, his face contorted in agony. I didn’t know how many times he had been hit. But when I saw the last round connect, send blood shooting up from his back, it’s as if something inside me suddenly came to life.
I turned to my battle-saddle and furiously kicked the lever. Again, my hoof connected, and again the weaponized contraption refused to budge. I swore at everyone and everything, all the while kicking the lever over, and over, and over again. All the while bullets collided into the ground all around me.
Finally, I felt it. The lever locked into place and the guns swung forward. I grabbed them up as fast as I could and threw them haphazardly onto my back. I jumped up onto my feet, angled myself around the side of the wall, and opened fire.
I couldn’t fire as fast as their machinegun, but I could squeeze the trigger fast enough to force at least a couple of them to take cover and hold fire.
That wasn’t what I wanted though. I didn’t want them to hide, I wanted them to jump up and shoot at me. I wanted to end their lives and I wanted them to shoot at me before anyone else that was in my group. This is what we both deserved, and this is what I was going to make happen.
I realized one of the bastards was making a break for a small ditch on the other side of the road from the rest of the entrenched tribals around the same time I realized I was running low in the magazine I had loaded. I swung around and aimed at him. I could see his face, he knew that he had been had and almost looked like he had prepared for it. Good.
I lined up, and once again time slowed down. Now it was time for one of these fuckers to roll in the dirt in agony. I squeezed the trigger…
*click*
I was empty. Of-fucking-course I was. In the instant I began to move back to reload, I felt the familiar sledgehammer swing right into my chest. The next thing I know, I’m lying flat on my back, tunnel vision beginning to set in. I couldn't find the strength to move any part of my body more than a few inches. The world slowed down one final time.
“This is it,” I thought, “Now they’ll just move up and put a bullet in each of us." I apologized to Weaver. I said I was sorry for not being good enough to keep him alive during his first assignment. I apologized to CB for not checking my weapon before he needed me to use it. I would have apologized to anyone but myself. This was the end that I had been waiting for.
After a while I began wondering why I could still barely hear gunfire. “Isn’t this a bit much?” I thought as I layed, “Going through all this just to kill us from cover.”
I turned my head to glance over to CB one last time, but my vision was obstructed. I could faintly make out the shape of a leg in front of my face. When the disembodied leg moved, allowing me to see to my side, I witnessed two ponies with automatic weapons firing in the direction of the tribals. I turned my head to see Weaver, and I saw two more ponies with the same armament firing in the same position, one of them making their way to the wall I had taken cover behind.
Suddenly I felt myself being dragged a short distance away from the wall. I was greeted with somepony’s face looking down at me, as two others hurried from behind him over to where CB laid.
I could barely make out what the pony above me was saying, but I recognized the uniforms. Support had arrived.
I felt a sudden sense of relief I thought I’d never experience again...and then...blackness…
=== === ===
I was floating.
That’s all I could say about what was happening.
Anywhere I looked I was greeted with darkness. I was experiencing a sense of weightlessness that was alien to me. I felt alone, very alone. I felt like this would last forever. Maybe...maybe this is might rightful end. Yes...this is my reward. I curled up and tried to warm myself. I was so cold. It felt like a cold breeze was engulfing me like water, attacking from all possible angles.
Suddenly, there was an explosion above me.
I looked up and saw that the heavens had extended out in all directions. Each constellation was there, every little moon and planet that could be seen with the naked eye. I saw dozens of shooting stars flow like a river through the night sky, coming to rest within the moon itself.
I didn’t understand. I wasn’t supposed to have something like this in the end. Maybe this was a part of my punishment? Maybe I would be given this absolute paradise for a split second, only for it to be taken away forever. I waited, and waited, but the heavens remained. I found the north star. It was exactly where it should have been. All of the stars were. Was...was this real?
Looking down, I saw what looked like a hollow circle of light. A horizon. I could see the light trying to escape from one side. I didn’t want it to. If the light came it would dispel this paradise. For some reason, the light on the horizon seemed to pull itself back behind whatever celestial body it was hiding behind.
Did I do that? Was I in control of this?
I didn’t care either way, as long as the night sky remained for me to view.
Then...there was a feeling. A sense of being watched.
I turned and saw yet another silhouette, except this wasn’t part of the heavens. It moved unevenly, and appeared to grow closer. I focused my vision on the figure as it grew closer.
It was a pony, that much I could tell by now. I tried to move closer, but it was as if I was locked in place; stuck floating in the air just short of the stars of the night. The figure drew closer, and I could make out features; coat and mane color, height, a face…
No. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I could feel the night sky beginning to fall around me, as if it were cracking and breaking apart.
“It's almost brighter this time, huh?”
I was just going to ignore it. I knew now that it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.
“I know you can hear me.”
Just…think...what was it, brick wall? Yeah, that’s it.
“I wish you’d stop trying that. It’s not really good for you.”
I couldn’t take it. This paradise had turned into hell. Please, anyone...please don’t let it be like this forever!
“I doesn’t have to be!”
He...he doesn’t know...because it’s not him.
“All you have to do is accept it, Dusk.”
….please. I’ll...I’ll do anything…
“You know I don't blame you...”
I know...but you should.
=== === ===
Light assaulted my eyes. I wasn’t floating anymore, but my head sure felt like it was. The white orb directly above me burned through my eyelids are forced me to turn my head. Once my eyes had adjusted I was able to see that I was laying on a bed that had been fitted with railing on either side. To my left was a table, upon which laid various knives and papers. Looking past the table I saw a wall that was plastered with various posters that displayed pony skeletal and muscle system. “Well,” I thought, “must be the infirmary.”
I checked my legs to make sure there weren’t any IV’s that I could yank out by accident. Seeing none, I tried leaning myself up.
“Ahh!” I yelled in pain. I couldn’t believe the fire that was burning in my chest. Looking down I saw that my body was bare, save for the thick bandaging on my chest and rear leg. Obviously I wasn’t meant to go anywhere anyway with the railing that had been fitted on the bed. Or maybe that was to prevent me from rolling. I began to think that the latter was true. Outside the door that lay opposite my bed in the room, I heard a noise that sounded like the scuffling of multiple ponies. The arrival of two nurses confirmed my suspicion.
