Storms of War

The first true Professional Army in pony history were the warriors of the Spurrtain Tribes in the Ancient Grasslands. They trained from the age of six and dedicated their entire lives to mastering the art of warfare. Nearly ten thousand years ago, some three hundred of them held a small pass in the mountains. Shivering, Underfed, and VASTLY outnumbered, they held the line to the last mare and stallion. Archeologists found the site of the battlefield in the early seventeen-nineties and at first thought it had been an avalanche that killed them. Instead, they realized that it was a mere three hundred surrounded by ten times that number of slain enemy slave-soldiers.

The core of any modern, professional army is Indoctrination. Through a grueling process of training and education, civilians are turned into soldiers and sailors. The concept of Basic Combat Training is, in the modern sense, a fairly new invention. The justification of the cost of training is simple: any one trained, educated, and armed soldier is worth twenty civilian militia units.

-From The Art of the Modern War, by Sun Shoo, Ph.D

        There was another loud *CRACK* from above, and I couldn’t keep from flinching this time. That one was WAY too close for comfort, and Lieutenant Bar snorted in derision.

        “They’ve dug in, alright. Who’s not dead? Sound off!”

        Most of us ignored that last comment, instead huddling in our dugout in the middle of the woods. Contrary to popular belief, it was not one platoon against another. Six platoons had been thrown into a forest and told that the last one standing won. The first few hours had been a free-for-all that wiped out two of them, but the other three had decided to work together to eliminate us following our trick with the mudpits early in the morning. Our esteemed leader had used his magic to soften the ground, and the Second, Fourth, and Sixth platoons had spent the rest of the morning trying to get mud and rocks out of their pants.

        “Blaze! Get over here! I want some eyes up ahead. Anyone got a CLUE where we are?” asked Butter Bar, looking at his map, ignoring another training round splattering against the tree above him. The rounds, while non-lethal, simulated actual gunshot wounds via intense pain, and the paralysis of whatever limb they hit. A shot to the upper torso or head would knock you out instantly, simulating death. The medics had been given special kits that would allow them to ‘heal’ you by treating the gunshot wound, unless it was deemed fatal by the magic that governed the training arena informally known as “The Playground”.

        Orange Blaze patted my shoulder as she rolled over my back, keeping low. I winced a bit as the heavy-set mare accidently squished my hand against a rock, but didn't say anything as I peered over the edge. Sure enough, another bullet spanged off the side of my helmet from the sniper I suspected was up in a tree, about seventy yards away. Whoever they were, they were NEARLY as good as me. I still had yet to get a solid shot at anyone with my fancy sniper rifle.

        “Sir… looks like we are about two klicks from the Fourth Platoon’s last known location. If we could get some eyes up in a tree, we could see what was going on. I think… I think that copse of trees over there, where that sniper’s been hiding, is the Cullvert Grove… right here on the map.”

        After a moment, Butter Bar nodded, before turning to me. “Steel Wing, you good with that rifle?” he asked, before continuing at my nod. “Alright. There is a large oak tree, about fifteen yards south-west, see it?”

        “Yes, sir” I replied, looking at the one he was indicating. There was a bit of brush between us and it, but it looked easy to climb, with plenty of ivy on the sides. I had been eyeing it for the last fifteen minutes, wishing I was up in its branches. It had a perfect view down into the bowel that Second platoon was hiding in, no doubt trying to figure out how to use the mortar they had recovered from the remains of Third platoon.

        “Alright. Fifth Platoon! I want some covering fire. Private Wing, I want you up in that tree. It should give you complete defilade on their position if I got this map right. You get up there, you look for their sniper. You see him, you take the shot. Everypony ready?”

        “Yes, Sir!” came the response. We had been hunkered for the last two hours in a dugout that First Platoon had so kindly let us take from them.

        “Ready… GO! GO GO GO!” he shouted, before standing up and opening fire with his sidearm. The rest of them, all seventy-three survivors, stood as one and began to supress the sniper and their platoon. I saw Blaze take a shot in the shoulder, grunting as she fell back, before I was up and over the side of the dugout. Fifteen yards… fifteen yards…

        Leaves and shrubs exploded on all sides as several rounds hit too close for comfort, and there was a loud *CRACK* as their sniper missed again. Suddenly, I was pressed in close to the tree, and a splinter of bark flew past my cheek as the sniper fired again. Taking hold of the lowest branch while slinging my rifle across my back, I heaved myself up. Spreading my wings for balance, I pulled hard, flapping once to boost myself high into the upper branches where the foliage was thickest. A few more bullets ripped past me, but suddenly I was utterly hidden, my grey fur blending in with the color the cloud cover gave the landscape.

