Relaxing on a Saturday Night

by Heavyhauler75622

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Random, Discord, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Berry Punch, Dark, Original Character
Length: 5808

Several war ponies finishing a cycle at the Canterlot Traing Center take a Saturday night to go out...unfortunately, so did a gaggle of Griffons...

The companion literary piece to the commissioned artwork by dori-to, "Relaxing on a Saturday Night", the story describes the events both before and after the scene illustrated...a barfight in the "13 Shots Bar" just outside the Canterlot Training Center. This artwork was featured in the "Equestria Daily" Drawfriend.

What happens when you put twenty-eight war ponies in a bar with a gaggle of Griffons?
Do you really need to be told? Not everything in Equestria is magic and friendship.

Link to dori-to's original work.
http://www.deviantart.com/art/Relaxing-On-A-Saturday-Night-483288805

Published 2014-11-27 23:00:08 UTC
Last updated 2014-11-27 23:00:08 UTC

Relaxing on a Saturday Night

Crystalheart pulled himself into the bar, and quickly eased up out of the doorway against a wall. He was pretty far outside either Crystal Empire (his usual home), or the temporary assignment he drew to Canterlot. Not that he would change one bit of his behavior even if he was right there in the Throne Room of the Princesses. He was too well trained for that. Doorways were fatal places to stand around in.

It was Equestria territory, though theoretically much closer to Crystal Empire than the Canterlot Canton, but the Diarchy had the AOR/AOI, (Area Of Responsibility/Area Of Influence) for this strip of dirt up here, and used it for mountain training. It certainly wasn’t a place any self-respecting pony would covet normally, but the military wasn’t normal. Hence, his presence. And the presence of several other ponies he was training with.

The place was fairly empty for a weekend. Odd. Saturdays were always fairly good for something like a crowd, and most bars depended on military pay to some extent. Especially bars on the croup end of nowhere, where the only thing around was a military base, like this one. Who the Tartarus would come up here otherwise? Nothing but trees and mountains around here. You could always look at that dung in a book.

He swung a dorky ‘chair’ under him, one made to accommodate all sorts of thing’s anatomies, which meant it didn’t accommodate anyone very well. He gathered in the waitress by eye, who came over with the usual bored, unflattering look most servers in dives like this one had.

“Yeah?” she asked flatly.

Nice to know they issued the same basic model here too, thought Crystalheart. Chunky, sweaty, and as attractive as an old feed bag. Probably came with a EUP ESN number tattooed on her backside next to her Cutie Mark. ‘Waitress, unattractive, for shitty bars, one each’, he thought. He fought a temptation to look at her rump to see if there really was a numerical code back there.

“Two shooters. Apple whiskey. Neat.” Crystalheart sighed as he pried his helmet off, set it on the table facing him.

He tossed the appropriate coins on the table. He already knew a place like this wouldn’t let him run a tab.

She gathered them up. “Back in a minute, hun,” she said, as she moved to the bar.

Theoretically, he shouldn’t be in armor. He was supposed to head on back to the barracks first, shower down and put his gear away before lighting out for here. Shining Armor would have his ass if he pulled this sort of nonsense in the Empire, though the Princesses gave more leeway. They liked their ponies shiny, with bits of metal on them.

But he was tired.

First, that particular manure heap over Sombra. And Crystalheart in the middle, shoveling for all his worth.

Then that day…

Everypony knew the legend…everypony except the victims, though. It felt like his brain had a little pencil, and put a mark on the inside wall of his skull for every day that passed. Three hundred and sixty five thousand tiny marks.

Kinda hard to pick up your life after a thousand years.

Oh, he didn’t mind…Cadance was all that and more in a Monarch. Shining frequently was a pain; the colt hadn’t seen a week of combat, other than what enchantments Sombra’s life energy was forcing through the dark crystals, while Crystalheart had years of it under his barding. But like Crystalheart’s very first Lieutenant, he worked hard, led from the front of his formations, and he listened, which meant he made few mistakes. Still, he had a stick up his dump gear, and liked his pretty, pretty rules. Crystalheart was much more interested in what worked.