“Hey,” I saw one of the nurses, a magenta earth pony stallion, yell out the door, “Holder’s awake!”
The second nurse, an earth pony mare with a light teal coat, walked up to my bedside and began sorting through various papers in a clipboard held in one of her hoofs.
“We were a little worried about you when you got here,” the second nurse said, satisfied with a paper on her clipboard, “we didn’t know if we’d be able to do anything with a machine gun round directly in your chest. You’re a lot luckier than most ponies.”
I adjusted myself in my bed to lean my head up against the wall to get a better view of the room and the two ponies in it.
“Luckily,” the first nurse, the stallion, said, stepping away from the door and towards a countertop on the far side of the room, inspecting something it looked like, “the bullet managed to miss both of your lungs as well as your heart. Getting it out was the trickiest part though. Damn near took us two days to keep from hitting anything important.”
“Well,” I said looking at the bandages on my chest, “it’s just too bad you couldn’t do anyth‒… wait, did you just say two days?”
“That’s right,” the mare replied, setting the clipboard down on the table beside me, “you’ve been out for three days now. We were worried you might have become comatose. Oh, I’m nurse Willow, and that’s nurse Febrile.”
“Nice to meet you…”
Three days. It’d been three days since we got ambushed on the highway. I assumed our caravan had remained undelivered, and I wondered if anypony that came in as backup got hit. Still, even if they did, they couldn’t have taken as bad of a beating as we did. As...we... Oh shit!
“Nurse?” I asked, looking up at Willow, who was still at my bedside. “How’s everypony else that was in my group?”
“Private Garland Weaver was brought in with you,” she half-heartedly, and almost seeming to avoid eye contact as if she was nervous of something suddenly, “he wasn’t injured in the firefight so he was released after being treated for minor cuts and scrapes. He told us what happened to the merchant you were escorting.”
I remembered Timber running in the middle of the attack. If he had just stayed in… wait…
“So, Weaver’s fine?” I asked the nurse, a sense of urgency building up behind the wound in my chest.
“Yeah,” Febrile answered from the other side of the room, “we recommended he not be given any assignments for about a week, the kid seemed pretty shaken up. He’s actually waiting out in the lobby.
“He is?”
“Yep. Poor guy couldn’t stop talking about how everything that happened was his fault. Something about him forgetting his weapon or something.”
Oh...yeah. That part was coming back to me now. I remember seeing Weaver on the wall, panicking. I remember seeing bullets flying into the road and…
“Hey, how’s CB doing?”
Febrile was about to leave the room when he stopped and turned around. He didn’t give an answer for a few seconds and it built up the same urgency in me, this time in the pit of my stomach.
“Cotton Ball’s injuries,” Willow answered before Febrile, allowing him to leave the room pretty quickly, “were...severe.”
“So, he’s in the intensive care wing, right? Am I free to go?”
“No...you see. He was never admitted.”
It felt as if my stomach would collapse in on itself.
“What are you…”
“Corporal Holder… I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Cotton Ball died of his injuries on the way back to the Fort…”
=== === ===
I had asked to be left alone, for the lights to be turned off. I don’t know how long I just sat in the dark, but it wasn’t long enough. No amount of time would have been.
It had happened again, and it had been my fault.
Again.
CB...was gone. It didn’t seem real, the thought was just ridiculous. It ran through my mind over and over again. The sight of him behind the rock...that last shot. And it was all because I couldn’t get my rig unjammed. It was all because...I fucked up in the field.
I forced myself out of bed, ignoring all protests from my chest and leg. I just had to walk...somewhere. I couldn’t sit anymore. I walked across the room to a locker and donned my uniform, I wasn’t limping nearly as bad as I thought I would from the wound in my leg. Opening the door to my room, I was once again assaulted with light, this time coming from the brightly lit hallway. Despite the absence of a serious limp, I was still having trouble walking.
As I struggled to carry myself down the hall, all I could see was that road, the cart, that rock. I passed by a couple of nurses and doctors that looked like they might have tried to talk to me, but I just pushed past. I didn’t know where I was going, or why, but I just needed to be somewhere else.
Turning a corner, I came face to face with North Star, CB’s nurse marefriend. The redness of her eyes and the bags underneath told that she had just spent a good deal of time crying. She looked up and saw me, and slowed to a stop in front of me. She said nothing, only staring at me with a face that wanted answers, wanted a reason why. I stopped in front of her, a grief I hadn’t felt in years began to overtake me. I wanted to tell her that I would have traded places with CB in an instant if I could. I wanted to tell her anything to show how absolutely destroyed I was that she’d never see CB again because of my idiocy. Instead, only a small whimper could escape my mouth.
“I… I’m so‒...so sorr‒…” I tried to speak, my voice barely rising over a whisper. North Star just shook her head, as if to cut me off.
“It’s not…” she near-whispered back, “it’s not anypony’s fault.”
Then, she turned her gaze down to the floor, and strode past me, turning the corner out of sight. As she left, I only wanted to tell her that it was somepony’s fault. That it was my fault. Instead, I just turned back around, and walked the opposite way down the hall. Now I really did want to leave. No matter where else I ended up, I just didn’t want to be here.
Passing by the door to the waiting room lobby, I heard a familiar voice. I was wanting to just leave straight out of the doors at the end of the hall, but I knew I needed to stay a bit for this pony. I saw private Weaver trot through the doors of the lobby and right up to me. Febrile was right, and even after three days he still looked like a nervous wreck.
“Corporal Holder, I‒I’m...I just wanted to say how sorry I was‒ how much I‒…” He began speaking erratically, like there were a dozen points he needed to make.
“Kid, kid,” I said, waving my hoof in front of his face, “nopony here but me needs to apologize to anyone.”
“N‒n‒no! Holder...if I just hadn’t have lost my gun…” He went on, and again I waved my hoof at him to silence him.
“No Weaver, I was in charge, everything goes back to me”
“Uh...Corporal, I don’t know if they’ve said anything to you, but… private CB‒” I stopped him a final time. I didn’t need to hear something like this twice.
“I know, Weaver….I know about CB.”
“Oh...Holder, if I hadn’t have been s-so careless‒… Well, what I’m trying to say is...this is all my fault.” With the last sentence, Weaver began to tear up and sniff.
