The Price of Love

It was a relatively cheery office, as far as offices go in the Royal Guard. While most officers would have either kept their walls and desk sparse, containing only what was required of them to have as per regulations, Lieutenant Spearhead chose to have a more personal touch. Along the walls were images captured from various unit functions and picnics or parties. Where as some would put up images that display the pure fighting spirit, most all the images Dusty chose focused on those whom he led.

It gave the place a more welcoming feel, but that feeling was lost on the two stallions who entered the room and stood at attention before their commanding officer. The two of them had never been in trouble before, and they were not looking forward to this.

Dusty set his pen down once the two of them entered. He was not looking forward to this either. He would much rather be spending time with his troops, training with them, getting to know each and every one a little better, and generally making certain that they were taken care for. Having to pass judgement and discipline down upon two whom have shown themselves to be excellent Royal Guard noncoms was not the way he preferred to start out his day. Unfortunately, this was something which he had to do.

Looking up, he saw the two of them standing firmly at attention with their faces in a careful cast of military neutrality. They kept their bearing as a positive sign, showing that they remained disciplined even with how they knew they were in a heap of trouble. Getting out of his chair, Dusty walked slowly around the two Sergeants, checking them over for anything which would be out of place. In this, he found nothing at all. Every detail was perfection. This pleased the Lieutenant, even though he was unable to let that show.

Satisfied with what he found, Dusty sat back down behind his desk. Steepling his forehooves together, he tapped the tips of them together contemplatively, as if pondering something. “What am I to do with you two?” he asks rhetorically, "You two, both noncoms of high standing, were caught fighting. In public, no less.” He looks the pair in the eyes, looking for any sign that either might slip in their bearing. “Do you two know what the regulations state as the punitive action for publicly fighting?”

“Yes Sir, we do,” answers Sergeant Dead, with Sergeant Sentry just nodding in affirmation. They knew the score, and they knew that, by rights, any chance of making a career out of the Royal Guard could very well be over.

“Technically, as per regulations, you two should receive reductions in rank down to Lance Corporal, as well as twenty-eight days in the brig without pay. Furthermore, it would be noted in your service records that you two will be passed over for reenlistment.

“Fortunately, regulations also give a CO some leeway, depending on the severity and circumstances,” he informs them, giving them a moment to let it sink in. Standing, he delivers his decision. “Sergeant Flash Sentry, Sergeant Dancing Dead, the two of you shall be reduced in rank to Corporal, and spend five days in the brig. You will not lose any pay, and you will not have your service records marked as ineligible for reenlistment. Now, you two wait outside, and when the First Sarge is done in here, he will escort the two of you to the brig.” And with that, he dismissed the two of them.

When the two departed the room to wait outside, First Sergeant Silverwing entered “Got a light day planned. Think it’s a good idea to give the fillies and colts a break considering how well they all did in the inspection.”

“By ‘light’, you mean hoof-to-hoof combat training to let them blow off excessive steam that has built up?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Exactly, Sir. Figured its just what they need.”

~ + ~ + ~

“What in Tartarus were you two thinking? While creativity is a good thing, you do NOT,” Spitfire berated the two trainees in front of her hotly, stomping her hoof down as added emphasis, “just up and decide that you will go creating some new signature move on the fly. These maneuvers we perform are safe, as long as everypony does EXACTLY what they are supposed to do, and by changing things up, you two boneheads end up colliding in midair, and had to be caught before you performed a signature move called the meaty splat!” Stepping right into Tradewind’s face, she interrogated him, “Are you trying to ruin my day, trainee? Cause it would piss me off if I had to go tell your momma that her son, just out of his diapers, nose dived into the tarmac at two hundred miles per hour.”

Turning to face the other trainee, Captain Spitfire let loose on her as well. “You should know better, Bright Skies. You have shown yourself so far to be an outstanding trainee, so why did you go all stupid and follow his lead in this? If you cannot follow simple instructions, I do not give two shits how skilled you think you are. You are a danger to the whole team, and there is NO place for you here. Have I made myself clear enough for you two?”

Spitfire grinned inwardly when she hears two “Yes Ma’ams!” in unison. Good. She had gotten through to them. While she did value creativeness, there were proper ways to go about coming up with new maneuvers. Ways to make sure that it was done in a safe manner, so that nopony got killed through recklessness or stupidity. There was real danger in the stunts the team performed in every show, but the training they did every day was designed to make certain that every member knew exactly what he or she was supposed to do, as well as what the others were to do.

“Good. Now, I want you two to give me one hundred laps around the training grounds. Maybe some good exercise might clear any remaining foolishness out of your heads,” she told them. “If you hurry, you might get done in time to make the chow hall before it closes. Now get your flanks in the air and give me my laps!”

Tradewind and Bright Skies took off in a hurry, not wanting to further piss off the Wonderbolt Captain.

“I think maybe they’ll listen to orders now, Spits. What the heck was Tradewind trying to do, anyways? Seemed he thinks we just pull these stunts out of our asses on the go. To be honest, I have my doubts about him. I give him two more weeks before he washes out, either by quitting, injuring himself, or getting thrown out.”

“I don’t know Soarin,” Spitfire replies slyly as she heads in the direction of her office. “He does kinda remind me of a certain Pegasus who would think about pies in class instead of paying attention to the lesson plan,” she snickered as she quipped. “And look how far he has come; Executive Officer of the Wonderbolts.”

Soarin just grinned as he tagged along beside her. “Yeah, I was pretty boneheaded myself back then.”

