Bombproof and the Cornfield Meetby 1stAwesomeplatoonChaptersChapter OneChapter TwoChapter Three Chapter Four Chapter OneThe world at night is a beautiful place indeed. Looking down upon it, one can spy the lights from homes and fires illuminating it in a constellation of civilization. Yet as beautiful as it is, it’s a little too large for our scope. Let us instead head down; down past the clouds, down through the pouring rain, down to Fort Dragoon. This base as well as the nearby city of Battlestream, will serve as the stage for our little foray. As we make our way into the low brick building that serves as the enlisted barracks, we find three ponies, Holden, Buck, and Mustang, unwinding after a hard day’s work. Holden, Buck, and Mustang are all in 1st Platoon. Holden, a maroon colored pony, recently promoted Sergeant is known around post as a conspiracy theorist. He believes aliens exist. A brown pony, PFC Buck is one of the most veteran junior enlisted in 1st Platoon. He is direct, straightforward, assertive, and usually completely aboveboard in all his dealings. A yellow pony, PFC Mustang is a newer member, one of those inexperienced soldiers that just try to stay under the radar, innocent and gullible. Holden reads a magazine as the other two try their hooves at checkers. The soft sounds of the rain drown out the the buzz the lights ussually give off. The door slams open before any rebuke is given. Lightning flashes, briefly silhouetting a dark figure and a bright, white smile. The figure steps forward, revealing himself to be none other than Specialist 5th Grade Bombproof, explosives expert and self-proclaimed “Things Go Boom Extraordinaire”. “Guys, check this out!” he exclaims, coming all the way inside and closing the door behind him. He’s soaked to the bone, but this doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest as he produces a damp flyer from his shirt and sets it on the floor in front of him. The other three ponies abandon their rainy day activities to have a look. Across the top of the flyer, in big, bold letters, is: “Ladies and Gentlecolts, Foals and Fillies!” And below that, flanked on each side by an old steam engine, so that it looked as though they were pushing the words together: “Come One, Come All To the First Ever Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet! Even the Little Ones Will Squeal In Delight as Two of Battlestream’s Own Recently Decommissioned Steam Engines Are Driven Full Speed RIGHT INTO EACH OTHER! The Festivities Will Likely Rival An Independence Day Show; It’ll be the Greatest Spectacle You’ll Ever See! Admission: $10 per family” “I’ve been waiting for this for months!” Bombproof exclaims. “Neato!” Mustang agrees. Holden, however, is unamused. “So some ponies are going to drive two steam engines into each other…” he begins, rereading the flyer, “And you’re going to pay to see it?” Bombproof balks at this, looking to the other two ponies for support. Surely he’s joking? “Hell yes I’m gonna pay to see that!” He cries, nearly bouncing up and down with glee. “This is both a waste of time, and money.” Holden responds, deadpan, perpetually nonplussed. Buck is having none of it, however. “Why you gotta put a brother down, man? Look, don’t mind him Bombproof.” “You guys wanna come? There’ll be food, activities…” Bombproof offers, brushing aside Holden’s entirely characteristic lack of excitement. “And an explosion?” Holden adds. “…And, of course, a huge explo-yeah!” Bombproof finishes excitedly, “So what do you guys say?” “Sounds boss, but I promised my little bro I’d take him to a flick, ya dig?” Says Buck with a shrug, “Sorry man.” “That’s alright. Mustang? Wanna come to a day filled with wanton destruction and a huge explosion!?” “Yeah, sure!” Mustang blurts out, but then remembers: “No, wait, I can’t. There was a loose thread on my patch, so I can’t go anywhere.” Bombproof sighs knowingly. “Martingale strikes again…You’d think you could get away with something like that, since, you know, he only has one eye.” Mustang blinks, then realizes. His eyes go wide, and he begins shaking all over. “I’m afraid to think of how it would be if he still had both.” But Bombproof has stopped paying attention. “It sucks you guys can’t come…” He says, “No worries, though, I’ll still have a blast!” His grin widens, conveying a silent ‘Get it?’ “You always do, but be careful, man.” Buck agrees, “It’d suck if you got into trouble too.” “What, me? Trouble? Bah! I’ll be fine, you worry too much!” Bombproof says, striking the noblest pose he can. Truly, he is the paragon of a good soldier. “You’re probably right.” Buck commiserates. He yawns, and looks at his watch. “Shit I’m tired. Night y’all.” The rest of them follow suit. All, that is, except Bombproof, whose childlike, barely contained excitement keeps him awake well into the night. A dark, stormy night has given way to a glorious sunny day, a perfect setting for a day out about town. The sky isn’t the only thing sunny and bright today, however: Specialist Bombproof steps out of the enlisted barracks, smiling wide. The day has come, and even if he’s going alone, it will still go down in history as the Greatest Day Ever. “This is going to be so awesome!” He cries, leaping into the air, thrilled to be alive to witness the glory that is two steam engines shuffling off the (kind of) mortal coil via high velocity impact. For now, though, the only impact is his hooves impacting a reminder of last night’s weather. Muddy water splashes everywhere, including the pony in front of him. “Hey, sorry man, I-“ Bombproof begins, but then stops short. The mud covering the pony has begun to slide off; one by one, as if part of some terrible countdown, three stars appear. Before him stands Lieutenant General Cropper, decorated officer and Commander of Fort Dragoon. General Cropper is, understandably, not as excited about the day as our friend Bombproof. “This sucks!” Bombproof exclaims for the umpteenth time. Since the mud incident, he has been assigned to cleaning lunch trays at the mess hall, an activity sadly not on par with watching two steam engines collide with each other. “I’ve got to find some way to get to the meet…I’ve been waiting too long to just give up now!” There is a cluttering of metal, and Bombproof looks behind him to see Greenbroke, another soldier who has been assigned to the same fate as he. Private Greenbroke is a teal colored local pony; he and his family have been farming near Battlestream for the past four generations. "Sarry ta lissin’ in, but wuss'is meet you takin ‘bout?" Greenbroke inquires. "Oh, man, only like the most awesome spectacular and amazing thing ever!” Bombproof happily exclaims, “Two trains blowing up by running into each other, now that's what I'm talkin about!" He pulls out the flyer as proof that something this awesome can, in fact, be real. "Oh, dat meet? That's gonna happen' on mah farm… “Really?!” “Yup, some city ponies came up, offered us thousand somthin bits just to crash trains in the west field. City ponies are weird." Bombproof nods. “Huh. So what did you do to get KP?” “I saluted with ta wrong hoof.” “What a drag man...” He commiserates. “It’s a shame that a day like today is going to be spent washing dishes…You wanna ditch?” Greenbroke shakes his head. “Oh na, I'm fine ‘ear. I like quiet, and that train bit sounds like an awful ruckus.” “Well I’m gonna ditch.” Bombproof continues, “I’ve been waiting too long to let a day like today pass me by. Too long, I say!” “Is that ev’n allowed?” Greenbroke asks. Bombproof just grins, "how about my recipe for exploding cupcakes to keep your yap shut?” Greenbroke lightens up at this, and exclaims “Ok!” while nodding enthusiastically. Smile widening, Bombproof looks over to the sleeping form of Corporal Withers, the pony supposedly in charge of them while they are on KP. Cpl. Withers isn’t a complete idiot though; our intrepid hero notices a makeshift tripwire strung tight across the bottom of the doorframe leading outside. He deftly steps over it, and onto freedom. The plan is in motion; now it is time for the next step. Specialist Bombproof sneaks around the field tents on the edge of Fort Dragoon, searching. Word is there is a pony that can sneak anything into the base. Bombproof hopes this pony can get him out. He finally spies his target, Private Steel, sharpening his knife. Perfect. “Psst!” His hail falls on deaf ears-or rather, no ears. Pvt. Steel has disappeared! Just like that! Bombproof opens his mouth in surprise, only to hear an irritated “What?” come from behind him. Somehow, Steel has maneuvered himself behind our intrepid hero! “You see,” Bombproof explains, smiling, “normal ponies would be startled by what you just did… “But I’m bombproofed.” Pvt. Steel’s sigh is both long and tortured. “What do you want, First Platoonie?” Bombproof looks from side to side before leaning in and answering. “Look, I need to get out of here.” he says, “Can you help me get over the fence?” “You in trouble or something?” Bombproof clears his throat. “No, I just want to hop the fence for fun!” he lies, beaming at his own cleverness. “Hopping the fence is a bad idea. Remember when you guys went off-post to get that Christmas tree?” “So worth it.” Steel shakes his head, and points to the fence nearby. “Well since then, Top’s had all the fences wired to ring a bell in his tent. You know, just in case.” “Dangit!” Bombproof curses, “How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?” “Not my problem.” Says Private Steel with a shrug. Bombproof chuckles knowingly. “Oh, I get it…” he explains, “You don’t want to get busted for helping me. It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.” Steel narrows his eyes. “Nopony can catch me.” He states simply. “Then you’ll help me?” “Are you sure you want my help?” “Yep!” “Hold still.” In a flash, Pvt. Steel takes his knife and deftly cuts off the bottom part of Bombproof’s mane. Our hero screams, jumps, and tries to run away. “What the hell man!?” He shouts. Steel holds his tail, stopping him from moving forward, if not from actively trying to move forward. With the same deft movement, Steel cuts off the bottom hair on his tail as well. Bombproof’s forward motion propels him into the air, where he sails face-first into yet another muddy puddle. “Augh, why?!” he moans. Steel just laughs, as he roughs up the top of Bombproof’s mane, who immediately strikes a fighting stance. “That’s it, you asked for it!” he declares. Steel then holds his knife point up, causing Bombproof to take a cautious step back. He wonders what the hell is wrong with this pony-was he going to actually stab him for something like this? Steel then turns the knife so its exquisitely polished blade serves as a mirror. “There, take a look.” He says with a small smile. Bombproof blinks as he looks into his reflection. “Sweet Celestia, I look just like, like Captain Jousting…” Steel nods. “Now all you need is his uniform and you can just walk by the MP’s.” “But how are we supposed to get his uniform? He’s probably wearing