Storms of War

The War of ‘42 was initially expected to be a short, albeit bloody, conflict. Of the nations involved in the Crimson Alliance (See: Gryphon Empire, Imperial Neighpan, and the United Socialist Siberian Republiks) had been soundly defeated in the previous war in 1918 of the Royal Celestial Calendar. It was believed that they would not have either the troops or the resources (See: Coal Strikes of 1922, Depression of 1923, Union Massacre of 1921, and the Military Coup of 1919) to sustain a war longer than a few months. Indeed, within four weeks of their first battles (See: Invasion of Prance), the Gryphon Empire had fielded only twenty thousand draftees, and another fifteen thousand veterans.

By Spring of 1943, the Crimson Alliance had collectively fielded over two million across fourteen different fronts.

By Winter, they had dug in with over four million. It was at that time that the Gryphon Empire had finally conquered Prance, and in spring of 1944, Equestria finally decided to answer in kind.

Celestia and Luna decided to start by fielding nearly two million fresh troops right to the beaches. The first step was to train them.

History of the Great Wars, 1900-1950

        I had only been on the ground before three times in my entire life: Once on my fifth birthday when visiting some relatives; once again when I was twelve when Dad was being deployed again; and finally three months ago when I was doing some research for a science project in school. I was asked by the Earth Pony professor never to return to the ground again, when he tried to clean up the burnt mess.

        It wasn't my fault turpentine didn't make a good filler for a fire extinguisher….

        This made for my fourth time, and now, I was on a bus with sixty other ponies, each headed for Camp Hoofington Army Training and Recruitment Base. We had been driving for nearly four hours now from Las Pegasus, and I was starting to feel a bit stir-crazy.

        Sitting around me were other ponies of all three tribes. We sat four to a seat on a bus what seemed to barely support three, sandwiched in in a way that only the Earth ponies seemed entirely comfortable with. Pegasi like myself, although used to flock behavior, tended to enjoy a bit of personal space to spread our wings. Unicorns tended to be far more bookish, although I had yet to see how that fit into this particular circumstance. Several of the unicorns on this bus were... rather stacked.

        I had only just finished that line of thought when the bus stopped again, and six more ponies filed on. Each was in the same clothes we had been told to wear, a simple tee-shirt and slacks. Two of them, a large orange mare with a shock of red mane; and a grey colt with a steel-colored mane filed back and sat on the bench next to me, before the bus took off again. Having been introverted my entire life, I found the sudden close proximity a bit embarrassing.

        We had only been driving for another half hour before she turned to me and whispered “So… what’d they get you for?”

        I turned, looking over at her… and then up. She towered over me, even while sitting, by at least half a foot. Her eyes, a deep, fiery yellow, gleamed with a fierce intelligence and an utter lack of trepidation at the situation we all found ourselves in.

        “Erm… what?” was the only reply my suddenly befuddled mind could formulate.

        “Draft? Alternative sentencing? Vagrancy? How’d they get you in?”

        “Oh! Drafted!” I said, suddenly feeling stupid. “I just turned seventeen a week before the draft notice. I actually had been celebrating my birthday on the day my letter arrived.”

        She winced. “Ouch. Happy Birthday, huh? Way I heard it, the war took a turn for the worse, hence why they are grabbing more and more warm bodies for-”

        I never really got the chance to hear exactly what the warm bodies were for, as with a lurch and a screech, the bus finally came to a halt. The doors opened up front, and several ponies in uniform came on. Two were wearing what I had come to recognize as enlisted uniforms, while a third had a much fancier cap on, and a silver oak leaf on her collar.

        “LISTEN UP!” bellowed the earth pony with what seemed to be the most rockers on his arm. “My name is Sergeant Gravel Crusher! Welcome to Camp Hoofington!”

        Following that was dead silence as everypony looked forward. He looked across us all, before narrowing his eyes. “I said, WELCOME TO CAMP HOOFINGTON! ARE YOU HAPPY TO BE HERE?”