Buck them and their rules. If it cost him a stripe, so what? If the balloon went up, everpony would be looking at him to help pull them out. Including Shining. After all, he had that fine bit of tender flank he’d really like to get back to.

The empty helmet looked back at him in agreement. Just like his empty head. The fine apple whiskey he had gunned made a great point as well. Unfortunately, it was the local swill that had been delivered as he ruminated, but the sentiment was nice.

“Crys, you didn’t head back to clean up and change?” OverClock asked, a kamikaze in hoof, as he walked up.

“I see you did,” he replied.

“The Princesses live in their breastplates and shoes, not me,” OverClock chuckled. The Unicorn snagged the lumpy chair across from Crystalheart, which immediately started making love to his scrotum with the high center ridge on the seat. OverClock shifted, managed to get one on one side, then the one on the other. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t painful anymore.

“Jeez, these crummy chairs suck.”

“Naw. They’d be more popular if they would,” replied Crystalheart sullenly.

“Not with the diseases you could catch from them. Blue Waffle, for example,” OverClock countered readily. He looked around. “Little thin in here. Where is everypony?”

“Not to put too fine an edge on it, but if they’re smart, they’re in a rack catching up on sleep. They’re eager, some even have marginal talent. But I wouldn’t rate these ponies too high on smarts,” Crystalheart said wearily. He’d just spent the last three hours on After Action reports. Back in the bad old days, all Sombra wanted to know was who needed better chains. Or worse.

“They roughed up the OPFOR here pretty good, considering they run three sections through a year, and OPFOR knows their ground, solid. Not bad. You should give out more credit where it’s due. And take some of it yourself; it was a solid performance,” OverClock said intently, staring at Crystalheart’s face. “Must be that Crystal Empire magic you ponies have. The sparkles, maybe?” he asked, chuckling again.

“Pffftt. Kids here know the jobs. They just need the nudge here and there. And I didn’t lapse into Old Equestrian once the entire time. Consequently, we didn’t end up in the manure wagon.” He smirked slightly. “Even you could have done it.”

“Buck, Crys,” OverClock said dismissively. “You’re pretty unique, pony.”

Crystalheart sighed. “I have an entire Empire full of teat-nibblers at home that look just like I do. Nothing ‘unique’ about any of them. A third think they can buck everything in Equestria. Another third are real good at marking time to the end of their enlistment. And the final third wanna be cuddled by Mommy and have their diapers changed. Pardon me for my lack of enthusiasm,” he finished. He laid his head on the table, staring at his drink as he spun it around with his hoof, watching the room grow big, then small, by turns.

“I’m calling minotaur shit on that. No pony out there quite like you. So why do you ride yourself like this?” OverClock asked quietly. This was the first time he heard the big silvery pony talk about himself. He worked side by side with the lug in the headquarters of his section for the last couple of months, handling signal traffic, either flag wigwag or heliograph for the umpires. He was impressed at how sound the advice he gave his leadership was.

“Right after we came back, well, Cadance and Shining pulled the records. A lot of the former Imperials went to Shattered Hooves Correctional on war crimes. A few were outright turned out and banished,” Crystalheart said softly.

Banishment was serious; ponies were herd creatures at heart. Getting tossed was tantamount to a death sentence. Some formed rudimentary herds, but honor killings and territorial disputes culled most of those. The few left usually went criminal quickly, and shortly thereafter ended up on the wrong end of a halberd or spear.

Despite the commercials, not everything in Equestria was magic and friendship.

Crystalheart picked his head up, started staring intently into another time. “I was an operative for Canterlot back then. Having the very ponies I wanted to protect collared and hobbled by a tyrant King pissed me off bad. Bad enough that I did something about it. I broke the Oath to Sombra, and I betrayed the bucker. By the end, he spent all his time in the Citadel, looking for a way back on top. Then the Princesses showed up…”

Crystalheart sighed. “So, a thousand years later, poof, we re-appear from nowhere. Only now, some Alicorn and her Consort are gonna run my homeland. Nopony asked us, of course. They find my file jacket, compare it to the Canterlot records there in the Canton, and take a slick sleeve Imperial, paint on a dungload of stripes, and say, “Here’s your reward for helping turn out Sombra, and giving my niece and her boy a job.”