        From here, I could see the entire field below, and smiled to myself as I looked over at the tree and the bowl that second platoon...

        Was lying dead in. Instead, there was a large armored vehicle, and it was only at that moment I belatedly remembered that Fourth Platoon had been in special training for a Heavy Armor Platoon. Somehow, their officer had managed to convince SOMEPONY to lend them a… fucking tank….

        “WING! PRIVATE, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” came Lieutenant Bar’s voice. There was another curse as the sniper found somepony else, and I could see three other ponies around the tank, one of them gesturing at our dugout.

        “Um… SIR! They have a TANK! Just four of them left, but they got a TANK!” I shouted, just before a BLINDING pain struck me in the leg. A moment later, I nearly fell out of the tree as it shook HARD, the trunk splintering. Training round or not, whatever it was firing would probably not be pleasant to be hit by, and the tree, part of the simulated environment, reacted by flying upwards nearly twenty feet.

        With me in it. With a numb leg.

        When I came to, I was lying on my side on the ground while another pony was crouched over me, wrapping bandages around my leg. Around me were the sounds of combat, several curses and a scream, and another loud explosion as the tank fired again. The medic flinched, before giving me a cocky grin.

        “Hold still private.. I got this. SIR! I GOT HIM HERE!”

        A moment later, I felt two sets of hands pulling me upright, and the Lieutenant knelt in front of me. “How many did they have? Do they have ANY other armor?” he said, ducking as a spray of shots flew over us, some impacting the fallen tree we were behind. I shook my head, trying to clear it and to answer his question.

        “I… just the one, sir! Looks like one of the treads is broken though, they were trying to fix it. I bet second platoon managed to register damage to it. What are we gonna do?”

        “We’re gonna win. ALL UNITS! FALL BACK, FALL BACK!” he shouted, and pulled me up. The other hand set belonged to Blaze, who pulled me away from him and wrapped one of my arms around her neck.

        “I got him, Sir! What’s the rally point?”

        “Not here! That’s for DAMN sure! We need a damn rocket!”

        We turned and fled back into the woods, trying to find some cover as another tank round chased us, a spray of bullets eating some more leaves and taking out our last radio-operator. The poor kid never stood a chance.

        Finally, we slid down another embankment before the medic paused, applying a salve to my leg that seemed to restore some functionality to it. “I gotta treat the rest of the wounded. Put any real weight on it, and you’ll pass out. Got it?” he said, before leaving without bothering to wait for a response. Orange Blaze crouched next to me, reloading her rifle.

        “Looks like Fourth managed to wipe out everypony else. We don't have ANYTHING that can touch that damn tank. You got any ideas?” she asked, before there was a sudden rumble and creaking sound. We looked at eachother.

        “EL-TEE!” she shouted while I pulled myself up the slope, pulling down the bipod for the rifle and squinting down the scope. Sure enough, they had gotten the tread repaired, and the tank was pushing over a small tree as it trundled towards us. I thought I heard laughter from it as it fired again, and I took a quick shot at a pair of eyes I could see through the viewing slit in the front of the tank. They pulled away, closing the slit, and the round impacted just to the side as the tank’s reply whizzed overhead.

        “FUCK! Does ANYPONY have ANYTHING we can use?” cursed Butter Bar as he held a simulated arm injury that a medic was working on. “ANYTHING at all?”

        Quickly, a small pile was made. Two claymores, two rifle grenades, a handful of hand grenades, and two mortar rounds. None of it was enough to kill that thing, and I could see that Butter Bar knew it… until his eyes suddenly lit up, and he grinned.

        “Alright… yeah, that’ll work! Wing, grab those rifle grenades. Shreiker, you and one more, grab those claymores. Prime for three seconds. Blaze, grab that mortar and prime it. Get ready to run. Everypony, follow my orders EXACTLY, got it?”