The two of them were stopped by Warrant Officer Fleetfoot, who called out from the group of trainees she had been talking to. Trotting over, she fell in step with her friends. “So, I’ve just got the word at lunch. Princess Twilight has personally hired me,” she squeed like a little filly on Hearth's Warming Day. She had received numerous job offers, and while all of them would have come with pay and benefits which greatly exceeded what she had with the Wonderbolts, what she really wished for was to work for Princess Twilight Sparkle. To her, this would allow her to continue serving Equestria, just not as military, but still, working towards the betterment of Equestria. It was an added bonus that the princess was a very good boss to work for, if you could handle the manic quirks that the Princess seemed to go through.

“Congrats, Fleet. When do you officially start working for her?” asked Soarin. He had a gut feeling that she would get the job. Not only had she proved herself as the unit’s Financial Officer, but she also had the strength of character and positive outlook which the Princess found desirable.

“I knew you would get the job,” Spitfire added. “You know that we’re gonna miss you around here.”

Fleetfoot felt a small pang of longing to remain, having served in her nation first as a Equestrian Guard, and then making a cross service move to the Royal Guard, and from there, joining the Wonderbolts. She had served a full twenty years, and she loved every moment, but the rigors of the military life had become more than she could continue with.

She could have easily taken a desk job, and probably would have completed another ten years, probably reaching the rank of First Lieutenant before retiring. That she had made it as far as she had, becoming a Grade Four Warrant Officer as well as being a contender for the next Executive Officer position, which would open up within a year. Of all the years she had served, the most cherished times were during the six years she had flown with the Wonderbolts.

Now though, it had reached a point where she would become more of a liability than an asset. Not only was it becoming more difficult for her to perform the complex tricks that they did as an aerial team, but the Wonderbolts were a Special Operations unit, and if she were to fail there, she would be placing the whole team at risk.

No, it was better to retire altogether than for her to end up sitting at a desk somewhere. At least with her new job working for Princess Twilight, she felt she would be a valued member of the team.

“Well, at least we’ll be able to throw you one hell of a party, Fleet,” Soarin reassures her. “I even hear that Princess Luna plans to attend. You have some pretty important fans.”

“Yeah, just don’t spill your pie on her, Soarin. That would be embarrassing!” The two mares enjoy a laugh at the stallion’s expense, remembering his reaction at the Gala when he nearly lost his apple pie that night.

“Well, I have to get grinding on a mountain of paperwork. Seems like the forms reproduce like parasprites lately. You two mind watching over these foals and make sure nopony gets killed?” the Captain asked them? When they agreed, Spitfire headed to her office to shackle herself to her slave-like duties.

~ + ~ + ~

Emperor Ironbeak was not pleased. He had just spent two hours listening to his ministers argue and bicker over every damn thing under the sun, or at least the things which they had their own personal interests in, and they were just now getting to the point where he could bring them in on the plans he had made with General Razorwing. It was Ironbeak’s belief that most, if not all of his ministers, would be highly supportive once they realized the benefits and rewards which would come from a successful completion of this game. And this was one of the oldest games in civilization which they played; International Relations, also known as how to best fuck over your neighbors and become more powerful than them.

Taking a sip of deep red wine from the jeweled encrusted platinum goblet before him, he clears his throat to speak. “Now that we have these matters out of our way, we can move on to a topic which I feel will be of interest to everyone here. Something which, if successful, will make these problems you have been squawking about for the past couple hours disappear,” Ironbeak spoke up. Upon doing so, every Griffin in the room turned to him in expectation. They had heard that he had something in the works, but the rumor mill only supplied speculation, and they wished to know more. And if what they had been hearing had any truth to it, they would want to be in on this.

Gesturing to his Chief-of-Staff, he has him pass out folders to each Minister attending the meeting. With a red and white border around the edges, they realize that they are privy to eyes-only information here, which further piqued their interests. They each opened the folders, and browsed what was inside.

“Ironbeak, this is all information we already know. Trade figures, Gross National Product reports, economic indicators and such. We just discussed this.”

“Minister Ravenhorn, if you care to look past what you see on the top, you will see that the first section is there to show the need for the second,” Ironbeak informed him.

As they looked further, numerous ministers let out gasps of surprise, or even shock. What they saw before them was a plan that was incredibly bold in scope, and would be extremely lucrative for their nation, and for themselves also. “Do you seriously wish to seize the Crystal Empire and annex it as part of Griffica? You will have us at war with Equestria!” Ravenhorn proclaimed. As the Foreign Minister, it was his job to deal with other nations, and he was one who knew how the leaders of those nations would react. He knew that Celestia would immediately jump to the aid of the Crystal Empire, whereas they have always been allies, and now that Celestia’s own niece ruled that nation, the bonds between the two nations were further strengthened. “This is madness! While we may have the strength to take on Princess Cadenza in the Crystal Empire, we would have no chance against the combined armies of both nations attacking on at least two separate fronts.”

Ravenhorn was correct, given the knowledge that he had before him. But what Minister Ravenhorn did not know that there was more to the plan. Specifically, a part which would guarantee that Celestia would be very hesitant to raise a hoof to stop Griffica from carrying out the annexation of the Crystal Empire. “What if we had the means to ensure that Equestria would not interfere, Minister Ravenhorn?

“And just how do you propose to do that?” was the question Ravenhorn asked.

“Simple solution, really. If we have something that Celestia cherishes enough, or, more accurately, someone she loves dearly, then we would have the leverage to ensure that she would be too fearful to interfere.” Taking another sip of wine from his goblet, he continues, “on Monday, a small delegation will be coming to Griffica for the upcoming Trade Conference. Among those coming up will be Princess Twilight Sparkle.” Waving to his Chief-of-Staff once again, he has him pass out a second set of folders. “General Razorwing has come up with a plan to capture her. With her in our custody, and a carefully worded message delivered by Ambassador Redtail, Celestia will bow to our demands and give us most anything we ask for, to ensure that her precious protégée is returned to her alive.