it in his office right now.” Steel just grins. “You leave that to me.” Captain Jousting, company commander, sits quietly in his office, working on some paperwork when the lights go out. There is a rustle, the briefest whisper of movement, a shadow moving amongst shadows. When they turn back on, the good Captain has been stripped down to his underthings, yet he doesn’t seem to notice. Jousting looks up, and looks around. There is nopony in the room but he, and no sign of anything else, pony or otherwise. He looks back down to his desk, and continues his work. “Hmmm.” “How do I look?” Bombproof asks, turning this way and that, trying to see what he looked like as Captain Jousting. It’s just he and Pvt. Steel on the parade ground at the moment. In the distance, 2nd Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant First Class Reign enjoys the beautiful weather. “Convincing,” Steel nods. In the distance, the saddlebags disappear off of SFC Reign’s back. “You’ll have to wear these saddlebags to cover your cutie mark, though.” Steel continues, producing a pair seemingly out of nowhere. Bombproof puts them on, while in the distance, Reign looks at his back, confused at the sudden lightening of his load. Then, as he’s looking, his yellow tint sunglasses mysteriously disappear off of his own face. As he puts a hoof to it, confused, Steel hands a familiar-looking pair of sunglasses to Bombproof, who puts them on. “You’ll have to wear these to cover your blaze.” “Hey, thanks!” Bombproof says, “You know, you’re really good at that...don’t suppose you could get something from the mare’s tent for me?” Steel just stares at him for a moment. “You should go.” “Wow, you’re full of good ideas!” Bombproof exclaims, nodding enthusiastically. And here we are; the entrance to Fort Dragoon, the front gate. From his Military Police station, Staff Sergeant Bunker rules over his domain, controlling which ponies come in…and which ponies go out. It is the final obstacle to freedom. As our intrepid hero walks toward the entrance, Staff Sergeant Bunker is polishing his badge. “Morning…sir?” he greets, looking up from his badge in confusion. “Uh, morning sergeant.” Bombproof answers, “I’m just going into town. To do…officer stuff.” Bunker squints. There’s something up, if only he can figure it out. “You look different, sir.” “Uh…new manecut.” Bunker sniffs. “And what’s that smell?” He sniffs again, leaning in more closely. “You smell like…spent cordite and gunpowder, sir.” Bombproof gulps. “Well, er, sergeant, I’m a captain, and you, uh, wouldn’t want to make me late, would you?” “I don’t know sir; you are acting rather suspicious…” Time to pull out all the stops. “Sergeant, if you don’t let me pass, I’m going to, uh, do mean things.” “Oh, I wasn’t trying to be rude sir, it’s just-“ Another MP pops up from the other side of the MP booth, interrupting SSG Bunker. “But Sergeant, I don’t like it when the Captain does mean stuff.” Specialist Castle whines. Now double-teamed and unwilling to discipline the lower ranking MP in front of a commissioned officer, Bunker just sighs, defeated. “Fine. Here you go, sir, have a nice day.” He says, opening the gate to let him pass. Bombproof steps through, trying not to run in all his excitement, and gets in his chevy pickup. “Uh, sir, I’m pretty sure that’s not your truck…” SSG Bunker calls out to him. “Well…” Bombproof answers, “Well I’m a captain, and I…I do what I want.” Bunker just nods. “Very good sir,” he says, as Bombproof drives off. Chapter Two“Far out, I made it!” Bombproof cheers as he passes the Battlestream city limit sign, “This plan is working out really well!” Passing the water tower he takes a left, entering Mane street. He parks the truck and looks around, smiling. Battlestream is a decently sized city; not too big, not too small. Just right. Various businesses and venues surround him, some just starting to turn their neon signs on in preparation for the night hours. Once the sun went down, the entire street would shine with light and color, graciously welcoming those near and far to come sample its delights. Bombproof looks at the clock hanging in the plate glass window of the record store, and nods. “Well I’ve got some time to kill before the meet…Good time for a drink.” He says, already walking across the street to The Muzzle Loader Bar, a popular inebriation venue for enlisted ponies stationed at Fort Dragoon. “Hey, Tender! Buckweiser please?” Bombproof asks, addressing the Muzzle Loader’s surly bartender. “Yeh, yeh, hold yer horses.” Tender replies. He slides the drink down the bar to Bombproof. As he catches it and takes a drink, Tender looks at Bombproof oddly, like something is off. “What’s up with the new uniform boy?” Bombproof, just finishing a sip from his bottle, looks down. He had forgotten he was still wearing an officer’s uniform. “Oh, oh man, that’s a long story”, Bombproof sighs. “What are you up to, eh? Actually, you know what I don’t wanna know.” Tender says, not wanting to get involved. “If MPs come stormin’ in here, I don’t know who you are.” Tender isn’t the type to pry-it’s bad for business. He walks away to the other end of the bar to service other patrons. Bombproof goes back to drinking his beer, looking around to see if other regulars he knows is in the bar. There looks to be a lot of familiar faces, but nopony Bombproof really has the relations with to walk up and start a conversation. There’s the biker ponies in their usual booth. The normal combination of farmers, and factory workers taking up most of the bar. A few couples dancing to songs on the jukebox. Some strangers playing pool. Bombproof then looks to his left to the end of the bar towards the door; two ponies sit next to him. A light green stallion with a darker forest green mane. Wearing a blue bandana and small, purple sunglasses. Next to him sits a teal mare, her blond mane generally dirty and disheveled. She wears a sort of boy scout or park ranger uniform. “Ugh, Hippies” Bombproof thinks to himself. They come to this bar since it’s the cheapest and one of the few bars that serves food. They’re not usually very well received at the local eaters on Mane Street. While scanning over the hippies a light tan mare had walked up and sat next to Bombproof on his right without him knowing. As Bombproof turns back, his arm bumps the tan mare’s arm just as she’s taking a sip from her glass. The colorful drink splashes and covers her dress. Bombproof’s bottle falls to the floor. “Smooth move, stud.” The mare scoffed at him. “I’m…sorry baby, I’ll buy you a new one.” Bombproof says quickly, wiping down the bar’s surface, trying to reduce the seen that he’d caused. “Damn right you will, are all you military cats this clumsy?” The mare grabs a few napkins and storms off to the bathroom. A few bar patrons chuckle at the incident; this type of thing happens at the Muzzle Loader often, but normally not this early in the night. Tender comes with a mop and dust pan. “Sorry Tender,” Bombproof says, embarrassed. “Just slow down, ok?” Tender scolds. Bombproof sits and waits while glass and beer is cleaned up around him. He has nothing in his hooves to defuse the slight tension in the air, so to occupy himself while he waited for tender to return to the bar, he looks for the basket of peanuts placed on the bar every few chairs. He looks to his left and sees said peanuts in front of the hippie ponies. “Excuse me, could you pass the peanuts?” Bombproof asks. The green hippie stallion fixes Bombproof with a blistering glare, his eyes filled with the righteous fury and indignation common to the young in either age or in mind. “What, you think because you got that uniform you can just bark orders at me too?! Well I’m not Uncle Sam’s slave, man! Buzz off, General Stalin,” he snaps. Bombproof just fixes the strange pony with a blank stare. “Well, that’s alright…I’ll get them myself…” he commiserates. He reaches for the bowl of salted legumes. But instead of peanuts, it seems his hoof has found another hoof. Bombproof looks up to apologize, but stops short when he sees who it belongs to. She was actually rather attractive, her mane a bit messy, but for some reason it was kind of a turn on. Hoof on hoof he looks at her, and she back at him. “Hi.” He says simply, awestruck. The mare looks deep into his bright green eyes. Her lips part, and out comes… “Assault! Authoritarian Assault!” “Wait, what?!” Bombproof manages to get out before the mare violently smashes a half full bottle over his head. Bombproof falls from his stool, and hits the sawdust ground. The spinning blades of the ceiling fan faintly remind Bombproof that his truck’s fan belt needs to be replaced, all as he slips into unconsciousness. Bombproof awakes some time later on the bar, dazed and confused. Somepony had moved him from his previous position on the floor back to his seat. Most likely Tender, who does not want to see him stepped on. “Ugh, what happened…?” he groans, as the ice pack on his head drops onto the bar surface. “That hippie mare busted a bottle over yer head.” Tender responds, cleaning a glass, not even looking at our hero. Things such as this happen more often than he would like to admit. “Alright, makes sense.” He agrees. “Also that tan mare you knocked ordered another drink and put it on your tab.” Tender says as he puts down the cleaned glass to clean another. “Yeah yeah, fine.” Bombproof says as he reaches once again, intent on completing his initial mission of peanuts, only to be scorned yet again. “Maannn, they ate all the peanuts…” he moans. The moaning makes his head hurt, however, and he rests it on the bar, holding it in his hooves. “Hey Tender, do you have the time?” he asks, not looking up. Another bar patron answers him. “Sorry, somepony broke the clock.” Tender looks around his establishment, taking account of the other patrons. “Lesse…” he says, adding things up in his head, “Wyatt’s loaded, but Garrett is still conscious…I’d say around half past seven.” This gets Bombproof’s head up off of the bar right quick. “Shoot!” he exclaims, “The meet starts at eight! I gotta get going!” And quick as a flash, he is out the door. “That’s fine, you don’t have to pay…” Tender mutters darkly. Night has fallen once again on the city of Battlestream. The moon shines brightly, providing its nigh-eternal assistance to those who find themselves lost and needing guidance once the sun has set and the world sleeps. Battlestream isn’t sleeping however; flashing neon lights up the downtown street, music resonates from the bars and clubs as ponies groove to the latest dance craze, and night owl ponies fill the streets looking for a good time. But Bombproof has no time for this scene. He starts his truck, and makes his way down Mane Street to the cornfield just two short miles down the road. He leaves downtown, the surrounding area quieting down for a brief moment up until the lights of the carnival known as Cornfield Meet appears. The Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet is in full swing; food stands, games, and