        Most of us seemed as confused as I felt, before the younger looking enlisted mare next to him spat in disgust. “Looks like they ain’t happy, First Sergeant. LISTEN UP Y’ALL! When asked a direct question, you WILL give a DI-RECT ANSWER! In this case, the answer is ‘Sir, Yes Sir! Let’s Hear it!”

        This time, most of us answered, and I gave out a “Sir… yes sir!” This began a round of shouting as six more ponies piled onto the bus and started to pull us to our collective feet.

        The next ten minutes were an absolute blur as we were subjected to an endless series of questions, most directed to anypony with the guts to look a uniformed pony in the eye… or face… or anywhere in their general direction. Finally, most of them got off, with just the First Sergeant and the Officer left.

        “Alright! Everypony listen up! You are now enlisted mares and stallions of the Royal Equestrian Army! You will do things EXACTLY as we say! Now! You will all stand up, at the same time! After you do so, I will give the order of ‘First Rank, Aisle!’ After that, the First Rank, consisting of everypony on the end of the bench, will file out and stand in a neat, orderly line outside on the grinder! Do you understand me?”

        This time, I answered with everypony else on the first try. “Sir, Yes Sir!”

        He nodded. “First Rank! Aisle!”

        The dark colt on the end of my seat filed out with the first rank, followed shortly by the orange mare, and a few minutes later by myself.

        It was COLD outside. We had been driving north all day long, and by now it was after sunset. Most of us stood outside, shivering, except for a couple of what appeared to be Shetlanders who seemed unconcerned with the chill and the wind. Snow was falling quietly all around us, and a few flakes landed on the end of my muzzle as I looked down, finding a set of yellow footprints right behind the same orange mare from before. All of us looked around uncertainly. That stopped quickly.

        “Ten-SHUN!” Shouted a voice from in front. I, along with everypony else, straightened up a bit, most of us trying to crane our necks over those in front of us or lean slightly to the side. That seemed to be the first mistake.

        *THWIP!*

        There was a stinging pain on my back, right between my wings, and I nearly jumped a foot into the air. I half-turned to see who did that to me, while opening my mouth… which was the second mistake as another lash landed across my muzzle, bringing stinging tears to my eyes.

        “EYES FORWARD, MAGGOT!” barked the largest, heaviest unicorn I had ever seen. He had several switches held aloft in his magic, and others were ‘correcting’ other recruites, although the one he had used on me was in his left hand. He had a large scar across his cheek, and one gnarled hand wrapped itself around my nose as he forced my head back around.

        “I said EYES FORWARD! What PART of that did you NOT UNDERSTAND?”

        Several other yelled orders surrounded us as the figure in front shouted for attention again. Fearing further abuse, I fixed my eyes firmly on the spot just below the orange mare's neck. There was one more lash on my wrist before I brought it into line with the seam of my pants. This is not what I wanted was my only thought as I felt a hot tear run down my cheek as they kept circling, screaming at us in what seemed to be the tongue of tartarus.

        Finally, after about fifteen minutes the pandemonium died down as we all were fixed forward, eyes hardly blinking. There was one muffled sniffle, answered with another snap. With the silence came a very heavy sense of foreboding as the reality of our new condition sank in. Finally, the soldier in front of the formation looked down the various ranks and files before speaking.

        “You are no longer civilians. I do not care if you are Earth Ponies, Pegasi, or Unicorns. You are now Recruits in the Royal Equestrian Army. Some of you will graduate to join the Equestrian Air Wing, if you graduate at all. Some of you will join the Tank Corps, or the Airborne. An Elite, Handpicked few MAY even join the honored Scout-Sniper Corps. Until then, none of you is worth the threads on your shoulders. My name is Major General Vanguard. I have been in service to Crown and Country for fifty three years. The Mares and Stallions who will be instructing you have been hand-chosen by myself and my staff. You WILL respect them. You WILL hate them. As has held true for generations, the more you hate them, the more you WILL learn. Trust me when I say this: None of you will leave this camp. All I see before me is a bunch of sniveling, privileged brats who cannot find their asses with both hands. Little shits like you will NOT survive this eight-week training. That is because I will see to it that the weakness, the cowardice, and the fear will be BURNED out of you. By Celestia, I swear this. Now, I will yield the floor to your instructors.”