“Now look,” I looked at Weaver as sternly as I could, though I probably didn’t show much sternness in my current state, “I want you to get all that out of your head. I’m sure you would have done your part...you just can’t help it when something fucks up every once and a while. Like I said, all of this… everything that happened… falls back on me, and I’m sorry… for everything. You understand?”
Weaver just nodded his head, tears still forming in his eyes. I began to take my leave when Weaver stopped me again.
“Oh, Holder? Colonel Sienna came down here after we were brought back to the base, he told me to tell you to see him when you’re able.”
“Okay,” I said, “I guess I should head there now.” With that, I exited the infirmary and began my slow walk to the fort’s main offices.
=== === ===
“Sienna wanted to see me?” I thought to myself while trodding across the fort’s main yard. The only guess I had was that he himself was going to reprimand me for fucking up so badly. “Good.” I thought. The only thing I felt like I needed right now were harsh words. It’s all I had deserved after the assignment.
I reached the doors to the main offices quicker than I expected, and let myself in. The cool air from the air conditioning might have felt good in my state, but I was already feeling cold. Either that or nothingness. Walking up to the front desk, I was once again greeted by Miss Stamp Seal. She put on a happy face upon noticing me, but I could tell it was more for comfort than legitimate happiness.
“Are we feeling better today, corporal?”
I wasn’t needing small-talk right now, especially coming from a happy face. All I wanted to do was go and take my licks from Sienna.
“Uh…” I said groggily, “Is Sienna in his office?”
“He sure is, but he’s with company now. It shouldn’t be too long though.”
I nodded and walked off to wait outside of his office. I could hear voices coming from inside; sounded like only one other pony was inside. While waiting, I could feel myself being pulled back into the lucidity of the moments before I was hit for the final time. I began to feel as if I needed to take cover immediately.
No, I felt like I needed to get up and move. I felt like I needed to run as quickly as I could and jump onto somepony, to be their cover…
“I’m fine Dusk…” a voice began to repeat in my head, “...support’s gonna be here…”
I shook my head furiously. I didn’t want to hear this again. This isn’t what last words are supposed to sound like. Suddenly, bringing me out of my daze, the door to colonel Sienna’s office opened. Out of the office stepped a unicorn stallion who I identified as a major by the rank on the shoulders of his uniform. I straightened up as best as I could to salute him, and he gave me a quick nod as he made his way to the lobby. I noticed as he left how close his coat color was to Timber’s piss-yellow coat. His looked a little less “piss-y” sure, but the similarity was there. Like most ponies his age, his mane was silver, gained either through time or stress. The whole combination looked a bit odd under his olive-green uniform.
Pulling myself out of thought, I approached Sienna’s door and asked for permission to enter. Once it was granted, I stepped through the door, and saluted the colonel at the head of his desk.
“Yes,” I responded flatly, “they did sir.”
“I give my condolences for private Cotton Ball. He was a fine pony and radio op’ from what I’ve heard.”
“Yes he was, sir.”
“I’m told that the hostiles you encountered were a part of The Brighter Dawn. Seems like they put up more of a fight than they normally do.”
“Y-yes sir,” I answered, remembering the roar of the fixed machine gun, “they strategized more effectively than most tribals. They had dug trenches before hand and had sniper and machine gun cover.”
“Hmm, well, this just helps to confirm my choice.” Sienna raised himself up from his chair and walked over to a wall adorned with various pictures and military honors. Ribbons, medals, one might look at the wall and think that colonel Sienna had been awarded every honor there was to receive.
“Corporal Holder, I must admit, we’ve been keeping a little quiet on the true frequency of attacks by The Brighter Dawn. We worried that if merchants were to know just how often some of their guys took shots at forward operating bases, or attempted to ransack supply drops, they’d stop trading with us. Hell, we’ve even seen some of them start trading with The Brighter Dawn and cutting off contact with any NCR settlements.”
This news came as a little surprising. I had always thought that The Brighter Dawn were just a small tribal group left over from before the NCR’s inception. If they were able to attack more frequently than I thought they were, just how large were they?
“In response to this, major Kabar approached me with a proposition. He’s the pony you might have seen leaving my office earlier. Well, major Kabar proposed the creation of a platoon dedicated to fighting The Brighter Dawn specifically.”
I didn’t know why he was telling me all of this, or why he hadn’t made demoting or reprimanding me top priority over all this information.
“Today,” Sienna continued, lighting a cigar and approaching me, “I gave the okay for major Kabar to begin organizing such a platoon, and I also suggested that you be placed in it as well.”
“S...sir?” I said stunned.
“Yes corporal?”
“Are...are you saying that I’m being transferred to a combat platoon?”
“That is correct corporal Holder.” Sienna took a long drag from his cigar and walked back behind his desk.
“But...but I screwed up! I’m responsible for the deaths of‒” Sienna cut me off.
“No no no corporal, I heard the story from private Weaver. From what he told me, you had no control over the merchant’s actions or your weapon’s malfunction. He also told me that once you managed to fix your battle-saddle you exposed yourself to enemy fire to cover a wounded comrade. Corporal, I don’t believe I could ask for anything more of your performance in the field.”
Sienna opened a drawer on his desk and removed a small wooden box, placing it on top of some papers.
“But sir,” I continued, “I was in charge of a failed escort!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I lead a caravan into disaster and now Sienna was praising my actions! Was I still asleep? Was this still some sort of hell made to torture my mind?
“We can’t ask for perfection in the field one hundred percent of the time corporal,” Sienna continued, opening the box and retrieving a small item from it, “and your performance and leadership capabilities on all other assignments is nothing less than stellar.”
“Sir...when I walked into your office I was expecting a strong reprimand, and now I’m being told I’m being transferred to a combat platoon...I’m a little confused sir.”
“Well, on top of your past performance and the fact that you have experience with The Brighter Dawn, I guess you could just say the transfer came with the promotion.” Sienna explained, walking over to face me.
“Did… you just say…promotion, sir?” My words and mind failed me. I was sure I had heard wrong. Surely this was some sort of sick joke being played on me. When I saw what was in Sienna’s hoof though, my suspicions were put to rest.
“Yes I did,” Sienna said while removing the double-chevron patch from my shoulder, replacing it with a patch consisting of one more chevron. “Congratulations, sergeant Dusk Holder!”