other forms of entertainment can be seen through the gate. Bombproof parks quickly in the large dirt patch off the road designated as the parking lot. Relieved that he isn’t too late, he heads straight to the ticket booth, wasting no time. “Hello, how are you?” he asks, slightly short of breath. “Good evening!” The ticket pony greets cheerily, “Just one?” “Oh no, I already have my ticket!” Bombproof says, “It’s in my pocket, just a sec…” As he searches his coat pockets, his expression goes from exultant to confused. “Oh maaan! I think that hippie girl stole my ticket! And my wallet…” The ticket pony shrugs. “Bummer, man.” “This sucks, I was so excited to see this…” Bombproof sniffs, hanging his head in defeat and starting to walk away. “Hey, wait!” The ticket pony calls after him. To this very day he’ll swear up and down that a stray, solitary raindrop came from nowhere and landed on his face when he saw Bombproof walk away in dejection, but you and I know better. “I can let you in.” he says. “Really!?”, Bombproof responds in disbelief. “Yeah. After all, you are an officer. Think of it as a small thanks for all you do for us.” “Woohoo!” Bombproof cheers. He gives the ticket pony a brief but strong hug, and trots into the meet. The ticket pony looks on after him, smiling, proud that he was able to help out a soldier. Chapter Three Chapter Three The meet is packed-it’s almost as if every pony in Battlestream is here! Bombproof weaves through the throng of ponies, eventually making his way to the top of a small hill. From here he can just make out the tracks where the two locomotives will impact in a beautiful explosion of fire and steel. “All the good spots are taken…given my situation, I’m probably lucky to find this one.” He muses. He looks behind him, from here he can still see downtown Battlestream, her lights, and her clock tower. “Looks like I have some time to get some snacks.” He says to himself, walking over to the snack booth. His luck persists, and there is only one other pony in line in front of him! That’s where his luck ends, however: he facehoofs, realizing that “Dammit! That’s right, I have no money!” He looks up for one last glance at the delicious food, unavailable to him, taunting him with its unobtainability, but is stricken by the familiarity of the pony in front of him in line: A teal pony, it’s the mare from the bar! Standing in the light of the booth, she looks even better than she did in the bar. “Hey! Remember me?” he asks as he taps her. The mare turns around, confused. “No. Should I?” Bombproof smiles and points at the small lump on his head. “You smashed a bottle on my head a few hours ago.” The mare suddenly looks worried. “Oh! Uhm…” “Well it’s alright!” he cuts her off, “Can I have my wallet back?” The mare nods, concerned, looking at his uniform. “Sure, here.” She says as she gives it back to him. “Look, I’m really sorry about hitting you…I don’t want any trouble, man.” Bombproof nods, smiling. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” He says brightly, “Actually, I see you at the Muzzle Loader a lot; you here with your friends?” “Oh no, they aren’t interested in large explosions.” She answers, “One’s a baby, and the other doesn’t like loud noises.” Bombproof shakes his head, as one would to a child who simply doesn’t understand that water is wet. “I never understood those ponies. Like, what else could beat two trains smashing into each other?” “Oh my God, I know right!? It’s so awesome!” The mare suddenly exclaims. She soon realizes her sudden outburst, and coughs, embarrassed. Bombproof coughs as well. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife. “Well…” Bombproof suggests, “If you’re here alone, would you like to join me? I have a nice spot on that hill over there.” The mare pauses, then smiles. “Yeah, sounds groovy.” Captain Jousting, commander of Fort Dragoon, decides to take a break from work and walk around the post, surveying his charges. Still wearing only his t-shirt, he passes a couple of the Military Police officers, a certain Specialist Castle and Staff Sergeant Bunker. “Hey Captain!” Castle greets jovially. He tilts his head, confused. “How’d you get back into the base?” Cpt. Jousting stops, and looks slowly toward the pair of MP’s. “What are you talking about, soldier? I’ve been here all day.” Castle just smiles and shakes his head. “No sir, you left a few hours ago. Said you had important officer business in town.” Now it’s Jousting’s turn to be confused. “What?” he asks, “Are you sure it was me?” “Yes, sir.” SSG Bunker answers, “Castle is telling the truth. Strange, you did smell like spent explosives though.” “What?!” Jousting exclaims, taking a step back, “How can this be?” “Sir?” “What now?!” Bunker coughs. “What happened to your uniform, sir?” “What do you mean, what happened to my-“ Cpt. Jousting begins. He stops once he looks down and spies his state of undress. “This is an outrage! This is all your fault, I should have you both fired! Who could’ve even…” He explodes, then stops once again, his eyes narrowing to deadly slits, what little can be seen of his irises shining with fury. “Bombproof…” “He can’t actually fire us, can he…?” Spc. Castle whispers to his sergeant. Bunker shakes his head, not wanting to risk being heard. Bombproof and the hippie mare sit on a mat at the top of their little hill, looking down to the field where soon, two steam engines would be slammed together in an explosion of steel and awesome. Most everypony has settled down in their own spots; there are families and couples everywhere, sitting on mats and looking up at the protective steel mesh in front of the tracks; some probably having come from miles away to see this. Everypony is bathed in the soft glow emanating from the game and food booths of the carnival to their left, their music drifting softly, almost hauntingly around them, mixing with the buzz of conversation and excitement. If one were to be particularly cognizant, they would be able to still smell the aroma of corn, recently harvested, sweet and mild. A lime green filly chases a light blue one; they bump into a yellow stallion and his date, a white-maned sailor. Another couple, a red stallion and his date, a brown mare, argue over which kind of soda to share at one of the concession booths. The air is filled with the buzz of their conversation and everypony else’s. It’s a dichotomy of relaxation and breathless anticipation. “I’m so excited!” Bombproof says, “This is going to be so awesome!” His new friend doesn’t look as excited. “Can I ask you a question?” “Shoot!” She looks at him sideways for a moment before asking, “Why’re you being so nice to me?” Bombproof thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Dunno. I guess it’s ‘cause you’re the prettiest pony I’ve ever met. That likes explosions, at least!” Her expression softens, “That’s the nicest things anypony has ever said to me…” she says. “Well I find that surprising!” Bombproof answers. “I never did get your name, by the way…” “It’s…Terra…” “Huh, a pretty name to match a pretty face.” “Thanks,” She looks down, glad for the night to hide a hint of a blush, as well as a small smile, “…my dad picked it.” “What’s your dad like?” Bombproof asks, genuinely interested. “He’s in the military, really controlling, and always trying to order me around.” Terra responds bitterly. “You bet I can understand what that’s like…” “Well then you know the drill; I gave you my name, so what’s yours, Mr. Army Dude?” “Bombproof!” He says brightly, adding, “My mom picked that one!” “Bombproof. I like it. What’s your mom like?” “Oh, well my mom was very kind and loving. Nopony else could make a pony feel better about themselves.” “Was?” His expression softens, and now it’s his turn to look down. “Yeah, she passed…” “Oh…I’m sorry…” They looked away from each other, neither sure what to say next, neither sure what to do next. A cricket sings nearby. In the distance, the yellow stallion is yelling at the fillies to be careful. The green filly puts him in a headlock while the blue one kicks him in the stomach. Both Bombproof and Terra look around awkwardly. “Soooo….” Bombproof beings, trying to just fill the void with noise, not caring what he fills it with, “Isn’t this a great spot?” She frowns. “Well, not really. We’re so far away.” “Well, yeah…you’re right…” Bombproof nods, “I would’ve gotten here earlier, but I got hit in the head…” The teal mare frowns more deeply, and he remembers who he’s talking to. “Oh! Uhm, but if I hadn’t been incapacitated, I never would’ve met you!” he commiserates. Terra just smiles, and quietly complements, “Smooth” Back at Fort Dragoon, the plot thickens. Sergeant First Class Martingale sits in his tent, finishing up some paperwork. A black pony with silver hair, SFC Martingale is First Platoon’s Platoon Sergeant-essentially, Bombproof’s boss’ boss. A hardened veteran of World War 2, whose stalwart defense of his country had taken his eye and left its marks upon his body, he was no pony to mess with. So when Captain Jousting burst into his tent, demanding “Where is Specialist Bombproof?!”, it took every ounce of his nigh-infinite professionalism to answer, very calmly, “Specialist Bombproof should be on KP in the mess all, sir.” “Well he’s not!” Jousting spat, “Your soldier stole my property, impersonated an officer, and is Absent Without Leave!” Martingale blinks, genuinely surprised, probably for the first time since stepping into a Munich whorehouse and finding Nazis instead of whores. “What?” “Arrgh!” Cpt. Jousting growls, “The incompetency is overwhelming! Fine, I’ll go get him myself! First Sergeant!” Materializing seemingly out of thin air comes possibly the one pony more badass than SFC Martingale: First Sergeant Caltrop, aka Bombproof’s boss’ boss’ boss. Caltrop, a purple pony named after those nasty 4 pointed devices used in medieval times. Why his mother would name him that I havent the slightest idea. “YES SIR!” Caltrop screams. “Check every tent. Find out if any-“ Jousting looks at Martingale reproachfully, “-smart ponies know where he is.” “YES SIR!!” And here we return to the barracks tent, where Private Mustang is quietly reading. 