        With that, he turned and saluted an enlisted mare, who saluted smartly back. I watched carefully, my bruised ego not stopping me from trying to see how they did it in case I was asked later. Thus far, a lack of proper instruction did not seem to be grounds for mercy. She stepped forward, turned towards us, and looked down the rows before nodding. Four others joined her, all with several little rocker things on their arms (which I soon discovered were called Chevrons and Rockers. I was half right at the time.)

        “I am Master Sergeant Buck Shot. These are First Sergeants Grey Skies, Blood Bath, Meadow Storm, and Shining Star. Most of you lucky maggots will have them for instructors. Some poor, damned souls will be stuck with ME! From this day forward, you will not rest, you will not sleep, you will not take a shit or piss without permission! You will not LAUGH! You will not CRY! You will treat the Armed Forces Combat Manual as your Holy Script! You will live eat, and BREATH the Gospel we will teach you! In your dreams and your heart, you may call Celestia and Luna your gods. But here? YOUR ASS BELONGS TO THE ARMY! Now, FALL OUT AS ORDERED!”

        She finished this with a maniacal laugh that reminded me far too much of the crazy doctors or patients on the radio dramas, and with another lash, I was driven forward into the waiting arms of destiny.

        It was another hour before we were taken to our barracks. We had been harassed, catcalled, abused, screamed at, cursed at, chewed out, and jeered the whole way. Not even just by drill instructors, but by other recruites that seem to have been here longer than us. Finally, we were assembled in a large room with some ninety beds, each with a small bundle of sheets, pillows, and a large ugly canvas bag on it. Out of the group here, we were about forty-fifty on stallions to mares, a rather rare ratio anywhere you went. Currently, we were awaiting our Instructor who, as I had feared, was shortly revealed to be Master Sergeant Buck Shot.

        She stood about five feet tall, much shorter than nearly anyone else here, but there was a fire in her eyes that warned one to take her VERY seriously. That, combined with a scar across her face and a puckered cheek, along with what seemed to be an amputated horn, suggested she had seen action before. On her chest were several medals and ribbons. Beside her this time were only two more Sergeants. One of them spoke quietly to her, and she nodded, before turning around.

        “Who is… Stone Face?” She asked, looking around. After a moment, a large white stallion stepped forward, and she nodded. “Your brother died in the line of duty two days ago. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you are eligible for special exemption. Your familly has served for years, and by order of the crown, you can go back home if you want.”

        There was dead silence, followed by more as he stepped back into line, his face hard. he stood as easily the tallest, and most physically fit earth pony I had ever seen (something that keeped happening over the last couple of days.)

        She nodded, and after a moment turned to the rest of us. “Each of you look to the left wall” she said, indicating a wall full of containers with what seemed to be uniform items in them. Each was organized by size and race, as well as gender. There were boxes with boots, hampers of shirts, and racks of uniform pants, all done in the drab olive of the army colors. These were different than the ones the Sergeants seemed to be wearing, as they had far more pockets and seemed more… work-worthy? Less fancy? The term “working uniform” came to mind when I looked at them. Finally, at the end, was one last row of items, something I had only seen in movies so far.

        Row after row of rifles stood propped against a case, each with a kit below them and a box of ammunition with ‘30-06’ on them, and “training-stun” underneath of that. It was at once a terrible and beautiful thing, and despite my exhaustion and terror of the last day or so, I could not help but feel a small thrill as I looked at them. The rest of the recruites present looked at them, and then as if afraid, looked back at Master Sergeant Shot.

        “Each of you will, in an orderly line, proceed to the appropriate bins for your Boots, Trousers, and Blouses. You will take basic toiletries, cleaning kits, and the like at that time. Then, at the end, you will each proceed down to Sergeant Flint Lock to receive a Whinnychester Model 4 Rifle. You will take ONE cleaning kit and ONE box of training rounds. You will NOT load your firearm. You will NOT play with it. You will carefully cradle it with the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. You will also take a single Model 14 Bayonet, the knives you see there, and place it on the top of the pile of clothing you will at that time possess. If you drop your rifle, ALL of you will do laps until you puke! Am I UNDERSTOOD!?”