=== === ===
New Perks Attained!
Perk 1: Toughness
Years of abuse and injury has fortified your body and made you able to withstand far more than you were before. See? I told you it would be worth it!
20% to Damage Resistance; Charisma -2
Perk 2: Good Eye!
Nopony’s pulling a fast one on you! Detecting enemies has become much easier after being unimpressed by dozens of disguises.
Perception + 1
Fallout Equestria: Tomorrow Never Comes
Chapter One
Five Months, Two Weeks, and Three Days
I was a corporal with the Caravan Defense branch of the NCR Army. Not what I would have picked had I been given a choice in the matter, but you do what you gotta do.
When I first signed up at the ripe old age of 19, I had a much different idea of what the enlisted life entailed. The big difference between me and the other recruits, was that I thought it would be even more boring than escorting caravan after caravan down the same roads every other day.
The other guys imagined action and adventure; ducking under gunfire and ridding the world of "the remnant raider scum"; having a whole assortment of pretty medals, and going home with the hot mares they had "saved from the barbaric tribals". Me? I thought it would be a lot of paperwork, a shit ton of standing in front of some gate, and endless discussion of the political motives of the army. Add to that my lack of a horn or a set of wings, and I was almost guaranteed a job devoid of excitement.
The advantage I had over the other ponies in my division was that I was at least half right. There was a lot of paperwork, and a shit ton of standing in front of gates. If I had only swapped "political talk" with "debriefing about an uneventful day", I would have been dead on. Aside from the usual formal jargon, I escorted fifty-six caravans to the border of NCR territory and back over the course of seven years, with only four attacks, and luckily, no deaths. The occasional raider or tribal attacks consisted of us being fired at from behind some rubble, us organizing a defensive stance, and them realizing that they were hopelessly outgunned and retreating. Had there simply been more people alive out in the wastes that were willing to have high valued cargo moved into their settlements, I'm sure I would have been running many more routes. But wasteland settlements were never really big on having a walking ambush-attractant marched into their towns without some way of defending themselves adequately. Homefront guards with single shot rifles weren't going to cut it against raiders.
We knew that raiders weren't as eager to go pillaging in the territories that were under the jurisdiction of a trained military force, but there was always the occasional attack. Always.
The "scarred and doped" bunch usually did what they did best just past the outskirts of NCR lines. Soldiers weren't allowed to pursue raiders or set up defensive lines past the borders, so there was never any official record of the frequency of attacks on settlements unaffiliated with the republic, but everyone knew they happened, and a whole lot more than they happened to us.
But it wasn't like this for long, the wasteland, as unforgiving as it was, would make sure of that.
But, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. So, I guess I should start everything off on the morning of what would be my fifty-seventh caravan escort assignment. Another ordinary day.
=== === ===
Mornings always seemed to come just a little too early. If they would wait just another ten, or even five minutes, I’d be ready to get up and greet the rays that attacked my eyelids and drug me from the calm of sleep. If they would wait just that little extra time, I’d be ready to face everything that was on my assignments list that day.
It’s not like anypony really had a choice in the matter though. If the morning itself didn’t wake you, the bugle shortly after would, and if that didn’t work still, the sound of the Sergeant Major’s hoofsteps in the hall never failed. It’s especially fun to watch the privates’ fall out of bed at the sound in fear of being made an example of (again) in front of their platoon. This also worked as an incentive to get up early to witness the inevitable yelling and berating session, should a recruit still be under his sheets when the Sergeant Major walked through the door.
Lucky for me, I learned quickly in the first months of my service, so I was up as soon as Celestia’s gift to Equestria had interrupted whatever I happened to be dreaming about that night. I looked at the clock over the door to the entrance of the barracks; 05:28. In my seven years of service, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sergeant Major Billet arrive any later than 05:30 a.m. for inspection. Not even by a minute.
Looking around my shared sleeping quarters, it was immediately obvious who was adequately experienced with mornings in the NCR Army. That is, they were already up, had made up their sheets, and were awaiting Billet's regular morning routine. I was just finishing remaking my sheets, and was going to use the short remainder of my time getting my last round of morning stretching in, before being subjected to five minutes of standing in place. Not counting however long it would take Billet to embarrass anyone who hadn't been up and ready.
"Hey, Dusk, check it out." A familiar, hoarse voice half-whispered to me from across the room.
Looking back, I saw a stallion with a cream colored coat motioning towards the other end of the barracks. I turned to look and saw, among other ponies finishing their morning routine, a rather large lump hidden under a set of NCR Army regulation bed sheets.
"Ah shit. Weaver again?" I called back towards CB, the same cream colored unicorn that I had become well acquainted with over the past three years.
"You know it." CB, still half whispering, called back. "Damn kid's never not been one of the last up. If not the last one up. Looks like Billet's gonna get to have a little fun with him today."
"Yeah, looks like it." I responded disgruntledly.
As fun as watching Billet go batshit on a recruit always was, I was really hoping to just get through morning inspection without any kind of hang up. Judging from the knot in my lower back, I hadn’t slept too well last night. It seemed no one else shared my feelings on the matter though, as everyone had already gotten into position at the foots of their beds, and had begun snickering quietly amongst themselves whilst pointing towards Private Weaver, still fast asleep underneath those green, wool sheets, as the clock displayed 05:29.
“Dammit kid. Ughhh, I really don’t want to do this this morning.” My voice was still weak from sleep, and matched perfectly how I currently felt physically. It’s not that the past few days had been particularly exhausting, or well, eventful at all for that matter, but two weeks of everyday-military routine could still take its toll on a pony’s mind and body and make him want to crawl back into bed for ten more minutes.
CB, still standing at attention, glanced over and noticed my apparent annoyance.
“What? You still sore from kicking and rolling around all damn night?” He asked in what was his own trademarked brand of humor. “I swear it keeps me up more than it does you! Those bedsprings aren’t exactly quiet.”
I remembered my night terrors; the same ones I'd had for years now, and then I forced myself to stop recalling them. I didn't want to, not right now.
“Guess I’ll have to see if Billet would get someone to fix it up.” I replied in what had become my own brand of blithe.”Then maybe I could see if North Star wanted to come spend the night and see if they were any quieter.”