1SG Caltrop bursts into the tent in a flurry of canvas and SNCO rage. There is a healthy amount of justified fear in Mustang’s eyes as he looks upon his first sergeant, as well as a healthy quaking in his legs. “Where…!” Caltrop begins, but is interrupted by Mustang’s fear driving him to unconsciousness and fainting to the floor. Caltrop looks on, undeterred, but spies a piece of paper near his feet: a flyer for something called the First Annual Cornfield Meet. “Hm.” “So a half pound of TNT on the main and end supports’ll do it?” Terra asked, taking mental notes. “Yeah, most ponies think you have to put stuff on each support, like in the flicks.” Bombproof explains, “But you only need a little on the stress points to bring down the structure”. Terra looks off in the distance deep in thought. “Yeah… That’ll show those oil tankers.” She mutters. Bombproof blinks, confused. “Wait, what?” “Oh look, it’s starting!” She says, ignoring him. The crowd goes quiet in anticipation as the speakers placed around the area turn on, and the announcer pony begins to speak: “Fillies and Gentlecolts, mares and stallions! Come one, come all to the first ever Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet!” the announcers voice booms, “In just a few short moments, two steam trains will be sent careening into each other! “But wait, there’s more! For your enjoyment, we have packed each train car with gasoline and explosives , so you folks are in for a great show! And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…fillies and gentlecolts, put your hooves together for EP Challenger and EP Big Boy!” “Oh boy, here it comes!” Bombproof squeals with delight, bounding up and down in his seated position. A rumbling is heard. Twin steam whistles scream, drowning out the growing cheer of the crowd below. Terra leans against Bombproof, smiling as she waits for the night’s thrilling conclusion. Our hero stops bounding and looks at her. The blood rushing through his ears is nearly as loud as the rapidly approaching steam engines. In the stillness, the calm before the storm, he feels a stirring in his heart; her body is warm like fire against his. Is this affection? Is this love? He wonders. Before, only flames, gunpowder, and their sacred union made him feel this way. Never another pony, though-at least, not like this. The twin steam whistles scream again. Bombproof can feel Terra tense up at the sound. He has waited for this moment for months; the event has consumed his mind every day leading to this. But sitting on this hill, it’s nothing like he could’ve ever imagined in his wildest dreams and fantasies, to include the light blue pony next to him. Bombproof leans against her, and the both of them look on. The two locomotives contact, the light from the explosion bursts brightly. It is magnificent; an eruption of molten iron and steel and wood and fire. Smokestacks, couplings, boiler tubes-all are obliterated as the Burning Hells are brought to the mortal realm in a cacophony which will be later likened to the sound of the Thunder God bringing his almighty wrath to the earth. The fireball which rises up spreads through the air like an eagle’s wings, casting away the darkness in order to bring light eternal in its brilliance. The shockwave hits the crowd like a sucker punch, barreling over the weaker ones which lack in their devotion to the glory presented before them. To the faithful like Terra and Bombproof, however, it’s merely a soft kiss; a loved one’s embrace in front of a cozy hearth. Night becomes day, and provides a perfect silhouette of our two friends on the hill. Chapter Four Chapter Four A jeep speeds down the road though the cold night. It skids into the dirt parking lot of the Cornfield Meet, nearly hitting a yellow pony and his date. “Hey, what’s your bag, dipstick?” The pony shouts. Captain Jousting, accompanied by First Sergeant Caltrop and two MP’s, ignores the pony, and dismount the jeep. Captain Jousting looks around and points to a pickup truck. “That his truck?” 1SG Caltrop nods. “Yessir.” “Did you have fun?” Bombproof asks as the couple walks towards the exit. Terra gives him a hug, nodding into his shoulder. “I did.” In this embrace, Bombproof felt happy. This night had truly been the best of his life. How could it get any better? “SPECIALIST BOMBPROOF!!!” A voice shouts, startling both ponies. They release each other quickly, to look for where the voice came from. “…ohheavenhelpme…” Bombproof squeaks. It came from 1SG Caltrop, whose face is contorted with righteous, lower-enlisted-hating fury as he steps into the light of the faire, his deep violet coat otherwise blending very well into the night. He seems to almost materialize out of the darkness itself, as if formed straight from the pits of SNCO Hell. “Boy, you’re in a heap of trouble!” Caltrop yells as he approaches the couple. He sees Terra, and a sickeningly sweet grin comes to his face. “D’aaww! Look, Cap’in, he’s got himself a wittle girlfwend!” he calls behind him before breaking out in cruel laughter. Also fading into the light of the parking lot from naught, bringing up Caltrop’s rear, Captain Jousting approaches them. Unlike the First Sergeant, his face is even, yet the very air around him distorts with the runoff from his internal fury. This entire illusion is shattered, however, as he lays eyes on the new couple. His mouth drops open, and he takes an involuntary step back. “Terra?!” he exclaims. “Dad?!” Terra shouts, her own features twisted into a mask of horror as she takes an involuntary step closer to Bombproof. “DAD?!” Caltrop and Bombproof respond simultaneously, creating a perfect harmony of bafflement and disbelief. “Oh… You’re DEAD Bombproof!” Cpt. Jousting screams, lunging past Caltrop, going straight for our intrepid hero. Bombproof shrieks and cowers, but Terra bravely steps in front of him, staring her father down. “No! Leave him alone!” “Terra, this doesn’t concern you!” Jousting growls through gritted teeth, stopping just short of the pair, nearly nose to nose with his daughter, “Now move aside so I can rip his face off!” “Not my face!” Bombproof whimpers. “This does concern me!” Terra spits back, unafraid, her eyes shining with indignation, “You always chase off every guy I meet! “First! I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t have such a terrible choice in men! Second! He’s enlisted under my command! So this is 100% my business!” Jousting growls, matching her volume and ferocity. A crowd has begun to form around the group; the MP’s are trying their level best to keep everypony moving, 1SG Caltrop just cackling off to the side. “Boy, you’re in a heap of trouble…” Caltrop mutters to Bombproof, who looks like he may drop an MRE at any point. “Step aside!” Jousting shouts, his voice growing hoarse, veins standing out in his neck, ignoring Caltrop, Bombproof, and the gathering crowd – having only eyes for Terra. "What would mom say about this!?" Jousting’s eyes narrow, and his brow furrows. "Don't bring her into this!” He replies, “She isn’t here! I am, and I am telling you to step aside!" Terra tenses, and then relaxes. Her frown remains, but her eyes soften and her gaze fades, as if lost in the distant past. "Dad, before she -" Jousting interrupts her, his voice barely above a mutter. “I told you: don’t bring her into this…” Terra ignores him, and her voice grows, feeding on her indignation. "When you weren't around, I would ask her why she ever got married to you. You guys are, like, nothing alike! "You know what she told me? She told me she married you because you made her happy, a kind of happiness nopony else could give." Terra looks back at Bombproof. “I never understood, but now I think I do. Bombproof, he makes me happy." Jousting stares at his daughter with a deep consideration. He too seems to be lost to memory – memories of a happier time. "Ok...You win." He acquiesces, defeated. Jousting looks up at our intrepid hero, his voice once again becoming hard and loud – the fabled Command Voice. “Bombproof!” “Yessir, O Kind and Merciful and Amazing Captain Jou-“ Bombproof begins. “Shut up.” Cpt. Jousting orders. Bombproof’s mouth closes so fast he nearly bites off his own tongue. “You know you’re in trouble, right?” “Sir, whatever fear I previously held for you has been multiplied a hundred times in the past five minutes.” Jousting nods. “No lies. Explain everything.” He commands, “And give me back my damn uniform!” A short explanation later, Cpt. Jousting looks more impressed than angry. “You really did all that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, sir, I just really, really wanted to see the meet…” Jousting shakes his head and sighs, defeated. He knows that there isn’t much more to do at this point, and that in the end, despite severe insubordination and general tomfoolery, this pony made Terra happy. “Well alright…next time I’ll not turn a blind eye. Understand?” Bombproof nods stiffly in slight disbelief. “What do I owe you sir? Please not my face…” “You’re going to be kind to Terra, and treat her with respect…” Jousting says slowly. He leans in close to Bombproof, and continues. “Or you know what happens.” He whispers dangerously. “D-don’t worry sir! I’ll off myself for you and save you the trouble sir!” “You know,” Terra interrupts, “I think there’s a fireworks show next Saturday. You could take me, if you wanted...” “Oh, Saturday the guys n’ I are-“ he begins, before catching the gaze of Cpt. Jousting. “Uh, I mean, uhm, sounds great! I’m sure the guys can get along just fine without me. 1900 hours good?” He amends quickly. Terra smiles, and surprising both herself as well as Bombproof, gives him a peck on the cheek. She immediately looks furtively away. Bombproof stands motionless in shock. Jousting nods approvingly, choosing to ignore this last show of nascent affection. “Now get back to the post, you have KP tomorrow!” He commands. “YES SIR!” Bombproof runs as fast as he can, starts his truck, and speeds off into the night. By the skin of his teeth, our hero escapes the grasp of the military justice system. And found himself a new unlikely friend. All in all…it was a good day. So what about poor old Greenbroke, stuck alone on KP whilst his friend and comrade has all sorts of adventures? Is he doomed to a boring day of dishes and potato peeling? Will he, too, find love in unexpected places? Will be make something explode? Let’s have a look: MSG Martingale walks into the empty mess hall, surveying the area. His eye falls upon a sleeping Corporal Withers, with his hoof tied to a tripwire. Martingale stomps on the wire hard, causing Withers to be launched from his seat and hang, upside-down, in midair. “M-mornin’ Sarge!” he greets, “Have you lost weight?” Martingale says nothing, only lifts his hoof, dropping Withers hard on the floor. He looks at Greenbroke, who is busily moving about the ovens with an apron on and flour on his face. “Private Greenbroke, what in the Nine Burning Hells are you doing?” Greenbroke looks up, surprised to see the sergeant there, and snaps to. “I finished my duties, and am now making muffins master sergeant!” he explains, pointing to a scrap of paper on the counter. Martingale’s single remaining pupil shrinks to a pinpoint as he reads the paper, titled “Bombproof’s Amazing Exploding Muffins of Friendship and Awesome”. “Get down!” He shouts, tackling Greenbroke to the floor. The explosion has nothing on what was witnessed by the attendees of the First Annual Battlestream Cornfield Meet, but it is terrifyingly impressive nonetheless. Tastier, too. Greenbroke sits up, grinning from ear to ear in exaltation. “Yes! It works!” he cheers, not yet seeing the look of pure, unadulterated rage on Martingale’s face. Some say that was the day Master Sergeant Martingale finally managed to verbally assault a pony to the point that said pony burst into flame. Some say that some ponies are full of shit. Will we ever know? Now that’s a story for another time.