        There was a chorus of “Yes Sir!”, and I grabbed both rifle grenades, affixing one to the end of my rifle.

        “Alright… Wing, I want you to take out that sniper in the trees. Blaze, when he does, I want you, Shreiker, and Sunfruit to take off. You run in a zigzag towards the front of the tank. I want you to hit the ground just in front, throw up as much dirt as you can. Shrieker, Sunfruit, you blow those treads off. Once they are stuck, they are gonna have to open up that top hatch to get a view of the situation. Wing… set that grenade for…. erm…. four seconds? Bounce it off the hatch and into that monster. Drinks on me!”

        With that, he gave the start, and I stood upright. There was a *CRACK* as the sniper got off one last shot, and then a shrill scream as my grenade found her tree. I saw a body drop limply to the ground before I was suddenly knocked to the side by another soldier. He grinned before rolling over, closing his eyes while four red bullet marks stained the back of his uniform. Without hesitation, I fixed the second grenade to my rifle and pulled myself up to the rise of the hill. Sunfruit and Shrieker were just jumping away from the tank as the claymores went off, and the treads ground to a halt. There was a sudden burst of smoke and dirt as the Mortar went off in front of the tank, and then quiet.

        With a curse and a fit of coughing, the top hatch of the tank opened up and I saw the officer in charge of Fourth Platoon poke his head out.

        Like clockwork, I fired the grenade. I could, once again, see a small dot and an arc in the air that the grenade followed perfectly, smacking into the side of the Lieutenant’s head, bouncing off the hatch, and falling into the tank.

        In the sudden two-seconds of silence, we could all hear a muffled “Aw… shit.”

        A moment later, there was a thud, a burst of smoke out the top, and the officer slumped back inside as a loud bell went off, the environment fading away to a large grey grid.

        A loud cheer went up, and the ‘dead’ picked themselves back to their feet while Buck Shot and General Vanguard walked onto the empty field, looking around. They gave one simple nod, she smiled, and Butter Bar grinned from ear to ear at the General’s next words.

        “Fifth Platoon Wins! Congratulations, Lieutenant Butter Bar and Master Sergeant Buck Shot. The rest of you… Welcome to the Army, SOLDIERS!”

        “HOO-AH!”

        “So… what are YOU gonna do for your weekend, Steel?” asked Blaze as she tied up her boots and buttoned her shirt. I smiled, polishing my “Sniper” ribbon, affixing it below my left breast pocket. On my shoulders were the single chevrons of “Private, First Class”. I was one of the fifteen in my platoon that made the promotion grade following our EndEx, the final exercise designed to test our ability to work together to not just fight a battle, but to WIN. We HAD won.

        “I dunno… go home? Sleep? What about you?”

        She paused, before shrugging. “Home for me is about seventeen hours by train from here. I had to catch one to the last stop of the bus that got us here to get to camp on time. Ain't Nopony got time for THAT. Don't you live in Las Pegasus?”

        I nodded, finally finishing and standing up, tucking my shirt in perfectly and giving my belt buckle one last polish. I was still the smallest in the platoon, but I would be damned if I didn't LOOK like a soldier when I was out among the civilians!

        Civilians… two months ago, that is what I was. A scared, small pegasus colt, freshly drafted and anxious. Eight weeks of intense training, drill, classroom work, and marksmanship training had honed me into a fine instrument with which to take the fight to enemy shores. We had a full 48-hour weekend pass to do as we wished before reporting back here to get on the ships that would take us to Great Brayton, where the rumor was that we would be launching an invasion to retake Prance from the Gryphon Empire. Action!

        “Hey Wing… I know this might sound a bit weird… but mind if I tag along with you to Las Pegasus? Never been there myself, and since home is a bit too far away to really enjoy my weekend, and if your folks wouldn’t mind putting me up for a night...“

        I started, looking over at her, instantly feeling my cheeks heat. Was she implying-?”

        She took one look at my startled face, and burst out laughing, a huge (and very undignified) snort that drew four other platoonmates’ questioning looks. “Not like that! Ha! I didn't even realize how that sounded until… *snerk* you should see the look on your face! You ever even BEEN with anypony before?”

        That was just about the last straw as, with cheeks burning, I turned back to my bunk to finish making it. I could still hear the chuckles around us.