        At this point, we gave a well-rehearsed “Sir, Yes Sir!”. At her command, we broke up, each heading for the bins with the right sizes on them. To my utter humiliation, I not only had to go all the way to the end with the small sizes… I was the only one picking from that bin. I had been there all of four seconds when I sensed, rather than heard, a looming presence behind me.

        “RECRUIT! ABOUT FACE!”

        I nearly jumped out of my shoes once again before turning, coming face to face with the chest of our Master Sergeant. Looking up, I could see her glower, promising a very bad end.

        “What’s your name, worm?” she demanded, looking down at me. I suddenly felt very, VERY small indeed.

        “S-Steel Wi-wing, Ma’am!” I stuttered out. She snorted.

        “You asking me, or TELLING me?”

        “T-Telling?”

        This did not seem to impress her, as she delivered a backhanded blow across my snout that had me seeing stars.

        “TRY THAT AGAIN! Are-you-ASKING-me-or-TELLING-me?” she demanded, this with her face inches from mine, until I could smell her hot breath and feel it on my cheeks.

        “T-Telling… Ma’am!” I said, remembering the bit at the end.

        “Look into my eyes. Tell me what you see” she whispered, and at this point I could feel her nose on mine. Under other circumstances, I might have wished to be this close to a mare. Right now, any part of me that would like that had sucked up into my guts in fear.

        “It… It is cold, and dark, ma’am” I managed to croak out. Her eyes promised swift death.

        “It’s your FUTURE, you little shit!” she bellowed, spittle landing on my face. “You look like a wet rag somepony dropped on my floor! You look like the SHIT I scrape off my boot! Where in TARTARUS do you come from, Private Wing?”

        “Ma’am, Las Pegasus!” I said. This was NOT at all ending well for me, and by now, everypony else was watching me. The large orange mare from before was only a few paces away, but she seemed to wince as she watched what was going down.

        “Fuck, really? I hear Spitfire came from there! She’s a damn Wonderbolt! You saying you are Wonderbolt Material?”

        “I-”

        “GREAT!” she cried, beaming and straightening up. “Looks like we got a winner! Little Wing here’s a fucking CELEBRITY! A Genuine WONDERBOLT in our midst! For those of you NOT in the know, the Wonderbolts are designated as Air Wing, Auxiliary Section 14-D, Seventeenth Batallion, Fourth Brigade! That means we got a REAL SOLDIER here!”

        By now my cheeks were burning from the stares, and it was clear that several of the others were struggling not to laugh at me. After a moment, her face twitched and she swore loudly. “The FUCK you all staring at? GET TO IT! THIS AIN'T A DOG AND PONY SHOW! Steel Wing! Grab your fucking clothes and GET A MOVE ON! Steel Wing! I don't know HOW you got in here, but if you expect to survive in my beloved Royal Army, you better shape up! Get some damn meat on those bones!”

        The rest of the equipment-grab went more or less without incident, and finally we were standing at the end of our bunks. Next to me, the same orange mare from before stood, towering over me, holding her clothing with her rifle balanced carefully on top. She winked down at me. “Stick close to me, short stuff. My cousin’s a vet, he taught me plenty of this already. I volunteered.”

        “THAT SO?” came the shrill shout of the last of the instructors. he was a tall, thin stallion with orange hair and yellow fur. “Did ah hear right? Ya just volunteer? Who dafuck are ya?”

        She looked forward, before taking a step. “Sir, Yes Sir! Private Orange Blaze!”

        “Alright y’all! In tha army, you got NO privacy! You got NO personal space! An’ that starts HERE! Y’all gonna be shuckin’ those old duds, and replacin’ em with Army-Approved Uniform Items! Yeah, that means y’all gonna be gettin’ down to yer skinny suit an’ gettin inta the shower! Y’all will EXIT the shower, get dressed into yer nighties, and call it there. Ya gotta get up piss-early in tha mornin’, so sleep tight.”