Chapter OneThe world at night is a beautiful place indeed. Looking down upon it, one can spy the lights from homes and fires illuminating it in a constellation of civilization. Yet as beautiful as it is, it’s a little too large for our scope. Let us instead head down; down past the clouds, down through the pouring rain, down to Fort Dragoon. This base as well as the nearby city of Battlestream, will serve as the stage for our little foray. As we make our way into the low brick building that serves as the enlisted barracks, we find three ponies, Holden, Buck, and Mustang, unwinding after a hard day’s work. Holden, Buck, and Mustang are all in 1st Platoon. Holden, a maroon colored pony, recently promoted Sergeant is known around post as a conspiracy theorist. He believes aliens exist. A brown pony, PFC Buck is one of the most veteran junior enlisted in 1st Platoon. He is direct, straightforward, assertive, and usually completely aboveboard in all his dealings. A yellow pony, PFC Mustang is a newer member, one of those inexperienced soldiers that just try to stay under the radar, innocent and gullible. Holden reads a magazine as the other two try their hooves at checkers. The soft sounds of the rain drown out the the buzz the lights ussually give off. The door slams open before any rebuke is given. Lightning flashes, briefly silhouetting a dark figure and a bright, white smile. The figure steps forward, revealing himself to be none other than Specialist 5th Grade Bombproof, explosives expert and self-proclaimed “Things Go Boom Extraordinaire”. “Guys, check this out!” he exclaims, coming all the way inside and closing the door behind him. He’s soaked to the bone, but this doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest as he produces a damp flyer from his shirt and sets it on the floor in front of him. The other three ponies abandon their rainy day activities to have a look. Across the top of the flyer, in big, bold letters, is: “Ladies and Gentlecolts, Foals and Fillies!” And below that, flanked on each side by an old steam engine, so that it looked as though they were pushing the words together: “Come One, Come All To the First Ever Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet! Even the Little Ones Will Squeal In Delight as Two of Battlestream’s Own Recently Decommissioned Steam Engines Are Driven Full Speed RIGHT INTO EACH OTHER! The Festivities Will Likely Rival An Independence Day Show; It’ll be the Greatest Spectacle You’ll Ever See! Admission: $10 per family” “I’ve been waiting for this for months!” Bombproof exclaims. “Neato!” Mustang agrees. Holden, however, is unamused. “So some ponies are going to drive two steam engines into each other…” he begins, rereading the flyer, “And you’re going to pay to see it?” Bombproof balks at this, looking to the other two ponies for support. Surely he’s joking? “Hell yes I’m gonna pay to see that!” He cries, nearly bouncing up and down with glee. “This is both a waste of time, and money.” Holden responds, deadpan, perpetually nonplussed. Buck is having none of it, however. “Why you gotta put a brother down, man? Look, don’t mind him Bombproof.” “You guys wanna come? There’ll be food, activities…” Bombproof offers, brushing aside Holden’s entirely characteristic lack of excitement. “And an explosion?” Holden adds. “…And, of course, a huge explo-yeah!” Bombproof finishes excitedly, “So what do you guys say?” “Sounds boss, but I promised my little bro I’d take him to a flick, ya dig?” Says Buck with a shrug, “Sorry man.” “That’s alright. Mustang? Wanna come to a day filled with wanton destruction and a huge explosion!?” “Yeah, sure!” Mustang blurts out, but then remembers: “No, wait, I can’t. There was a loose thread on my patch, so I can’t go anywhere.” Bombproof sighs knowingly. “Martingale strikes again…You’d think you could get away with something like that, since, you know, he only has one eye.” Mustang blinks, then realizes. His eyes go wide, and he begins shaking all over. “I’m afraid to think of how it would be if he still had both.” But Bombproof has stopped paying attention. “It sucks you guys can’t come…” He says, “No worries, though, I’ll still have a blast!” His grin widens, conveying a silent ‘Get it?’ “You always do, but be careful, man.” Buck agrees, “It’d suck if you got into trouble too.” “What, me? Trouble? Bah! I’ll be fine, you worry too much!” Bombproof says, striking the noblest pose he can. Truly, he is the paragon of a good soldier. “You’re probably right.” Buck commiserates. He yawns, and looks at his watch. “Shit I’m tired. Night y’all.” The rest of them follow suit. All, that is, except Bombproof, whose childlike, barely contained excitement keeps him awake well into the night. A dark, stormy night has given way to a glorious sunny day, a perfect setting for a day out about town. The sky isn’t the only thing sunny and bright today, however: Specialist Bombproof steps out of the enlisted barracks, smiling wide. The day has come, and even if he’s going alone, it will still go down in history as the Greatest Day Ever. “This is going to be so awesome!” He cries, leaping into the air, thrilled to be alive to witness the glory that is two steam engines shuffling off the (kind of) mortal coil via high velocity impact. For now, though, the only impact is his hooves impacting a reminder of last night’s weather. Muddy water splashes everywhere, including the pony in front of him. “Hey, sorry man, I-“ Bombproof begins, but then stops short. The mud covering the pony has begun to slide off; one by one, as if part of some terrible countdown, three stars appear. Before him stands Lieutenant General Cropper, decorated officer and Commander of Fort Dragoon. General Cropper is, understandably, not as excited about the day as our friend Bombproof. “This sucks!” Bombproof exclaims for the umpteenth time. Since the mud incident, he has been assigned to cleaning lunch trays at the mess hall, an activity sadly not on par with watching two steam engines collide with each other. “I’ve got to find some way to get to the meet…I’ve been waiting too long to just give up now!” There is a cluttering of metal, and Bombproof looks behind him to see Greenbroke, another soldier who has been assigned to the same fate as he. Private Greenbroke is a teal colored local pony; he and his family have been farming near Battlestream for the past four generations. "Sarry ta lissin’ in, but wuss'is meet you takin ‘bout?" Greenbroke inquires. "Oh, man, only like the most awesome spectacular and amazing thing ever!” Bombproof happily exclaims, “Two trains blowing up by running into each other, now that's what I'm talkin about!" He pulls out the flyer as proof that something this awesome can, in fact, be real. "Oh, dat meet? That's gonna happen' on mah farm… “Really?!” “Yup, some city ponies came up, offered us thousand somthin bits just to crash trains in the west field. City ponies are weird." Bombproof nods. “Huh. So what did you do to get KP?” “I saluted with ta wrong hoof.” “What a drag man...” He commiserates. “It’s a shame that a day like today is going to be spent washing dishes…You wanna ditch?” Greenbroke shakes his head. “Oh na, I'm fine ‘ear. I like quiet, and that train bit sounds like an awful ruckus.” “Well I’m gonna ditch.” Bombproof continues, “I’ve been waiting too long to let a day like today pass me by. Too long, I say!” “Is that ev’n allowed?” Greenbroke asks. Bombproof just grins, "how about my recipe for exploding cupcakes to keep your yap shut?” Greenbroke lightens up at this, and exclaims “Ok!” while nodding enthusiastically. Smile widening, Bombproof looks over to the sleeping form of Corporal Withers, the pony supposedly in charge of them while they are on KP. Cpl. Withers isn’t a complete idiot though; our intrepid hero notices a makeshift tripwire strung tight across the bottom of the doorframe leading outside. He deftly steps over it, and onto freedom. The plan is in motion; now it is time for the next step. Specialist Bombproof sneaks around the field tents on the edge of Fort Dragoon, searching. Word is there is a pony that can sneak anything into the base. Bombproof hopes this pony can get him out. He finally spies his target, Private Steel, sharpening his knife. Perfect. “Psst!” His hail falls on deaf ears-or rather, no ears. Pvt. Steel has disappeared! Just like that! Bombproof opens his mouth in surprise, only to hear an irritated “What?” come from behind him. Somehow, Steel has maneuvered himself behind our intrepid hero! “You see,” Bombproof explains, smiling, “normal ponies would be startled by what you just did… “But I’m bombproofed.” Pvt. Steel’s sigh is both long and tortured. “What do you want, First Platoonie?” Bombproof looks from side to side before leaning in and answering. “Look, I need to get out of here.” he says, “Can you help me get over the fence?” “You in trouble or something?” Bombproof clears his throat. “No, I just want to hop the fence for fun!” he lies, beaming at his own cleverness. “Hopping the fence is a bad idea. Remember when you guys went off-post to get that Christmas tree?” “So worth it.” Steel shakes his head, and points to the fence nearby. “Well since then, Top’s had all the fences wired to ring a bell in his tent. You know, just in case.” “Dangit!” Bombproof curses, “How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?” “Not my problem.” Says Private Steel with a shrug. Bombproof chuckles knowingly. “Oh, I get it…” he explains, “You don’t want to get busted for helping me. It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.” Steel narrows his eyes. “Nopony can catch me.” He states simply. “Then you’ll help me?” “Are you sure you want my help?” “Yep!” “Hold still.” In a flash, Pvt. Steel takes his knife and deftly cuts off the bottom part of Bombproof’s mane. Our hero screams, jumps, and tries to run away. “What the hell man!?” He shouts. Steel holds his tail, stopping him from moving forward, if not from actively trying to move forward. With the same deft movement, Steel cuts off the bottom hair on his tail as well. Bombproof’s forward motion propels him into the air, where he sails face-first into yet another muddy puddle. “Augh, why?!” he moans. Steel just laughs, as he roughs up the top of Bombproof’s mane, who immediately strikes a fighting stance. “That’s it, you asked for it!” he declares. Steel then holds his knife point up, causing Bombproof to take a cautious step back. He wonders what the hell is wrong with this pony-was he going to actually stab him for something like this? Steel then turns the knife so its exquisitely polished blade serves as a mirror. “There, take a look.” He says with a small smile. Bombproof blinks as he looks into his reflection. “Sweet Celestia, I look just like, like Captain Jousting…” Steel nods. “Now all you need is his uniform and you can just walk by the MP’s.” “But how are we supposed to get his uniform? He’s probably wearing it in his office right now.” Steel just grins. “You