Storms of War

In the days predating the formation of Equestria, war was waged between Kingdoms by Noble Houses. Commonly, such feuds would start between nobles of opposing kingdoms, and gain popular (or forced) support through propaganda, rendering the control of information paramount to home support. A typical infantry soldier was a mere peasant, given at most a week to familiarize him or herself with their weapon (See: Spear) before being marched against a force of equally ill-trained infantry. The only persons of note on a field of battle were the Knights and the Nobles. Only their deeds gained praise, and if a battle was won or lost, it was their name attached to it.

Following the establishment of Equestria and its Parliamentary Monarchy, that changed. In 1606, the first core of professionally trained, well equipped musket troops were fielded. In the Battle of Braying Hill, Six Hundred Equestrian Musketeers of the 1st Royal Army, 1st Battalion faced fifteen times their number of conscripted peasants. Major General Hurricane, fresh from her wars against the Dragons, formed her small force against Lord Silken Skies, Duke of Sky Range.

The battle lasted two weeks as they were besieged in a small fortress, and despite dying to the last mare, they managed to hold the fort just long enough for reinforcements to arrive under the Equestrian Lord Blueblood (Ancestor of our current esteemed Prince Blueblood).

This was the first time in history a small force of professionally trained, volunteer infantry managed to win a land battle, and this set the stage for the Modern Military.

-From On Wars of the Modern Era (1600-2000)

        “RISE AND SHINE YOU SHITS!”

        I felt like I had just fallen asleep, and already the bright light was shining in my face as I rolled over. I hit the ground before I even realized that my bed was only half as wide as it used to be. The floor was as cold and unyielding as Sergeant Major Buck Shot’s eyes. I had hardly pulled myself to my feet before she appeared, as if summoned, to scream in my poor ears.

        “I said UP, BOOT! Do you KNOW which way UP is? DO YOU?”

        There was another sharp sting as the switch found the tip of my ears, and I had to suppress the urge to either swear, or cry at this point. Finally, I found my feet and managed to pull myself up to a more-or-less upright position. Seemingly satisfied, she moved on to the next couple of poor souls down the line.

        There was a soft thump as Orange Blaze landed next to me, yawning. Already pulling on her uniform shirt, she smiled sleepily at me. “Ready for this? First day of the rest of our lives. Hoo-ah!”

“Left! Left! Left-Right LAYO!”

        The incessant calling of the marching time was improving noponys mood. Four times, the back of my feet had been trod upon by the plothole behind me, and my mood was nearly as black as the sky. Still, my foul temper seemed matched only by our beloved instructor.

        “And…. HALT!” she shouted, as we finally stopped at a large, grey building. Inside were the distant sounds of thunder-like pops. “This here, is the ARMORY and FIRING RANGE. Inside, you will observe proper weapon practice at ALL TIMES. Now, who here knows how to handle a gun?”

        Several of us raised our hands. I, of course, didn't. She looked around, before nodding at one young colt, who stepped forward. “Always treat a gun like it is loaded, Ma’am. Never point it at something you would hate to shoot.”

        She nodded. “At least one of you have an ounce of sense. That’s right! Now, move it!”

        Four minutes later on the dot, we were formed up three deep behind a small earthen berm. About fifty yards down, there were some targets set up that looked somewhat like gryphons, and several ponies setting up new targets to replace old shot-up ones.

        “Alright. Thirty firing lanes, ninety maggots. DO THE MATH! Form three ranks. Each of you will fire twenty rounds downrange. You will be evaluated to see how much more rifle training you need. We will be getting PLENTY, but if you miss every shot, I will murder ALL of you.”

        With that dire threat in mind, I stepped up behind Orange Blaze while she stepped forward to the line. After a few minutes of instruction, they got their guns loaded and looked downrange, before the firing commenced. Less than five minutes later, it was all over, and I looked over Blaze’s shoulder to see how she did. To my surprise, there were only a few visible holes in her target, and she grunted in disgust.

        As one of our Sergeants walked by, he nodded. “Marksmare. Nice work, Private. Wing, get up there.”

        My heart thumping, I nodded. “Sir, Yes sir!”

        Stepping forward, I traded places with Blaze. Our bullets came in a small box, labeled a ‘magazine’, which held ten of them. Our rounds for now were training, made of wax and paint and unable to kill. Or so we had been told.

        “Ready!” Came the order. I fumbled for a moment, before the box slid home, and I pulled back the arming slider, cocking the pin back.

        “AIM!” was the next order. I knelt, holding my rifle in my hand. Somehow, even though the weight was unfamilliar, it felt… right. Suddenly, I knew nearly exactly what I was doing. I could see the target, as clearly as if it was only at arms length, and I could… see? Sense? Feel? I could kinda feel a small dot on the target, and I knew without a doubt that if I pulled the trigger, it would hit that spot.

        “FIRE! Fire and reload!”

        I pulled the trigger, again and again, hardly even looking down the sights. The rifle gave a ‘Ping!’ as the clip ejected, and without hesitation, I slid the next one in smoothly. The next moment, I was firing again, and only after that clip was expired did I realize there was dead silence all around me. The smell of sulfur and smoke burned my eyes and nose, but in that moment I felt an odd itch on my upper arms, and a sense of… purpose fill me.