        At first, nopony moved. Then, with a shrug, Orange Blaze set her items on the top bunk (which I could hardly reach) and turned back, yanking off her top and starting to work on her belt. There was a moment of stunned silence before Buck Shot screamed at us to get moving.

        Honestly, I had never been in a more awkward position. I had never done sports in high school, keeping in shape only with swimming on my weekends and flying for fun. I had never had to share a locker room other than in phys-ed classes, and even then, we had always had boxers on. Not to mention we were divided by gender.

        My first thought at seeing Orange Blaze in the buff was ’Holy Celestia, you could grate carrots on those abs”, shortly followed by I really wish the first set of boobies I ever saw was ANYWHERE but here.

        I was somewhat relieved as we headed for the showers by the fact that everypony was carefully avoiding looking at each other, instead finding the floor or the ceiling to be rather fascinating, and there was a chortle from one of the instructors as we finally filed in to take our ice-cold showers. After nearly five minutes, Blaze, Myself, and several others filed into a small chamber under a large sprinkler type thing. The silence was deafening.

        Finally, it was my turn to step into the icy jet alongside Blaze, and I couldn’t help but gasp at it. Sweet Celestia, it was COLD! Both of my wings popped out in reflex, and Blaze suddenly giggled as I felt my left one hit something.

        “Careful shortstuff, I’m ticklish! Mind those wings!”

        After a few more moments, she lowered her voice. “You okay? Never seen a mare in the buff before?”

        I shook my head, still looking at my toes. Grabbing some of the soap, I tried to wash the accumulated sweat and grime off of myself while Blaze did the same next to me. I was blushing furiously by this time, as finally a lack of brutal terror had overridden the suppression on Wing Junior and created a rather embarrassing situation.

        “S-sorry… I’ve never… done anything like this before. I got drafted for my birthday like I said.”

        She grunted, rubbing under her arm before opening up and gargling a jet of water, spitting it on the floor. “You hanging in there?”

        Once again, I found my head shaking. “I… yeah, I suppose. H-how are you doing?” I asked, trying to return the small talk.

        “Eh, fine. Like I said, I volunteered for this shit. It was this or the mines like the rest of my folks, and I’ve always had a fighting bone in my body. I got shetland blood from a few generations back, and once we get to drinking we always get to fighting. Way I figure, just eight weeks of this, then we get shipped to some hellhole we regret. We either die there or win and come home. Equestria called, and I answered. Still, the Sergeant has it right. You do look like a wet rag somepony dropped here.”

        I sighed. “Not my fault I haven’t grown an inch since I was twelve.”

        She remained silent for a while before laughing. “Hehe, we’re both nekkid. Funny word, huh? Nekkid.”

        Despite my rosy cheeks, I couldn't help but snort at that as we got toweled off and joined the rest of the mares and stallions outside, slipping on long johns and heading for our racks.

        At least I had one friend to go through this with, even if I hardly understood her. Even if boot camp turned out to be one horrible nightmare after another, I would not go through it alone.

        As I carefully propped my rifle up in its stand and the lights went to a lower level, Orange Blaze leaned over from her top rack. “Hey. You thought of what you wanna do?”

        I finished and looked up at her upside-down face. “11-Bravo, Infantry. That is what I was drafted as.”

        She pulled a face. “Eh, piss on that. Even if you are drafted, if you try hard enough you can ask for whatever you want. Don't mean you are gonna get it, but at least you can request. Half that draft letter is bullshit. I still don't see why you didn't go to your recruiting office and tell ‘em you wanna work in the factory or something. Easiest way to get exempt, and one look at you and they woulda done it!”

        “Wait, I could have done that!?” I said, nearly hitting my head on the bottom of her rack.

        “Not anymore!”

        “LIGHTS OUT! SHUT YOUR FACES AND GET THE FUCK TO SLEEP!”

        My last thought before drifting off in my rack was Crap… eight weeks is gonna be a LONG time…