“The little dragon almost did more than the two of them, though hearing about Shine captaining the football team by throwing his old lady was a hoot,” he snickered.

“Don’t get me wrong, ‘Clock. That flaky pink party pony would do a better job for the average scrub Crystal Pony than Sombra. Too many suffered, too many died…” Crystalheart said morosely, “…under his hooves. Princess Cadance is worlds better. We’re expanding economically. Those new technologies coming up, they call them electronics, will revolutionize all our lives. Having the ability to manipulate crystal intrinsically is almost a must have for that stuff. Mark me verily, thou shal’t be able to dispose of thine flags and mirrors ere before long, and speak to thine messengers through the ether, free of the laborious processes that thou uses now.”

OverClock blinked. “Wha…,” he started to say, as he worked through that statement and translated it into colloquial Equestrian.

“Bucking with you a bit there, pal. The means and methods you use now…will be just like that. Antique. An anachronism, a curiosity from another time. Just like me,” Crystalheart finished, as he gunned the second shooter, wincing at the poisonous flavor and acidic burn of it.

They both turned toward the door as it opened.

“Good old herd mentality. They came over in a group,” OverClock said, as the laughing, loud, slightly obnoxious collection burst through the door and flowed toward the tables and bar. Crystalheart smiled ruefully, shook his head as the stallions gingerly maneuvered on the chairs before planting themselves. All the mares had, er, interesting looks on their muzzles as the chairs introduced themselves.

Crystalheart smiled at that. It almost made the last week here tolerable.

Then he saw her…

And laid his head back on the table, now twirling the empty fluted shooter, staring through it as the images once more grew large, then small, at turns.

OverClock smiled. “Which one?”

“Buck off, ‘Clock.”

“C’mon, Crys. You want it getting around you’re a coltcuddler? I could start a rumor…”

“Be easier to deal with. I say, ‘no’, everypony believes it, case closed.”

Crystalheart sighed as he lifted his head, waved the waitress over. She stopped by and picked up Crystalheart’s empty shooters, along with OverClock’s drained glass. Crystalheart nodded at the waitress’ raised eyebrows, tossed the coins down. Again. Both of us.

Crystalheart went on after the waitress left. “I ain’t got nothing, ‘Clock, but a stack of bricks I share with one hundred other sparkly ponies, and a set of saddlebags filled with junk Crystal Empire gave me, not counting the barding on my back. Nothing else. What kind of a deal is that to offer a mare?”

“You could just start by saying, ‘Hello’, you dumb ass…” OverClock said, irritated.

“Sure. Hello. I’m Crystalheart, I’m one thousand and twenty-four years old, error rate plus/minus a score of years either way, and I haven’t a thing. Wanna get a drink?” Crystalheart wished the waitress hadn’t taken the shooters to re-fill them now. He wanted something to stare at besides the comely mare with the fey eyes he liked so much.

“No, ‘Clock. She has a right to be young, and dance in Luna’s moonlight. So shut yer yap, pony. I could always pull some strings and get you TDY’d to Crystal Empire. Winter up there outside of the pylons can be SUCH fun…”

OverClock’s eyes widened, as his mouth closed with a snap.

“Aw, ferget it, ‘Clock. I’m sorry for being an ass. Don’t let it get you down, ponyboy. I’m a survivor. Always have been. I’ll get over it.” Crystalheart looked over the riot of colored ponies. “And you got a good bunch here. Pardon my rude manners earlier, too. I can be a real shitstain sometimes.”

The new shooters arrived. Crystalheart gunned the first one, winced at the taste of it.