leave that to me.” Captain Jousting, company commander, sits quietly in his office, working on some paperwork when the lights go out. There is a rustle, the briefest whisper of movement, a shadow moving amongst shadows. When they turn back on, the good Captain has been stripped down to his underthings, yet he doesn’t seem to notice. Jousting looks up, and looks around. There is nopony in the room but he, and no sign of anything else, pony or otherwise. He looks back down to his desk, and continues his work. “Hmmm.” “How do I look?” Bombproof asks, turning this way and that, trying to see what he looked like as Captain Jousting. It’s just he and Pvt. Steel on the parade ground at the moment. In the distance, 2nd Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant First Class Reign enjoys the beautiful weather. “Convincing,” Steel nods. In the distance, the saddlebags disappear off of SFC Reign’s back. “You’ll have to wear these saddlebags to cover your cutie mark, though.” Steel continues, producing a pair seemingly out of nowhere. Bombproof puts them on, while in the distance, Reign looks at his back, confused at the sudden lightening of his load. Then, as he’s looking, his yellow tint sunglasses mysteriously disappear off of his own face. As he puts a hoof to it, confused, Steel hands a familiar-looking pair of sunglasses to Bombproof, who puts them on. “You’ll have to wear these to cover your blaze.” “Hey, thanks!” Bombproof says, “You know, you’re really good at that...don’t suppose you could get something from the mare’s tent for me?” Steel just stares at him for a moment. “You should go.” “Wow, you’re full of good ideas!” Bombproof exclaims, nodding enthusiastically. And here we are; the entrance to Fort Dragoon, the front gate. From his Military Police station, Staff Sergeant Bunker rules over his domain, controlling which ponies come in…and which ponies go out. It is the final obstacle to freedom. As our intrepid hero walks toward the entrance, Staff Sergeant Bunker is polishing his badge. “Morning…sir?” he greets, looking up from his badge in confusion. “Uh, morning sergeant.” Bombproof answers, “I’m just going into town. To do…officer stuff.” Bunker squints. There’s something up, if only he can figure it out. “You look different, sir.” “Uh…new manecut.” Bunker sniffs. “And what’s that smell?” He sniffs again, leaning in more closely. “You smell like…spent cordite and gunpowder, sir.” Bombproof gulps. “Well, er, sergeant, I’m a captain, and you, uh, wouldn’t want to make me late, would you?” “I don’t know sir; you are acting rather suspicious…” Time to pull out all the stops. “Sergeant, if you don’t let me pass, I’m going to, uh, do mean things.” “Oh, I wasn’t trying to be rude sir, it’s just-“ Another MP pops up from the other side of the MP booth, interrupting SSG Bunker. “But Sergeant, I don’t like it when the Captain does mean stuff.” Specialist Castle whines. Now double-teamed and unwilling to discipline the lower ranking MP in front of a commissioned officer, Bunker just sighs, defeated. “Fine. Here you go, sir, have a nice day.” He says, opening the gate to let him pass. Bombproof steps through, trying not to run in all his excitement, and gets in his chevy pickup. “Uh, sir, I’m pretty sure that’s not your truck…” SSG Bunker calls out to him. “Well…” Bombproof answers, “Well I’m a captain, and I…I do what I want.” Bunker just nods. “Very good sir,” he says, as Bombproof drives off.
Chapter Two“Far out, I made it!” Bombproof cheers as he passes the Battlestream city limit sign, “This plan is working out really well!” Passing the water tower he takes a left, entering Mane street. He parks the truck and looks around, smiling. Battlestream is a decently sized city; not too big, not too small. Just right. Various businesses and venues surround him, some just starting to turn their neon signs on in preparation for the night hours. Once the sun went down, the entire street would shine with light and color, graciously welcoming those near and far to come sample its delights. Bombproof looks at the clock hanging in the plate glass window of the record store, and nods. “Well I’ve got some time to kill before the meet…Good time for a drink.” He says, already walking across the street to The Muzzle Loader Bar, a popular inebriation venue for enlisted ponies stationed at Fort Dragoon. “Hey, Tender! Buckweiser please?” Bombproof asks, addressing the Muzzle Loader’s surly bartender. “Yeh, yeh, hold yer horses.” Tender replies. He slides the drink down the bar to Bombproof. As he catches it and takes a drink, Tender looks at Bombproof oddly, like something is off. “What’s up with the new uniform boy?” Bombproof, just finishing a sip from his bottle, looks down. He had forgotten he was still wearing an officer’s uniform. “Oh, oh man, that’s a long story”, Bombproof sighs. “What are you up to, eh? Actually, you know what I don’t wanna know.” Tender says, not wanting to get involved. “If MPs come stormin’ in here, I don’t know who you are.” Tender isn’t the type to pry-it’s bad for business. He walks away to the other end of the bar to service other patrons. Bombproof goes back to drinking his beer, looking around to see if other regulars he knows is in the bar. There looks to be a lot of familiar faces, but nopony Bombproof really has the relations with to walk up and start a conversation. There’s the biker ponies in their usual booth. The normal combination of farmers, and factory workers taking up most of the bar. A few couples dancing to songs on the jukebox. Some strangers playing pool. Bombproof then looks to his left to the end of the bar towards the door; two ponies sit next to him. A light green stallion with a darker forest green mane. Wearing a blue bandana and small, purple sunglasses. Next to him sits a teal mare, her blond mane generally dirty and disheveled. She wears a sort of boy scout or park ranger uniform. “Ugh, Hippies” Bombproof thinks to himself. They come to this bar since it’s the cheapest and one of the few bars that serves food. They’re not usually very well received at the local eaters on Mane Street. While scanning over the hippies a light tan mare had walked up and sat next to Bombproof on his right without him knowing. As Bombproof turns back, his arm bumps the tan mare’s arm just as she’s taking a sip from her glass. The colorful drink splashes and covers her dress. Bombproof’s bottle falls to the floor. “Smooth move, stud.” The mare scoffed at him. “I’m…sorry baby, I’ll buy you a new one.” Bombproof says quickly, wiping down the bar’s surface, trying to reduce the seen that he’d caused. “Damn right you will, are all you military cats this clumsy?” The mare grabs a few napkins and storms off to the bathroom. A few bar patrons chuckle at the incident; this type of thing happens at the Muzzle Loader often, but normally not this early in the night. Tender comes with a mop and dust pan. “Sorry Tender,” Bombproof says, embarrassed. “Just slow down, ok?” Tender scolds. Bombproof sits and waits while glass and beer is cleaned up around him. He has nothing in his hooves to defuse the slight tension in the air, so to occupy himself while he waited for tender to return to the bar, he looks for the basket of peanuts placed on the bar every few chairs. He looks to his left and sees said peanuts in front of the hippie ponies. “Excuse me, could you pass the peanuts?” Bombproof asks. The green hippie stallion fixes Bombproof with a blistering glare, his eyes filled with the righteous fury and indignation common to the young in either age or in mind. “What, you think because you got that uniform you can just bark orders at me too?! Well I’m not Uncle Sam’s slave, man! Buzz off, General Stalin,” he snaps. Bombproof just fixes the strange pony with a blank stare. “Well, that’s alright…I’ll get them myself…” he commiserates. He reaches for the bowl of salted legumes. But instead of peanuts, it seems his hoof has found another hoof. Bombproof looks up to apologize, but stops short when he sees who it belongs to. She was actually rather attractive, her mane a bit messy, but for some reason it was kind of a turn on. Hoof on hoof he looks at her, and she back at him. “Hi.” He says simply, awestruck. The mare looks deep into his bright green eyes. Her lips part, and out comes… “Assault! Authoritarian Assault!” “Wait, what?!” Bombproof manages to get out before the mare violently smashes a half full bottle over his head. Bombproof falls from his stool, and hits the sawdust ground. The spinning blades of the ceiling fan faintly remind Bombproof that his truck’s fan belt needs to be replaced, all as he slips into unconsciousness. Bombproof awakes some time later on the bar, dazed and confused. Somepony had moved him from his previous position on the floor back to his seat. Most likely Tender, who does not want to see him stepped on. “Ugh, what happened…?” he groans, as the ice pack on his head drops onto the bar surface. “That hippie mare busted a bottle over yer head.” Tender responds, cleaning a glass, not even looking at our hero. Things such as this happen more often than he would like to admit. “Alright, makes sense.” He agrees. “Also that tan mare you knocked ordered another drink and put it on your tab.” Tender says as he puts down the cleaned glass to clean another. “Yeah yeah, fine.” Bombproof says as he reaches once again, intent on completing his initial mission of peanuts, only to be scorned yet again. “Maannn, they ate all the peanuts…” he moans. The moaning makes his head hurt, however, and he rests it on the bar, holding it in his hooves. “Hey Tender, do you have the time?” he asks, not looking up. Another bar patron answers him. “Sorry, somepony broke the clock.” Tender looks around his establishment, taking account of the other patrons. “Lesse…” he says, adding things up in his head, “Wyatt’s loaded, but Garrett is still conscious…I’d say around half past seven.” This gets Bombproof’s head up off of the bar right quick. “Shoot!” he exclaims, “The meet starts at eight! I gotta get going!” And quick as a flash, he is out the door. “That’s fine, you don’t have to pay…” Tender mutters darkly. Night has fallen once again on the city of Battlestream. The moon shines brightly, providing its nigh-eternal assistance to those who find themselves lost and needing guidance once the sun has set and the world sleeps. Battlestream isn’t sleeping however; flashing neon lights up the downtown street, music resonates from the bars and clubs as ponies groove to the latest dance craze, and night owl ponies fill the streets looking for a good time. But Bombproof has no time for this scene. He starts his truck, and makes his way down Mane Street to the cornfield just two short miles down the road. He leaves downtown, the surrounding area quieting down for a brief moment up until the lights of the carnival known as Cornfield Meet appears. The Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet is in full swing; food stands, games, and other forms of entertainment can be seen through the gate. Bombproof parks quickly in the large dirt patch off the road designated as the parking lot. Relieved that he isn’t too late, he heads straight to the ticket booth, wasting no time. “Hello, how are you?” he asks, slightly short of breath. “Good evening!” The ticket pony greets cheerily, “Just one?” “Oh no, I already have my ticket!” Bombproof says, “It’s in my pocket, just a sec…” As he searches his coat pockets, his expression goes from exultant to confused. “Oh maaan! I think that hippie girl stole my ticket! And my wallet…” The ticket pony shrugs. “Bummer, man.” “This sucks, I was so excited to see this…” Bombproof sniffs, hanging his head in defeat and starting to walk away. “Hey, wait!” The ticket pony calls after him. To this very day he’ll swear up and down that a stray, solitary raindrop came from nowhere and landed on his face when he saw Bombproof walk away in dejection, but you and I know better. “I can let you in.” he says. “Really!?”, Bombproof responds in disbelief. “Yeah. After all, you are an officer. Think of it as a small thanks for all you do for us.” “Woohoo!” Bombproof cheers. He gives the ticket pony a brief but strong hug, and trots into the meet. The ticket pony looks on after him, smiling, proud that he was able to help out a soldier.