“Alright, joke’s over, Sergeant Major will be here any second now.”
He shot back his responding comment with less humor than the first. I felt a small sense of achievement at having put him out of his comfort zone.
Spending too much time around CB would do that to you. Eventually you’d get so fed up at the way he jokes about even the smallest things, that you’d start to develop your own form of sarcasm and dry wit, just so your subconscious could feel like it was keeping up with him during a normal conversation. North Star was a medical nurse pony that CB had taken a fondness to early on when he first arrived at Fort McCanton. It’s not like I thought she would even consider the offer coming from me though. Despite his somewhat embarrassing attempts at trying to attract the attention of a mare that lived and worked in a building far off the beaten trail from where we were usually sent on-base to train, she eventually did show that she returned the feelings shortly after her first run-in with CB after his accident.
I still can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not. With how badly his leg was broken, I’m inclined to believe it was an accident, but you can never tell with CB. What most likely happened, is that he got the idea in his head that if he banged his foreleg up just enough during rappel exercises, he’d get a quick trip to the infirmary, and would finally get the chance to talk with North Star.
What actually happened, was that he got the rope twisted around one of his back hooves while nearing the ground, flipped upside down, and slammed his right foreleg into the hard dirt. Fracturing it in three places. I wouldn’t have done it, and I don’t like to think CB would be dumb enough to do it on purpose, but you really can’t ever tell. Anyway I guess if he did have a plan at the beginning of it all, it worked out in the end. He did get a trip to the infirmary and a chat with North star, along with some painkillers and a cast that someone drew some pretty lewd things on the first night he had it for making rappel exercises unnecessarily long.
Wonder who that could have been.
Looking back down to the other end of the barracks, I saw that the same lump under the sheets that had been the center of attention this whole time had suddenly started to stir. The young, teal-coated earth pony tossed his sheets down to the foot of his bed, followed shortly after by the muffled laughter of everypony else in the room. After adjusting his sight to the fluorescent lighting, rubbed the crust out of his eyes, rolled over in bed, and greeted us all with the most fantastic “Oh shit!” look I’ve ever seen. He quickly threw his hooves onto the floor, and jumped past his bunk to check the time. 05:30.
I doubt he could have thought he still had time left, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to remake his sheets in the most fantastically frantic manner you could have imagined. And all for the viewing pleasure of the rest of his platoon. I was surprised to see him actually finish replacing the sheets and his one pillow, and up to standard, too. It was then that the faint sound of a door closing somewhere in the building was heard. At least, it would have been faint if everyone hadn’t have been completely silent, witnessing a recruit, maybe a little more than metaphorically, shitting himself.
Weaver was now desperately working with his trouser belt, as every single eye in the room was on either him or the grey door on the opposite side of the room. Both groups were eagerly awaiting the Sergeant Major’s entrance and inevitable witnessing. Weaver had just finished adjusting his fatigues and moved lickety-split into attention at the foot of his bed. It was at that instant that the door began to open, and Sergeant Major Billet began his stride inward, a sense of authority and a look of austerity about him; his vine green coat and grey-streaked black hair complementing almost uniformly against, well, his uniform, which was the standard NCR shade of light brown.
Weaver stood there with a look of complete and utter seriousness on his face. The rest of the ponies in the room, myself included, wore looks of astonishment. We had just observed somepony get out of bed, remake his sheets, don his fatigues, and move to attention in what couldn’t have been more than thirty-five seconds.
You could color me impressed.
“Good morning, you ugly sons of bitches!” Sergeant Major Billet bellowed whole-heartedly upon entering the room, in a voice that I was sure would haunt me to the grave and beyond. “It is an absolutely beautiful day to be in the NCR Army, wouldn’t you all agree?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Was echoed through every inch of the building. Returning any question with this exact answer or its negative counterpart was one of the first things new recruits learn upon entering Fort McCanton. Luckily enough, it was also one of the easiest things to learn, lest you be reprimanded repeatedly for responding with “Yes sir!” or “Okay sir!” or even the dreaded, “Yeah.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear in the morning!” Billet continued as he walked around the room, inspecting everypony from head to hoof, before moving on to the next soldier standing at attention in the line formed down the center of the room. He continued in this fashion all the way down my side of the room, looking for the smallest infraction in the way your fatigues were worn, or any kind of crease or untucked corner in your bed sheets, or if the personal belongings on your bedside table were arranged in a disorganized manner. I was second in the line, directly across from CB, and five beds up from Weaver, who bunked in the bed closest to the far wall on the same side of the room as me.
Billet had long since looked me over, as he had done for the past seven years, and was nearing the end of the line on my side of the room, closer and closer to Private Weaver. All eyes were strained to turn as far as they could to view Weaver’s inspection, but none dared to turn their heads to any direction other than straight ahead. Upon reaching Weaver in the line, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, just the slightest hesitation from Billet as he stopped directly in front of the fast-as-lightning Private. Billet towered over him by at least eight inches.
“You’re going to have to forgive me in my old age Private!”
Billet yelled unnecessarily loud for how close his muzzle was to Weaver’s. A few days at the fort, and you quickly realize that this was very intentional.
“It seems as though my memory is fading, what was your name and identification number again?”
“Sir, Private Garland Weaver, ID 3670838, sir!”
Weaver shot back his personal call sign like a professional. Or more appropriately, a novice trained extensively to appear as if he were a professional. I knew that Billet already knew Weaver’s name and ID, just like I knew that Weaver would have been the only pony Billet would have asked that question, considering the fact that he’s the freshest recruit in our division. He hadn’t even been here a whole year yet.
I always wondered why the ID numbers for soldiers were so long. There’s no way that they’ve had that many ponies enlist, even counting all the ones that have flunked out over the course of the Army’s existence. I had pinned it down to the higher-ups wanting to make them longer than they needed to be just to help train recruits with memorization. I never had any proof of this, but as sadistic as Officers were towards fresh enlistees, I wouldn’t have doubted it. I may have even bet on it.
“You must be fairly new here compared to all these other fine ponies!” Billet continued to bellow into the now slightly shaking Weaver. “Hell you might just be plain new to the Fort in general, I can still smell a little whiff the enlistment office when I come near you!”