“And skip the remark on the brains, as well. Saber, there…those flying contraptions of his, helicopters or some such? Great weapons platforms; a magical arrow launcher, then get an Earther like Cherry Berry or a Uni driving ‘em, and the Pegs can chase the other flyers. That guy Muffins? He’s on about making an entire armored machine, with a version of Pinkie Pie’s cannon in it! Celestia’s thundering orgasms, can you imagine that? Some chimera trying to tear its way inside a heavy metal box that shoots back? And the boat guys, doing the same things to their little skips…”

“Skiffs,” OverClock offered helpfully.

“I said that…skiffs. And the pinnace, longboats, and other gear? Shit. Next thing you know, they’re gonna be helping to build a deep bluewater Navy, one that won’t take shit from some little pirate. Yeah, I’m obsolete, ponyboy. Spear and halberd wind-up toy in a tin can for the Crystal Empire tourists to look at. “Rest rooms are over there, ma’am. Thank you for visiting The Crystal Empire. Please, pick up a souvenir at our Gift Shop for yourself and a loved one when you leave,” he said, pointing with an upraised hoof.

A derisive snort. “You all have Tracer. Son of a jenny is a full-on warrior. Guy lives in fighting shoes, ‘Clock. The rest of these buckers are lined up right behind him. Nah, I’m out. Too much time, making little marks inside my head over the last thousand years or so. I’ll see about one of those reserved civilian jobs Toothpastemane has for us burnouts. Civil Service, maybe something in the new tech development sectors. Nothing too hard, nothing needing too much thought.” Crystalheart gunned the other drink, coughed slightly as his eyes teared up. “Perfect for broken down plowhorses. Get a nice dependa, get fat and slow, with zero mounts given.”

“You’re motherbucking depressing, Crys.” OverClock said, staring at the silver pony hard. “Buck knows why I try, when you pump out dung like this. You still have value, even though you don’t realize it.” He stood up. “I’m gonna spend my time with the others for a bit, until you get some cream on your va-jay-jay and stop crying about your feminine itch.”

“Yeah. Go hang out with the foals. Not my scene, not anymore. Have fun,” he said resentfully, as he waved the waitress over once more.

Grumbling, OverClock started to walk off, then stopped as the door opened.

“Where in Tartarus did they come from?” he muttered under his breath.

A squadron of Griffons walked into the bar. OverClock tensed slightly.

“Back it up, stallion,” said Crystalheart. “Open land. They’re on one of those day marches the Leader likes to train his troops on; making them walk the day rather than fly. I’d hit a bar on liberty from that myself.” Crystalheart saw Griffons all the time, their Kingdom butted up right next to Crystal Empire. These should behave themselves; none of them would be allowed under a contract while on a training cycle, and their cadre detested intervening in personal matters without a decent mercenary stipend.

Then Crystalheart looked closer. “Uh-oh…”

This was a trainee gaggle, not a ranked group. They lacked the swagger ranked mercenaries had. Worse, they were under supervised, with only a couple of senior instructors with them. There had already been a handful of tussels between them; swollen eyes, scratches from blunted claws, and bruises proclaimed earlier skirmishes.

Crystalheart’s senses went off. This was a punitive squadron. The troublemakers. That’s why the walking. And some of those minor injuries were from the instructors, as well as the usual bucking around and claw fights to establish a pecking order within the ranks. They would be looking around to establish a reputation, to get into a decent mercenary group and make a worthwhile living.

Wildly unpredictable. Openly hostile. Provocative. Dangerous.

“Oh, buck me,” Crystalheart breathed. Just what I was looking for, he thought sarcastically.

“Luna, clop me with a pair of bricks in broad daylight in the Citadel’s throne room. ‘Clock, get some separation from me, get around to the troops, quietly. Have them pony up. It’s gonna get hot in here, quick,” he whispered.

OverClock nodded almost unresponsively, then moved to his right. Catching the eyes of ponies here and there, he laid back his ears, glanced at the griffons, and scraped at the floor as he walked. They watched and nodded, moving around, separating and moving closer to various ones beside them.

Crystalheard abruptly lounged insolently in his chair; painful as it was, it helped shake off some of his drinks. He blearily stared at the current squadron leader of the group, tied on a smirky smile.