Chapter Three Chapter Three The meet is packed-it’s almost as if every pony in Battlestream is here! Bombproof weaves through the throng of ponies, eventually making his way to the top of a small hill. From here he can just make out the tracks where the two locomotives will impact in a beautiful explosion of fire and steel. “All the good spots are taken…given my situation, I’m probably lucky to find this one.” He muses. He looks behind him, from here he can still see downtown Battlestream, her lights, and her clock tower. “Looks like I have some time to get some snacks.” He says to himself, walking over to the snack booth. His luck persists, and there is only one other pony in line in front of him! That’s where his luck ends, however: he facehoofs, realizing that “Dammit! That’s right, I have no money!” He looks up for one last glance at the delicious food, unavailable to him, taunting him with its unobtainability, but is stricken by the familiarity of the pony in front of him in line: A teal pony, it’s the mare from the bar! Standing in the light of the booth, she looks even better than she did in the bar. “Hey! Remember me?” he asks as he taps her. The mare turns around, confused. “No. Should I?” Bombproof smiles and points at the small lump on his head. “You smashed a bottle on my head a few hours ago.” The mare suddenly looks worried. “Oh! Uhm…” “Well it’s alright!” he cuts her off, “Can I have my wallet back?” The mare nods, concerned, looking at his uniform. “Sure, here.” She says as she gives it back to him. “Look, I’m really sorry about hitting you…I don’t want any trouble, man.” Bombproof nods, smiling. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” He says brightly, “Actually, I see you at the Muzzle Loader a lot; you here with your friends?” “Oh no, they aren’t interested in large explosions.” She answers, “One’s a baby, and the other doesn’t like loud noises.” Bombproof shakes his head, as one would to a child who simply doesn’t understand that water is wet. “I never understood those ponies. Like, what else could beat two trains smashing into each other?” “Oh my God, I know right!? It’s so awesome!” The mare suddenly exclaims. She soon realizes her sudden outburst, and coughs, embarrassed. Bombproof coughs as well. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife. “Well…” Bombproof suggests, “If you’re here alone, would you like to join me? I have a nice spot on that hill over there.” The mare pauses, then smiles. “Yeah, sounds groovy.” Captain Jousting, commander of Fort Dragoon, decides to take a break from work and walk around the post, surveying his charges. Still wearing only his t-shirt, he passes a couple of the Military Police officers, a certain Specialist Castle and Staff Sergeant Bunker. “Hey Captain!” Castle greets jovially. He tilts his head, confused. “How’d you get back into the base?” Cpt. Jousting stops, and looks slowly toward the pair of MP’s. “What are you talking about, soldier? I’ve been here all day.” Castle just smiles and shakes his head. “No sir, you left a few hours ago. Said you had important officer business in town.” Now it’s Jousting’s turn to be confused. “What?” he asks, “Are you sure it was me?” “Yes, sir.” SSG Bunker answers, “Castle is telling the truth. Strange, you did smell like spent explosives though.” “What?!” Jousting exclaims, taking a step back, “How can this be?” “Sir?” “What now?!” Bunker coughs. “What happened to your uniform, sir?” “What do you mean, what happened to my-“ Cpt. Jousting begins. He stops once he looks down and spies his state of undress. “This is an outrage! This is all your fault, I should have you both fired! Who could’ve even…” He explodes, then stops once again, his eyes narrowing to deadly slits, what little can be seen of his irises shining with fury. “Bombproof…” “He can’t actually fire us, can he…?” Spc. Castle whispers to his sergeant. Bunker shakes his head, not wanting to risk being heard. Bombproof and the hippie mare sit on a mat at the top of their little hill, looking down to the field where soon, two steam engines would be slammed together in an explosion of steel and awesome. Most everypony has settled down in their own spots; there are families and couples everywhere, sitting on mats and looking up at the protective steel mesh in front of the tracks; some probably having come from miles away to see this. Everypony is bathed in the soft glow emanating from the game and food booths of the carnival to their left, their music drifting softly, almost hauntingly around them, mixing with the buzz of conversation and excitement. If one were to be particularly cognizant, they would be able to still smell the aroma of corn, recently harvested, sweet and mild. A lime green filly chases a light blue one; they bump into a yellow stallion and his date, a white-maned sailor. Another couple, a red stallion and his date, a brown mare, argue over which kind of soda to share at one of the concession booths. The air is filled with the buzz of their conversation and everypony else’s. It’s a dichotomy of relaxation and breathless anticipation. “I’m so excited!” Bombproof says, “This is going to be so awesome!” His new friend doesn’t look as excited. “Can I ask you a question?” “Shoot!” She looks at him sideways for a moment before asking, “Why’re you being so nice to me?” Bombproof thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Dunno. I guess it’s ‘cause you’re the prettiest pony I’ve ever met. That likes explosions, at least!” Her expression softens, “That’s the nicest things anypony has ever said to me…” she says. “Well I find that surprising!” Bombproof answers. “I never did get your name, by the way…” “It’s…Terra…” “Huh, a pretty name to match a pretty face.” “Thanks,” She looks down, glad for the night to hide a hint of a blush, as well as a small smile, “…my dad picked it.” “What’s your dad like?” Bombproof asks, genuinely interested. “He’s in the military, really controlling, and always trying to order me around.” Terra responds bitterly. “You bet I can understand what that’s like…” “Well then you know the drill; I gave you my name, so what’s yours, Mr. Army Dude?” “Bombproof!” He says brightly, adding, “My mom picked that one!” “Bombproof. I like it. What’s your mom like?” “Oh, well my mom was very kind and loving. Nopony else could make a pony feel better about themselves.” “Was?” His expression softens, and now it’s his turn to look down. “Yeah, she passed…” “Oh…I’m sorry…” They looked away from each other, neither sure what to say next, neither sure what to do next. A cricket sings nearby. In the distance, the yellow stallion is yelling at the fillies to be careful. The green filly puts him in a headlock while the blue one kicks him in the stomach. Both Bombproof and Terra look around awkwardly. “Soooo….” Bombproof beings, trying to just fill the void with noise, not caring what he fills it with, “Isn’t this a great spot?” She frowns. “Well, not really. We’re so far away.” “Well, yeah…you’re right…” Bombproof nods, “I would’ve gotten here earlier, but I got hit in the head…” The teal mare frowns more deeply, and he remembers who he’s talking to. “Oh! Uhm, but if I hadn’t been incapacitated, I never would’ve met you!” he commiserates. Terra just smiles, and quietly complements, “Smooth” Back at Fort Dragoon, the plot thickens. Sergeant First Class Martingale sits in his tent, finishing up some paperwork. A black pony with silver hair, SFC Martingale is First Platoon’s Platoon Sergeant-essentially, Bombproof’s boss’ boss. A hardened veteran of World War 2, whose stalwart defense of his country had taken his eye and left its marks upon his body, he was no pony to mess with. So when Captain Jousting burst into his tent, demanding “Where is Specialist Bombproof?!”, it took every ounce of his nigh-infinite professionalism to answer, very calmly, “Specialist Bombproof should be on KP in the mess all, sir.” “Well he’s not!” Jousting spat, “Your soldier stole my property, impersonated an officer, and is Absent Without Leave!” Martingale blinks, genuinely surprised, probably for the first time since stepping into a Munich whorehouse and finding Nazis instead of whores. “What?” “Arrgh!” Cpt. Jousting growls, “The incompetency is overwhelming! Fine, I’ll go get him myself! First Sergeant!” Materializing seemingly out of thin air comes possibly the one pony more badass than SFC Martingale: First Sergeant Caltrop, aka Bombproof’s boss’ boss’ boss. Caltrop, a purple pony named after those nasty 4 pointed devices used in medieval times. Why his mother would name him that I havent the slightest idea. “YES SIR!” Caltrop screams. “Check every tent. Find out if any-“ Jousting looks at Martingale reproachfully, “-smart ponies know where he is.” “YES SIR!!” And here we return to the barracks tent, where Private Mustang is quietly reading. 