Whether or not Sergeant Major Billet could actually smell traces of the Ponyville enlistment office was unclear to the division. It had been agreed upon, however, that he could in fact smell fear, and was even drawn to the scent.
Still unsure of how to respond to the usual poking and prodding of Billet, Weaver chose to stand quietly instead of answering with something that could earn him a reprimand.
“Tell me Private Garland Weaver, exactly how long have you been here at Fort McCanton?”
I knew that Billet knew the exact answer to this question as well, and was trying to provoke some kind of slip up on Weaver’s part. Trying to get him to show his green.
“Sir, five months, two weeks, and three days , sir!”
It didn’t seem like Billet was going to be satisfied this morning, and would have to suffice with more verbal jabs, before completing the morning inspection, after which the recruits were marched off to physical training, while the longer serving ponies would be given assignments to be carried out in whatever time frame they demanded.
“Holy shit he’s even newer than I thought!” Billet sounded almost, if just a little, joyous at having a recruit so new remembering both his ID number and his exact time at the Fort. “Yes sir, we’ve still got a lot of work to do with this one. Tell me Private Weaver, why did you enlist?”
“Sir, to serve the NCR to the best of my abilities, sir!”
“Are you sure about that greenhorn?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Are you here to defend your fellow ponies against the horrors of the wasteland?!” Billet began talking as if he were a walking incarnation of one of the many recruitment posters posted all around the base. He also began bellowing even louder. Something more than a few ponies on base doubted was possible.
“Sir, yes sir!” Weaver attempted to match him by answering louder himself.
“Are you here to kill raiders, tribals, and all the other various fucked up animals that live past those borders?!”
“S..Sir, yes sir!”
And there it was. Billet’s small victory to appease his boredom during the morning routine. Just that one little hesitation by Weaver damned him to at least forty-five more seconds of play time with the Sergeant Major.
“Excuse me Private Weaver?” Billet inquired. “But was that a stutter I heard?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Private, have you suddenly experienced a mass shrinkage between your skinny ass chicken legs that prevents you from performing your raider-killing duties at maximum efficiency?!”
“Sir, no sir!”
“Are you fucking sure about that private Weaver?!"
“Sir, yes sir!”
"You'd better be damn-fucking-sure if you don't want to end up eating shit in some fucked up tribal's sex cage, private!"
"Sir, I am damn-fucking-sure sir!"
"If you're so damn-fucking-sure private Weaver, why did I hear a stutter in that pansy-ass reply that escaped your fucked up yellow teeth?!"
"Sir, I'm sorry sir!"
“Private, you’re gonna be a lot more than sorry when your flank is laying sprawled out in the dirt, trying to put what you had for breakfast back into your stomach, along with all your other organs, after you hesitate to pull the trigger!”
Weaver showed just the slightest sign of a wince on his face. Billet really knew how to spell it out for somepony. I had first-hand experience with this skill of his during my first year at the fort. I was on cleaning duty, and after passing over more than a handful of dirt spots on the floor of the mess hall without actually removing them from the tile, Billet explained to me in great detail what raiders would like to do to the eye socket of my skull should I be as messy while sweeping a building for enemies.
I didn’t miss any more dirt spots.
=== === ===
The aforementioned morning sun once again took its toll on my eyes. This time outside of the barracks. After Billet had finished giving Weaver the better end of a detailed rant, we were dismissed into the yard for recruits to begin physical training, and for the higher ranking enlistees to receive the day’s assignments. I, being a corporal, was going with the latter group, CB following behind me. “Kind of disappointing really.” CB said, after what must have been another torturous 5 minutes of not talking to him. “If that’s what he had for Weaver just for being new, I’d have loved to have seen what he would’ve done if the kid was still asleep.”
“Yeah, fun Billet is still a raving Billet. Especially to the new guys.” I was still speaking through the grogginess of morning. “I don’t think Weaver’s ever seen an angry Billet.”
CB chuckled at the thought, and I hoped I hadn’t unintentionally implanted any ideas into his head. This wasn’t the first time Weaver
had encountered “fun Billet”, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. We hadn’t had a fresh new recruit in our division for a while until Weaver had been assigned to serve with us, and the Sergeant Major had been loving it.
We were crossing through the main yard now. A wide, square, expanse of grass and dirt, surrounded by poured concrete, that made up the center of Fort McCanton. There was always more dirt than grass, the various training and exercise regiments made sure of that. In all four corners, and directly in the center of the field, there were always recruits following the example of a Drill Sergeant and undergoing the basic exercise drills. If not that, then there would always be higher ranking ponies keeping themselves fit in their free time, taking the place of the recruits on the field. Many of the NCR scientists were very happy to have the grass be abused like this, because no matter how bad it got, the dirt patches would always regrow, and they were always more than proud to show the higher-ups how well they had designed this new strain of all-natural Equestrian carpet.
Growing vast expanses of grass and sod was one of the newer perks that came with the removal of the cloud cover. Regular episodes of rainfall began again, and suddenly crops were sustainable for long periods of time. Sometimes even whole growing seasons. Grass and sod were lower on the list of plant life to widely grow into newly-fertile soil, but many ponies were eager to renew the ground to the beautiful state it had been before the war. The ancient pictures and paintings of the Equestrian landscape completely covered in flowing vegetation was slowly becoming a reality again.
Many ponies within the Fort never really adequately appreciated just how hard the egg-heads had worked on what was essentially their playground. At least, to me they didn’t. Most to all enlistees in the Fort were too focused on fitness and exercise to actually appreciate anything in the walls of McCanton.
Exercising. That was just about the only thing to do during down time, unless you were just content to shoot the breeze with someone else that also happened to be free. There were no designated recreational areas, and there was no equipment to play sports of any kind. The closest thing to a ball the entire Fort had was a weighted, twenty pound exercise ball. One of the more fun activities utilizing that ball consisted of picking out recruits who seemed new, and motioning for them to catch it. If they had been around the exercise ball long enough, they’d just laugh and walk off. But if they were new, they’d hold out their hooves, and would proceed to have the wind knocked clean out of them after the offering pony lobbed it at them as hard as they could.
We made sure there was fun to be had.