“Hey! Look at what cats dragged in! C’mon, lemme buy y’all a drink!” he said cheerily in a slightly drunk tone, suddenly the focus of almost all the Griffon eyes in the room. As he had hoped.

“Well, well, well. A Crystal Hovel dweeb. Kinda far from home and that village bicycle Princess of yours, aren’t ya? Or is it everypony else’s turn to ride her?” the nominal and current squad leader said threateningly, looking Crystalheart up and down, unimpressed.

The other Griffons squawked approval.

Confirmed. Punitive Squadron. Ranked mercenaries wouldn’t have bothered tossing insults. Employment is where you found it, and disparaging remarks at perspective future employers was bad business.

“That’s kinda rude, saying that to somepony offering to buy you all a round.” He focused on his headgear for a second, looking for reflections in the metal. Hard as he tried, he never managed to grow eyes in the back of his head, so he developed other ways to watch behind him. The polished armored helmet confirmed it. His back was clear.

“But hey, what could I expect from a bunch of squabs kicked out of the Cage,” he said, smiling contemptuously. “They only keep the really dangerous ones in there.”

The brown Griffon blanched, then reddened. Crystalheart insulted him, and consequently the rest of them, twice in that sentence. First, by inferring that they were a bunch of pullets, baby chickens, not cubs, which was the proper noun for the leonine creatures. Second, by proffering they were children and weren’t worth the bother to even lock up in the Cage; which was their version of prison, like Shattered Hooves Correctional Penitentiary was for ponies.

The sniggering by the senior instructors with them made the brown Griffon even angrier.

He leaned closer to Crystalheart. “You know who I am?” he growled menacingly.

“Nah. Far as I know, I never impregnated your Mother,” he said, a rude, beaming smile on his face. “Though, by Celestia’s throbbing clitoris, we tried. Over and over and over and over again…”

Snarling, the Griffon threw a punch…which impacted Crystalheart’s helm with a great clanggg of metal, as he snatched it up with his left forehoof and intercepted the blow with it…

The opening bell for Round One was underway…

Chaos erupted everywhere simultaneously. Forewarned is forearmed, Crystalheart considered, as he pounded away at the brown Griffon, his helmet on his left forehoof being milled into flatsheet, his right providing timing and distance before he brought his left down again. Though he was right-hooved, Crystalheart spent valuable training time developing skill in being able to use either one.

He had to be careful…he could easily kill the hapless, defenseless youngster at this point. It was unnecessary, and worse, spall out political havoc as well. His Princess and Her Consort had a lot of things going on, but not war footing in their tiny, recently returned country.

He stopped, then jumped to his feet, letting the birdbrain sleep it off on the floor. A quick glance around told the tale…his warning to OverClock had been heeded, and the ponies, with a few exceptions, were holding the upper hoof. There were a few taking it on the chin, literally, as Solar Chaser just had; and one out; looked like Fair Winds, being tended to by Duke, the team medic. But most were in the thick of it…and winning…

Rum Raisin hit his in the groin so hard Crystalheart’s teeth ached in sympathy. Rave was wielding a chair, looking for a target. He hadn’t even seen a Zebrasus before he came here to train, and wasn’t too sure about him. And here was one, watching and waiting to help his team where he was needed most.

Crystalheart smiled despite himself. If anything, and with a little help, they had brought together and formed a decent unit of fighters. Yeah, something to be happy about.

Tracer, not one to fight barehooved if something else was available, had coldcocked one with a wine bottle. Valor had dropped the one by her in similar fashion, though the bourbon bottle shattered. Pity, that. Another lay hogtied on the floor by Hawk, squawking in outrage. And who was that standing on the table yelling?

Oh, of course. Saber. And what was that rancid stall bedding he was yelling? “STAHP! THINK OF THE CHILDREN!”

Figures.