1SG Caltrop bursts into the tent in a flurry of canvas and SNCO rage. There is a healthy amount of justified fear in Mustang’s eyes as he looks upon his first sergeant, as well as a healthy quaking in his legs. “Where…!” Caltrop begins, but is interrupted by Mustang’s fear driving him to unconsciousness and fainting to the floor. Caltrop looks on, undeterred, but spies a piece of paper near his feet: a flyer for something called the First Annual Cornfield Meet. “Hm.” “So a half pound of TNT on the main and end supports’ll do it?” Terra asked, taking mental notes. “Yeah, most ponies think you have to put stuff on each support, like in the flicks.” Bombproof explains, “But you only need a little on the stress points to bring down the structure”. Terra looks off in the distance deep in thought. “Yeah… That’ll show those oil tankers.” She mutters. Bombproof blinks, confused. “Wait, what?” “Oh look, it’s starting!” She says, ignoring him. The crowd goes quiet in anticipation as the speakers placed around the area turn on, and the announcer pony begins to speak: “Fillies and Gentlecolts, mares and stallions! Come one, come all to the first ever Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet!” the announcers voice booms, “In just a few short moments, two steam trains will be sent careening into each other! “But wait, there’s more! For your enjoyment, we have packed each train car with gasoline and explosives , so you folks are in for a great show! And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…fillies and gentlecolts, put your hooves together for EP Challenger and EP Big Boy!” “Oh boy, here it comes!” Bombproof squeals with delight, bounding up and down in his seated position. A rumbling is heard. Twin steam whistles scream, drowning out the growing cheer of the crowd below. Terra leans against Bombproof, smiling as she waits for the night’s thrilling conclusion. Our hero stops bounding and looks at her. The blood rushing through his ears is nearly as loud as the rapidly approaching steam engines. In the stillness, the calm before the storm, he feels a stirring in his heart; her body is warm like fire against his. Is this affection? Is this love? He wonders. Before, only flames, gunpowder, and their sacred union made him feel this way. Never another pony, though-at least, not like this. The twin steam whistles scream again. Bombproof can feel Terra tense up at the sound. He has waited for this moment for months; the event has consumed his mind every day leading to this. But sitting on this hill, it’s nothing like he could’ve ever imagined in his wildest dreams and fantasies, to include the light blue pony next to him. Bombproof leans against her, and the both of them look on. The two locomotives contact, the light from the explosion bursts brightly. It is magnificent; an eruption of molten iron and steel and wood and fire. Smokestacks, couplings, boiler tubes-all are obliterated as the Burning Hells are brought to the mortal realm in a cacophony which will be later likened to the sound of the Thunder God bringing his almighty wrath to the earth. The fireball which rises up spreads through the air like an eagle’s wings, casting away the darkness in order to bring light eternal in its brilliance. The shockwave hits the crowd like a sucker punch, barreling over the weaker ones which lack in their devotion to the glory presented before them. To the faithful like Terra and Bombproof, however, it’s merely a soft kiss; a loved one’s embrace in front of a cozy hearth. Night becomes day, and provides a perfect silhouette of our two friends on the hill.
Chapter Four Chapter Four A jeep speeds down the road though the cold night. It skids into the dirt parking lot of the Cornfield Meet, nearly hitting a yellow pony and his date. “Hey, what’s your bag, dipstick?” The pony shouts. Captain Jousting, accompanied by First Sergeant Caltrop and two MP’s, ignores the pony, and dismount the jeep. Captain Jousting looks around and points to a pickup truck. “That his truck?” 1SG Caltrop nods. “Yessir.” “Did you have fun?” Bombproof asks as the couple walks towards the exit. Terra gives him a hug, nodding into his shoulder. “I did.” In this embrace, Bombproof felt happy. This night had truly been the best of his life. How could it get any better? “SPECIALIST BOMBPROOF!!!” A voice shouts, startling both ponies. They release each other quickly, to look for where the voice came from. “…ohheavenhelpme…” Bombproof squeaks. It came from 1SG Caltrop, whose face is contorted with righteous, lower-enlisted-hating fury as he steps into the light of the faire, his deep violet coat otherwise blending very well into the night. He seems to almost materialize out of the darkness itself, as if formed straight from the pits of SNCO Hell. “Boy, you’re in a heap of trouble!” Caltrop yells as he approaches the couple. He sees Terra, and a sickeningly sweet grin comes to his face. “D’aaww! Look, Cap’in, he’s got himself a wittle girlfwend!” he calls behind him before breaking out in cruel laughter. Also fading into the light of the parking lot from naught, bringing up Caltrop’s rear, Captain Jousting approaches them. Unlike the First Sergeant, his face is even, yet the very air around him distorts with the runoff from his internal fury. This entire illusion is shattered, however, as he lays eyes on the new couple. His mouth drops open, and he takes an involuntary step back. “Terra?!” he exclaims. “Dad?!” Terra shouts, her own features twisted into a mask of horror as she takes an involuntary step closer to Bombproof. “DAD?!” Caltrop and Bombproof respond simultaneously, creating a perfect harmony of bafflement and disbelief. “Oh… You’re DEAD Bombproof!” Cpt. Jousting screams, lunging past Caltrop, going straight for our intrepid hero. Bombproof shrieks and cowers, but Terra bravely steps in front of him, staring her father down. “No! Leave him alone!” “Terra, this doesn’t concern you!” Jousting growls through gritted teeth, stopping just short of the pair, nearly nose to nose with his daughter, “Now move aside so I can rip his face off!” “Not my face!” Bombproof whimpers. “This does concern me!” Terra spits back, unafraid, her eyes shining with indignation, “You always chase off every guy I meet! “First! I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t have such a terrible choice in men! Second! He’s enlisted under my command! So this is 100% my business!” Jousting growls, matching her volume and ferocity. A crowd has begun to form around the group; the MP’s are trying their level best to keep everypony moving, 1SG Caltrop just cackling off to the side. “Boy, you’re in a heap of trouble…” Caltrop mutters to Bombproof, who looks like he may drop an MRE at any point. “Step aside!” Jousting shouts, his voice growing hoarse, veins standing out in his neck, ignoring Caltrop, Bombproof, and the gathering crowd – having only eyes for Terra. "What would mom say about this!?" Jousting’s eyes narrow, and his brow furrows. "Don't bring her into this!” He replies, “She isn’t here! I am, and I am telling you to step aside!" Terra tenses, and then relaxes. Her frown remains, but her eyes soften and her gaze fades, as if lost in the distant past. "Dad, before she -" Jousting interrupts her, his voice barely above a mutter. “I told you: don’t bring her into this…” Terra ignores him, and her voice grows, feeding on her indignation. "When you weren't around, I would ask her why she ever got married to you. You guys are, like, nothing alike! "You know what she told me? She told me she married you because you made her happy, a kind of happiness nopony else could give." Terra looks back at Bombproof. “I never understood, but now I think I do. Bombproof, he makes me happy." Jousting stares at his daughter with a deep consideration. He too seems to be lost to memory – memories of a happier time. "Ok...You win." He acquiesces, defeated. Jousting looks up at our intrepid hero, his voice once again becoming hard and loud – the fabled Command Voice. “Bombproof!” “Yessir, O Kind and Merciful and Amazing Captain Jou-“ Bombproof begins. “Shut up.” Cpt. Jousting orders. Bombproof’s mouth closes so fast he nearly bites off his own tongue. “You know you’re in trouble, right?” “Sir, whatever fear I previously held for you has been multiplied a hundred times in the past five minutes.” Jousting nods. “No lies. Explain everything.” He commands, “And give me back my damn uniform!” A short explanation later, Cpt. Jousting looks more impressed than angry. “You really did all that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, sir, I just really, really wanted to see the meet…” Jousting shakes his head and sighs, defeated. He knows that there isn’t much more to do at this point, and that in the end, despite severe insubordination and general tomfoolery, this pony made Terra happy. “Well alright…next time I’ll not turn a blind eye. Understand?” Bombproof nods stiffly in slight disbelief. “What do I owe you sir? Please not my face…” “You’re going to be kind to Terra, and treat her with respect…” Jousting says slowly. He leans in close to Bombproof, and continues. “Or you know what happens.” He whispers dangerously. “D-don’t worry sir! I’ll off myself for you and save you the trouble sir!” “You know,” Terra interrupts, “I think there’s a fireworks show next Saturday. You could take me, if you wanted...” “Oh, Saturday the guys n’ I are-“ he begins, before catching the gaze of Cpt. Jousting. “Uh, I mean, uhm, sounds great! I’m sure the guys can get along just fine without me. 1900 hours good?” He amends quickly. Terra smiles, and surprising both herself as well as Bombproof, gives him a peck on the cheek. She immediately looks furtively away. Bombproof stands motionless in shock. Jousting nods approvingly, choosing to ignore this last show of nascent affection. “Now get back to the post, you have KP tomorrow!” He commands. “YES SIR!” Bombproof runs as fast as he can, starts his truck, and speeds off into the night. By the skin of his teeth, our hero escapes the grasp of the military justice system. And found himself a new unlikely friend. All in all…it was a good day. So what about poor old Greenbroke, stuck alone on KP whilst his friend and comrade has all sorts of adventures? Is he doomed to a boring day of dishes and potato peeling? Will he, too, find love in unexpected places? Will be make something explode? Let’s have a look: MSG Martingale walks into the empty mess hall, surveying the area. His eye falls upon a sleeping Corporal Withers, with his hoof tied to a tripwire. Martingale stomps on the wire hard, causing Withers to be launched from his seat and hang, upside-down, in midair. “M-mornin’ Sarge!” he greets, “Have you lost weight?” Martingale says nothing, only lifts his hoof, dropping Withers hard on the floor. He looks at Greenbroke, who is busily moving about the ovens with an apron on and flour on his face. “Private Greenbroke, what in the Nine Burning Hells are you doing?” Greenbroke looks up, surprised to see the sergeant there, and snaps to. “I finished my duties, and am now making muffins master sergeant!” he explains, pointing to a scrap of paper on the counter. Martingale’s single remaining pupil shrinks to a pinpoint as he reads the paper, titled “Bombproof’s Amazing Exploding Muffins of Friendship and Awesome”. “Get down!” He shouts, tackling Greenbroke to the floor. The explosion has nothing on what was witnessed by the attendees of the First Annual Battlestream Cornfield Meet, but it is terrifyingly impressive nonetheless. Tastier, too. Greenbroke sits up, grinning from ear to ear in exaltation. “Yes! It works!” he cheers, not yet seeing the look of pure, unadulterated rage on Martingale’s face. Some say that was the day Master Sergeant Martingale finally managed to verbally assault a pony to the point that said pony burst into flame. Some say that some ponies are full of shit. Will we ever know? Now that’s a story for another time.