Passing through the mixed noises of screaming Drill Sergeants and wheezing recruits, we made our way to the Fort offices, nestled in the far corner of the Fort, away from the barracks and right next to the main entrance. While the main yard was a square, the Fort perimeter itself grew wider as you travelled farther from the entrance to accommodate more buildings, and had four sections of wall jetting out from all four corners, housing guard posts. The offices were located just underneath one of those posts, in the corner closest to the big conglomerate of steel and sheet metal that made up the entrance to the Fort. Most of the walls were made in the same way, the only difference being that the gate was on wheels, and had two red stripes painted at both the top and bottom of that section of juxtapositioned metal.
Entering the office made you realize just how bad the air smelled in the yard. Dozens upon dozens of sweaty recruits putting the yard to use couldn’t have made it smell good by any standard, but in comparison to the inside of any building, especially the offices, that big patch of grass smelled horrendous.
There was an instant chill when we entered the main offices; air conditioning. On a hot summers’ day, the air of the interior of a building is simply a goddess-send. This week, however, had been a bit on the chilly side, and I wasn’t quite sure why the air conditioning was still on in the office. Maybe it was broken, or maybe the mare at the front desk was cold natured. Ignoring the chill, me and CB approached the mare to learn where our orders could be received.
“Another good morning to you, Ms. Stamp Seal.” I greeted her in what had come to be the usual manner.
“And to you, Corporal Holder.” She replied in her sweet and somewhat caring voice.
Ms. Stamp Seal wasn’t an old pony by any means, but she was well ahead of the majority of the base personnel in age. Time had just begun to creep onto her face around her eyes and mouth, but just enough to add an air of experience and wisdom about her.
“Is the Colonel in his office?” I inquired as CB stepped to stand beside me at the desk. “We’re looking to make ourselves useful today.”
“He is indeed. Just head on down, he’s not with any company at the moment.”
CB and I made our way down the hallway, towards the last door on the right appropriately labeled “Colonel Sienna”. As I stopped just before the doorframe, I once again had to hold my hoof out to keep CB from walking right into the room. This was less for his sake, and more for my not wanting to have to listen to CB be taught how to ask permission to enter a commanding officer’s place of work. How he had been here for as long as he had and not learned this, I’ll probably never know.
I decided to be the one to ask.
“Sir, Corporal Dusk Holder and Private First Class Cotton Ball requesting permission to enter, sir.”
“Permission granted.” A voice that rang with years of labor and hardship responded from the other side of the doorframe.
We entered, as we always would, hesitantly. Colonel Sienna was not a pony to relax around. One was expected to remain at the height of attention when speaking to the Colonel, but he, paradoxically, had a sort of fatherly tone to his voice that almost begged you to let your guard down when conversing. Though, he never asked this directly.
As CB and I stood shoulder to shoulder at attention in front of Colonel Sienna’s desk, I had to wonder, once more, how my saying his birth-name had annoyed him. Of course he was called by his full name by all of those with authority over him, but anyone at an even or lower rank than him was told pretty quickly that he answered to “CB.” Being called Cotton Ball by anyone that did not have seniority over him annoyed him to no end.
I never really knew why he detested his full name so much. Maybe it was a bad experience, maybe it was just preference. All I know is that I also preferred calling him “CB” over “Cotton Ball” any day of the week. A name that fluffy didn’t really fit in well with a person of his demeanor.
“I assume you’re both here to receive your assignments?” Colonel Sienna asked.
“Yes sir, Colonel.” I responded, slightly calmer than if I were addressing a Drill Sergeant or Billet.
“Very well. Corporal, you’ll be escorting a food relief caravan south into an independent settlement, past NCR borders.”
Colonel Sienna spoke with a sort of elegant prose, all the while holding a rough edge to his voice. He turned his head to his desk beside him, picked up his pipe, which many believed to be his most prized possession, and loaded it with tobacco before lighting it with what must have been his second most prized possession, a small, ornate, metal lighter.
After taking a relaxing drag from the pipe, the Colonel continued to speak.
“Possibility of attack is a minimum, but not dismissible. I don't suppose I need to remind you of the increasing frequency of caravan ambushes here recently?"
He didn't. Over the past few months, Caravan Defense guards had been reporting in more and more attacks and what had appeared to be random acts of violence against troops and their caravans. There was no discernible pattern to the attacks yet, we were only aware that they were happening more often, and the higher ups, Colonel Sienna included, were not pleased.
"You’ll have two other ponies going with you for the duration of the escort." Sienna continued. "If you wish, you may choose the two that accompany you.”
“Sir, I choose Private Cotton Ball to accompany me, sir.”
My first choice took little consideration. Any assignment where we were given the option of who to work with, I always chose CB, and CB always chose me. After his three years at McCanton, CB was about the closest thing I had to a friend. I knew the names, ages, and hat sizes of everypony in my platoon, but I had never really bonded with anyone like I had with Cotton Ball. Everypony else was an acquaintance; ponies I wouldn’t lose sleep over for forgetting them when their service time was up, but CB and me were partners almost, and I don’t think I could even force myself to forget him.
Colonel Sienna nodded his head.
“Alright Corporal, that’s one. Do you want to pick the other one?”
“Sir, no thank you sir. Any other pony you pick will be fine, sir.”
“Very well, Corporal Holder.” Colonel Sienna hoofed through some files that had been messily laid upon his desk and scanned through them before stopping on one particular document. “Hmmm….we’ve got a recruit in Caravan Defense that hasn’t experienced any fieldwork so far in his enlistment time. You mind a greenhorn tagging along, Corporal?”
“Not at all, sir.” A half-truth. Something you get used to saying after never really having an opportunity to tell the Colonel “no”. I’m sure a new recruit wouldn’t be too much trouble, but every experienced soldier, almost instinctively, desires to work with other experienced soldiers.
“This one’s a Private from your platoon. Less than a year in service.”
I thought for a moment as Sienna brought the document closer to his face to see. Surely he wouldn’t assign…
“A Private Garland Weaver, to be exact.”
=== === ===
We had just left the offices. CB and I had to go see Stamp Seal again to get our dossier for the assignment, after having been told by the Colonel what had already simply been written on the documents. I wondered why we couldn’t have just picked up the assignment details from Stamp Seal in the first place. Because it would have gone against procedure? But why would procedure include wasting even the slightest bit of time in the day? I’m sure the Colonel could save himself a hell of a lot of time if he didn’t insist on seeing everyone in the Fort who had been given assignment, and relaying it himself.