Right next to him, he caught a conversation:

SSG Tweak was grumbling to one of the Punitive Squadron’s NCO’s. “Great. These assholes are at it…terrific…”

“Can you believe this guano? These stupid cubs won’t listen for shit. I’ve got rocks in my rookery at home with better brains,” said the Griffon SNCO.

“You? I just spent the last couple of months with these flybags. Mom must have kicked every one of them in the head, by Celestia’s gorgeous ass. These spastic circle runners would hurt themselves in an empty room,” Tweak offered on the lunge.

“Nope, mine are worse. I already have a mountain of paperwork to fill out from them just attempting to walk, much less me route stepping them here. The Griffon Kingdom demands shit filled out in triplicate, in longclaw…” the Griffon riposted.

“Heh. I have to do mine in quad, plus having to rescind and re-do all the dumpwipe I’ve already wrote on this training cycle! The only thing these foals will see for the next seventy-two hours is the turf under their noses and my polished shoes. They will eat, sleep, shower, shit, and train in the front leaning rest, duckwalk to the field, and lie at formation in the dead cockroach until I get tired…” Tweak countered neatly.

Crystalheart tuned them out. Everyone fights battles differently. He idly wondered who would win the “…first liar doesn’t stand a chance…” skirmish…and how much of it would eventually turn out to be true?

Quick glance around again.

Midnight Arrow was on his left, tucked neatly behind an upturned table, watching the fight warily. She was always a bit timid. Interesting plan she was working.

Not very useful, but interesting. Mental note. His recommendation: More combatives hoof-to-hoof training.

And Azimuth by the door, staring in horror. Still afraid he’d chip a hoof, or get his chain rusty, Cadance damn it! Whoever thought the Royal Coastline Monitor Flotilla was a combat unit needed his, or her, head examined. Probably Princess Twilight Sparkle, dazzling everypony that should know better with nice neat charts and slide presentations. My faithful student.

More like my faithful hunk of tail. Crystalheart had heard the scuttlebutt.

Strato Gust was nose-to-beak with another Griffon in front of him in a staredown; but it didn’t seem to Crystalheart that either was willing to ‘pull the trigger’. Luna’s lovely parted smoldering thighs, what did he need, a written invitation?

Black Powder over there…hitting up…on that Griffon? Luna lick me, what next, a fence knothole?

And OverClock…had two griffons in his aura. Beating and choking each other. Pony has talent, no doubt about that.

He glanced over at the bar to see a Griffon on the floor, picking broken glass out of its fur gingerly from a ride down the bar by Sea Whiz, when a tall, lanky figure behind it caught his eye.

Discord. Maniacally grinning, fit to burst, as he watched.

Nightmare Moon bone me with her horn, he thought. That bastard rig is in here!

Crystalheart brought his right fore hoof up to his mouth. The piercing Appleoosa cow (well sorta cow; okay, buffalo) whistle he learned from a pony on cycle here shattered the din.

Everypony looked up at him. Except High Tide, who was still vomiting, though he did spare a glance.

“Detatchment!!!” he bellowed.

They stiffened slightly.

“Break off action!! Disengage!! Cover flanks! Fall back, out the door! Upper floor first! Out, right the buck NOW!!"

They moved.

“Tweak, sort them out outside! OverClock, get a count! I’ll handle the door after I sweep the cans, we’ll confirm numbers when everypony is out.”

‘Clock spoke up. “Tracer! Cover Crystalheart!”

Two nods. Tracer, then Crystalheart. Good decision. Crystalheart had no lack of confidence in his ability to scrap, but OverClock had more presence of mind to make sure Crys had a battle with him. Very smart.

They backed out, covering each other. A few moments later, the only things left were a couple of handfuls of moderately worse for wear Griffons, including a squawking, hogtied one yelling imprecations on all ponydom, a bewildered tubby waitress…and a draconequus rolling around on the floor in paroxysms of helpless, hysterical laughter…

As an odd Griffon, with glowing eyes, smiled as he left by a back door…

“What’s the count, Tweak?”

“Twenty-eight, Sarge.”

“’Clock?”

“I have twenty-eight, too. Yours?”