        “PRIVATE STEEL! YIELD THAT WEAPON!”

        I gave a start as the rifle was yanked from my hands by none other than Master Sergeant Buck Shot. She looked down at it as I stared at her, before ejecting the second magazine and inspecting it. After a moment, she looked back downrange, holding up a small spyglass.

        “Private Steel Wing, is it?” At my nod, she grunted and pulled out her pistol. “Take this. LOWER TARGET BRAVO, LANE FIVE!” she shouted, and the one I had been aiming at lowered as I shakily took the sidearm. A more distant target was revealed, in the shape of a Gryphon’s head.

        “Private Steel Wing, empty that magazine into that target” she said, her harsh voice echoing in the otherwise silent range. At my hesitation, she shouted “NOW!”

        I raised the gun in both hands, looking down the sights at a target that, once again, may as well have been right in front of me. I could feel a small dot right on the left eye, and I pulled the trigger. It kicked in my hands, and I pulled again, and again. Twelve times, and each time, the hole in the eye got bigger as bullets ate the edges. I was hardly aware when the gun finally gave a “click” and refused to cock again. Buck Shot pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked downrange.

        “Private, have you EVER handled a gun before?”

        “N-no, ma’am!” I replied, honestly. I had never held one, never even seen one in real life before yesterday. And yet… I felt as if I had been using them my entire life.

        Finally, she turned around and her eyes widened for a moment, before she gave a bark of laughter. “Holy shit! Lookit yer mark!”

        I looked down at my upper arms. Sure enough, there was a crossed bayonet and rifle on a crosshairs. I… I finally had my mark.

        For a moment, there was more silence, until Orange Blaze clapped me on the shoulder. I felt a dopy grin on my face as I realized that I finally had my mark. I finally had it!

        “I… Master Sergeant? Did I do something wrong?” I asked, suddenly aware that she was still eyeing me.

        After a moment, she shook her head, before walking over to the side and pulling out a hard plastic case. Inside, as she opened it, there was a single rifle with a scope affixed to it, and the inscription ‘Runnington Model ‘18, .308 AP/AM FMJ x8 Scope Serial No 314159’ on the side.

        “No, son. You are gonna be our new sniper. That was a record. You just put twelve rounds from a pistol into a target the size of a head at one hundred yards. THE REST OF YOU WERE LUCKY TO HIT FIVE ROUNDS OUT OF TWENTY AT A FULL BODY AT FIFTY YARDS WITH A FUCKING RIFLE! This here” she said, pointing at me, “Is a GENUINE MARKSMAN! He might be small, he might be pathetic looking, but I don't care HOW big and scary you are, he will kill you LONG before you even SEE him! Son, you are gonna be a SNIPER. Last more than a year, and it is Scout Sniper School for you!”

Once again, I felt a dopy grin on my face as she turned and left, while the rest of my platoonmates eyed me with newfound respect. Perhaps this wasn’t going to suck as bad as I thought.

        “Hey… Wing?”

        “Yeah?”

        “You ever wonder why we’re here?” asked Blaze as we both scrubbed away at our rifles. It had been nearly seven weeks so far, and we were very close to graduation day. Ever since our hecktic first few days, I had become faster, stronger, and sharper of wit than I had been in my entire life. For the first time in my life, I had a six-pack! It was awesome!

        “Um… because there is a war?” I replied, looking over at her, pausing in my cleaning of the rifle. “I got here because of my draft notice… you volunteered.”

        She snorted at that. “I was being… eh, whatever. Can you pass me that cloth?”

        I reached over to do so, just before there was a sharp whistle from the mare standing watch at the door. “Heads up! INSTRUCTOR ON THE DECK!”

        Nearly in unison, all ninety of us rose to our feet, facing the door. It was what we called a ‘lazy sunday’, and so we were mostly in dress-down, wearing our cargo pants but with only a tank-top for a shirt. It had taken nearly two months, but we were finally a fairly well disciplined, well-trained force. Or something like that.

        “Listen up!” cried Buck Shot, looking around. We all cocked our left ears to the side, and she sighed. We had started to do that whenever she addressed us as part of a joke, and after four weeks she had given up stopping us. “Act serious for once.”

        “As you all know, tomorrow starts your last week of Basic Combat Training. I am… not displeased with how you all have done so far. Over the next seven days you will undergo mixed combat combat readiness tests, academic studies tests, and hand-to-hand finisher courses. Your final exercise will be a full-scale platoon-on-platoon combat exercise under the supervision of freshly graduated oficers. To that end, I present to you your supervisor for the next seven days. I will be around only to supervise basic needs and take scores. Any questions?”

        At our distinct lack of response, she nodded and stepped aside. “Officer on Deck!”

        Through the door stepped a unicorn stallion with a bright yellow bar on either side of his collar. He smiled, looking around at our salutes, before clearing his throat.

        “My name is Second Lieutenant Butter Bar. An unfortunate name, to be sure, but for most of you, I will be called Sir. Now, let’s finish your training! The front line needs you!”