This small instance of time wasting was, more or less, the perfect example of the NCR as a whole, or the army at least. A lot more procedure than necessary, in order to ensure that the reclamation of the wasteland is done by the book. A book that was written less than two decades ago.
Colonel Sienna was much older than that, and I doubt he was perfectly fine with the standard procedures that the highest of the higher ups had passed. I feel like, despite many of the new guy’s attitudes towards his following these procedures, he was making the best of a less-than-stellar situation. Sienna had seen much more of the wastes than I had, being in what must be his mid-sixties. I was only eight years old when the cloud cover broke, but the Colonel must have been well on his way into a mid-life crisis, so to speak. He had helped in the formation years of the NCR government, and even before that, he had been a part of what were some of the first organized incursion into the wastes, out of R-7 Junction, under the leadership of a griffon called Gawd. I had never known Gawd, all I had to go on after I enlisted were stories. She had either travelled with Littlepip, or had simply helped her out a few times. Regardless of how they knew each other, she was apparently trusted enough to have been the first leader of what would later be organized into the New Canterlot Republic.
Gawd had apparently had some issue with stepping down in favor of an elected leader. There was something about an argument about R-7 Junction belonging to her, or something, and she was stubborn about letting it become solely NCR property if she relinquished power. At this point in the story, probably only Sienna or any other pony old enough to have actually been there knows what made Gawd change her mind. Even though it had only been around seventeen years, details had been hopelessly mixed up in the story, unless you were there to see it, that is. Sienna had never told the story, and nopony really wanted to ask him about it. If there’s one thing we were sure of, it’s that for whatever reason, it was a touchy subject. Still, nopony really knows if the Colonel would actually know anyway, but better safe than sorry around him.
The only thing we know is that Gawd was unhappy with it, she somehow stepped down anyway, and Candi was elected to be the first president of the NCR. Gawd was no longer with us though, take from that what you will. I’m not sure if she had simply left, or…..if she even stepped down at all. In only seventeen years, it’s hard to believe that details got this mixed up. But hey, you gotta go on what you’ve got.
CB and I were passing by the main yard once more, and he was repeating the same sentiment I had about having to return to the front desk to get the dossier. Only, his aggravation was focused on something else.
“You couldn’t have just picked one of the other guys?” CB near-groaned at me. “Now we’re stuck having to travel that kind of distance with the guy that forgets to even wake up in the morning.”
“Call it shitty luck I guess.” I yawned.
“His cutie mark doesn’t exactly advertise combat aggression either. What’d you say that thing was, a reef?”
“It’s a wreath, professor.”
“Whatever it is, I know it’s got a fucking bow on it.” CB shot back at me matter-of-factly.
“Oh, and what’s yours supposed to mean? You make a living beating raider armies with nothing but a sewing needle before you signed up?” I was referring to his cutie mark, a spool of thread connected to the previously mentioned needle.
“It’s all about first impressions smart ass,” CB dryly stated, “you know I’m experienced at this shit. All we’ve got to go on Weaver is what’s on his flank, and how well he handles billet-induced stress.”
“Weaver can’t be that bad to work with, granted his experience.” I replied, as we both passed through the last corner of the yard, walking towards the bunker. “I mean, you saw how fast he got his shit together with Billet coming, guy must reload a rifle in two seconds."
“I’m more interested in how he spends those rounds before he has to reload. You can reload a clip as fast as you want, but if you can’t hit shit before you do, you’re no use to anyone for anything.”
“I thought about that too. I mean think about it, the guy says he’s been in service for five months and he gets assigned to our platoon? Obviously he’s good for something, otherwise he’d still be in the recruit barracks mopping shit up with his toothbrush.”
“Yeah well, no matter how you cut it, I’d still rather work with a pony with some hooves-on experience.”
I couldn’t argue that with him. Anypony trying to accomplish anything wants to work with other ponies that have experience trying to do the same thing. Weaver had been here for less than half a year, and we had only his transfer to our platoon to hint us at his skill with anything useful in the field. My guess was marksmanship, but it could have been a variety of things. Not a medic though, those guys receive their own special training away from the regular grunts, and he wasn’t a radio operator either, CB had that honor in the platoon. Radio Ops had a whole extra mess of technical training to go through, but I’m glad CB decided to endure, otherwise he probably never would’ve been put in my platoon.
We finally reached the door of the barracks, and I pulled the door open to allow myself and CB inside. We made our way through the entrance, past all the uncomfortable wooden chairs that I had never seen anypony use, and into the main body of the building, where all the bunks were located. As CB opened the door, he hesitated for a second after something caught his eye inside the room. It appeared as if the same pony who had been the topic of our conversation earlier was already there, waiting for us.
“And speak of the devil.” CB said as he went to sit on his bunk.. “If it ain’t speedy, himself.”
“Oh, hey guys.” Weaver responded nervously. “You didn’t….tell Sergeant Major about that stuff this morning, did you?”
“What, do we look like rats or something?” I responded sarcastically. “I think whether or not Billet knows you took a three minute longer nap than the rest of us is the least of your problems right about now.”
“What do you mean?” Weaver asked, getting up from the bunk he had been sitting on. “Sergeant Major told me to come wait in here in the middle of the drill we were doing. I thought maybe he found out.”
“Oh shit,” CB chuckled from his bunk. “They haven’t told him yet.”
“Who hasn’t told me what?!”
“You remember equipment exercises?” I asked as I made my way to the lockbox in front of my bunk.
“Yeah, why?”
I pulled out a helmet and a combat vest and threw them onto my bed. “Because today’s training is hooves-on!”
=== === ===
New Traits Attained!
Trait 1: Early Riser
Years of service in the army have left you with the habit of being up and ready before the sun in the morning. But Celestia help everyone if you don’t get your beauty sleep!
Perception +2 in the mornings; Charisma - 2 in the late hours
Trait 2: My Friend and Me
Coming out of a childhood like yours, a close friend was nothing less than a life saver! Though you now tend to get pretty absent-minded when alone.
Hit Points + 30 when with a companion; Survival, Science, and Lockpick - 5 when without a companion