Crystalheart nodded. “Twenty-eight. Take a minute or two to get initial treatment on the injured, and detail a pony to anypony hobbled up.”

A…cow? ran past them, with four MP ponies from the courtesy patrol. The four Unicorns already had their batons out and readied.

“They come in my bar, and start a fight with my customers! Everyone having a good time, then they show up, and BOOM…!” the cow was saying as they charged inside…

Crystalheart grinned. Then started to laugh. Uproariously.

“I think they need more than four just for the stretchers,” he said, still laughing.

Nervously at first, then with more energy, the group joined in.

A pinkish-purple mare with a purple mane and tail came out the door, with a slight stagger every few steps. Crystalheart dug up a name out of his head. Fairy? No, that wasn’t it…

Berry Punch.

She came up to him, clopped a hoof against his shoulder. Although it seemed she was sliding one way, and the hoof in the other, she managed to raise an impressive, painful welt on his shoulder.

He managed to stifle the ‘Ow!’, though he took the time to massage it, as he stared at her.

“Not bad, shiny boy,” she slurred out. “Hate fights. Get my drink knocked over, sumtimes.” She wended her way toward Tracer, who was still standing in the formation.

“Hey, yer cute,” she said.

She snagged the straps of his helmet with a hoof. Then she kissed him. Deeply.

Tweak, OverClock, and Crystalheart watched in amazement, the troops hooting their approval, as she reached up and gently scratched Tracer’s left ear, the one with the missing tip. Crystalheart overcame an almost overwhelming desire to move behind Tracer and see if her tongue was poking out back there…

She broke off, though Tracer seemed to be of half a mind to keep driving on, enthusiastically.

“Come see me sometime in Ponyville, Big Boy,” she said huskily, grinning, as she shot a significant glance underneath him. The troops howled in laughter as Tracer blushed. There was a considerable amount of TD now on display. With a smile most stallions only dream about, she walked off, every eye in the formation on her rump.

Crystalheart decided it was time, after a bit. He had been admiring the view of her himself. And it was breathtaking.

“Corporal Tracer, roll that up and stow it, willya? You take more than two steps out of here, you’re gonna trip on it and break your neck. I have enough paperwork to do already, and the First Shirt would want to do a Friday Safety Briefing on it.”

Tracer blushed again, as they all laughed. He shifted around and tried to relax.

It took a bit of time.

“Okay. Troops, in other places, I’d think we’d have had enough relaxing on Saturday night already. But this is here, and the time is now. ATTENTION!!”

They stiffened up, dressed and covered. Like the outstanding troops they were.

“Tweak! On Point! Where’s that Hard Rock café of yours?”

Tweak smiled. “I got this, Sarge. Grab yerself yer space with the gang. Right Face! FORWARD…”

As one, they yelled. “SEMPER FILLY!!!”

“…MARCH!!”

I love these guys, thought Crystalheart, as he marched with his friends.

Two weeks later…

Tweak was leaning on OverClock’s desk.

“’Clock, don’t you think we should let Crys know his mane is getting a little too long?” he asked, “…before the First Shirt notices?”

“Would you like to be the Unicorn that tries to tell that salty, bitter bastard to get his mane in regs?” OverClock replied, leaning back in his chair. “I’d rather interview chimeras for burn treatments.”

Just then, the object of their conversation opened the door and walked in.

“Hey. ‘Sup, you two? Loitering?” Crystalheart asked, grinning. He was wearing his gear saddlebags.

“Nah. Waiting for the next world crisis to show up,” Tweak said, all smiles.

Hoofbumps all around. OverClock spoke up next.

“All packed, I see. Got your orders, then?” he asked.

“Yep. Home on leave, then on to the Reserve. New job in equipment development on the civy side. Apparently, they need somepony that’s actually done some of the stuff to figure out what junk works, and what don’t. Go figure.”

Crystalheart decided to go all in. “How about you two?”

“I’m finally out of here. Canterlot Canton. Something about the Old Guard. New armor and everything,” Tweak chuckled.

