The Remarkably Short, Yet No Less Interesting Career of Commodore Derpy Hooves of The Equestrian Nuclear Submarine Fleet

The Commodore walked down the familiar grated hallway to the Mess Hall. A path she seemed to be walking alone on. The entire corridor was dead quiet except for the humming of the ventilation system. Commodore Hooves opened the heavy door to Mess Hall and was met with the intoxicating smells of breakfast. Today's special seemed to be blueberry muffins with milk. The Commodore almost stepped in the food line before she saw a large congregation of maintenance workers siting at a table.

The maintenance crew was a gruff but lighthearted bunch. They leaned back in their chairs and laughed occasionally at some funny stories of misadventures during shore leave. Most of them involved an unsuccessful attempt at wooing a mare. One of the crew was being pestered about how he got his eyepatch. Apparently a bar-fight broke out after he tried hitting on someone else's "very special somepony" and the sailor lost his right eye for his trouble. The Commodore would never understand why anyone enjoys the so-called bar scene.

After the antics of the sailors died down the Commodore pulled up a chair to sit at the middle of the table. The entirety of the maintenance stood up and saluted before apologizing about not seeing her. The Commodore said nothing but she did take a muffin off of an adjacent tray. She eyed the whole group suspiciously while slowly chewing her muffin. The other members of the table looked backed and forth at each other in awkward silence.

"Is this all of the maintenance crew?" Commodore Hooves said with her mouth full.

"Yes, Ma'am! All of us are here except Hector and he is in Sickbay," the sailor with the eyepatch replied.

"How long has this Hector been in the Sickbay?" the Commodore asked before sipping on a nearby milk carton.

The Commodore immediately spat out the milk violently and shouted, "This is brandy! And it is not even good brandy! What kind of dollar store liquor you smuggle on this boat anyway? I swear, this whole cursed boat has a drinking problem!"

The entire table burst out in uncontrollable laughter. Even when she was giving a harsh scolding, the Commodore couldn't help but to make light of the situation. It was awhile before everyone calmed down but when they did the members of the table where significantly more relaxed in posture.

"So what about this 'Hector' fellow, eh lads? What is he doing locked up in the Sickbay while all the merry-making is up here?" The Commodore Said while drinking some real milk.

"I would say he would like to be, Mum. The poor thing has had his behind stuck in bed since day one. Hit his 'ead on a pipe at the end of the C Deck stairwell. They got him all bandaged up and from what I hear he's been out cold for the past week or so. Slipped into some sort of coma and the poor fellow may not make it," the pony in the eyepatch said.

"That's a real shame. I'd hate to have to inform the next of kin on my very first voyage. Gather round y'all, let's dedicate a drink to the health of Hector," The Commodore said while holding up her milk carton.

All around the table there was the bumping of "milk" cartons followed by a solemn swig. The Commodore looked up at the clock on an adjacent wall and saw that the hour was almost up.

"Seeing how everypony here is so tight knit it would be reasonable to assume the movements of all maintenance crew members are known," The Commodore stated.

"I would say we all keep tabs of where each of us is at. If that is what you are asking, Ma'am," a pony said while getting up to put away some empty trays.

"Good, then the next question should be very simple. Who broke into Captain Robertson's cabin sometime in the last couple of weeks?" the Commodore said in a serious tone.

The whole Mess Hall fell silent. Every head turned towards the Commodore.

"That's heavy stuff, Mum. I can't say I know of anyone who would have the time or motive to do such a thing," the pony in the eyepatch said.

"What is your name, Cyclops? I am not exactly thrilled with your answer," The Commodore shouted.

"The name is Jenkins, Ma'am. I really don't know if anyone here could do anything along the lines of breaking into the Captain's Cabin. That door is five inch thick steel! Even with the most powerful tools aboard, it wold take a good half-hour to break through and twice that to clean up the mess! Perhaps you should know what in the hay your are talking about before you go off accusing those who have been sailing on the K.S. Pride longer than you have been alive!" Jenkins shouted back.

"Your aggressive attitude has been noted, Jenkins! I want everyone in here to think long and hard about who is to blame for the missing orders from the Captain's Cabin. The guilty party is probably responsible for the interior explosion that has been giving y'all filthy gear-heads headaches as of late," The Commodore announced.

If looks could kill, then the Commodore would be dead three minutes ago. If there was a single pony who had even the slightest knowledge of who the saboteur might be; he or she wouldn't tell the Commodore a lick of it. The harsh blare of the shift clock broke the tension of the room. The disgruntled sailors filed out of the Mess Hall while cursing at the Commodore under their breaths.

Commodore Hooves was alone at a table with the last muffin. For once, she wasn't hungry.