“And here I thought they were going to make me the tourist attraction. Make sure you know where all the bathrooms are.” Crystalheart said.

“Screw you, Crys. Field problems and tactical deployment/employment. Only play dress up for the Princess parades. Hey…does Princess Celestia really…?”

“That’s the word in the wind, boy. Guess you get to find out yourself if it’s true,” Crystalheart shook his head, exasperated. From what he saw, bagging a Princess just meant more work. Work that leads you home at the end of the day, and allowed you to sleep in her bed, in her Empire, with her. And could make all sorts of ridiculous demands on you, none sexual, at three in the morning after she got up to pee.

“How about you, ‘Clock?”

“Someplace near Seaddle. Some new equipment coming on-line. Something called, 'radio', that doesn’t need visual observation to send and receive messages by. First, some classes in tapping out traffic on a key, like telegraph. Already know how to do that, but they want a refresher, then voice comms. Just like you said.”

“Verily.”

The silence grew, became a little awkward.

“You sure about this, Crys? You really want that?” OverClock asked quietly.

Crystalheart nodded. “Yeah. Seriously. All that time…it wears on you, guys. I don’t know how the Princesses stand it. Things change. Then change again. And again. Pretty soon, things get unrecognizable in your life. I need to step back from it, figure it and myself out. Besides, it isn’t forever, and they have you two lunkheads to push foals around and shit.”

Tweak snorted. “It’s the ‘…and shit’ stuff you don’t miss. Trust me on that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Our guys…the helicopters, and the tanks, and the boats…”

“Ships,” OverClock prodded gently.

“Celestia’s blessed and lovely udders, ‘Clock, if I wanted to say ‘ships’, I would have! Tweak already has Applejack banging with the other five, her brother, four-fifths of the Wonderbolts, and any other pony within range!”

“You read my stories,” Tweak grinned.

“You’ll be close enough. Go chase her. Just don’t blame me if that mountain of a brother of hers gelds you with a wooden spoon,” Crystalheart snickered.

“What a way to go,” Tweak said dreamily, all love eyes.

“The guy is totally hopeless,” OverClock added. “We could point him at the enemy as a spooge cannon.”

“Nuh-uh. My accuracy suffers beyond three hundred meters,” Tweak added.

They all laughed at the mental image.

“And with that horror firmly fixed in my mind, I’m out,” Crystalheart said. Another set of hoofbumps, and then Crystalheart turned to go…

“Hey, Crys…?” ‘Clock said.

Crystalheart turned to look back over a shoulder.

“See ya around, sparkles…”

“You never know,” Crystalheart said, a crooked smile on his face. A wave of his hoof, and he was gone…

Three years later…Crystal Empire Training Academy

“I’ve been asked to cover a certain subject…one I have extensive knowledge of. So, let’s get started.”

He pulled down a silhouette chart. “Griffons…large, powerful pinnacle alpha predators, right, foals?” Crystalheart pointed out, though he was thinking of a certain Saturday night a few years back…

Almost all of them nodded their heads…except for one in the back.

He shook his head.

“You’re sharper than all these dull gems, glitter boy.” Crys raised his voice.

“Okay foals. LISTEN UP!!” he shouted.

“Griffons look like terrors…especially to fish, their principal meal.” He pointed with his stick. “Big creatures like this couldn’t move a muscle flying without some adaptations. Their muscle mass is finer and lighter than a pony’s. Thick fur for a cold mountainous environment hides the leaner, lighter body that carries most of its musculature to drive the wings. Bones are more flexible than ours, but not nearly as heavy. They need the lightness, because they don’t have much in the way of intrinsic magic for flying. Eyesight is superb for catching fish, especially on the wing. Get in close, they have trouble following what is going on right in front of their face. Still, that beak is razor sharp, and they carry a fine set of puncture tools in those paws,” he said, referring to the claws.

“Mentally…they’re tough, resourceful, and won’t quit on a contract. Their cadre needs ‘em like that. An entire group’s rep may rest on a single individual at times, so don’t expect pushovers…"