A Sailor's Notes

by Thunderblast

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Original Character, Adventure, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 64726

Born in and molded by the frigid northern air and sea, a young, inspired colt strives to discover his path that leads to his one goal: to become an Equestrian sailor.

To many, the virtues of a sailor are questionable. Not everypony has them, or the tolerance of spending weeks, perhaps months at sea at a time. One colt born and raised in the cold of northern Equestria, however, believes he does.

It just may not be all that he expected.

A Sailor's Notes is a spinoff of Millennia, surrounding the origin of one of the saga's main characters, Anchorage. This story is set in an adapted universe where there is no Solar Empire vs. New Lunar Republic conflict and is part of the Pegiverse. Includes minor dark bits, but not enough to constitute the tag.

Published 2016-05-23 20:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-03-04 16:37:48 UTC

1. Anchorage

Time and time again, I've been told.

You'll never be who you want to be.

You will never be a sailor.

You are not worth their time.

A pegasus doesn't belong on a boat.

Perhaps now would be the best time to prove them all wrong.

That frigid, snowy, somber November night, was the night I came into the world. A pegasus just like my father, but a big head like my mother when she was a newborn. At least, that's what I've been told. In the north, it's always been a rumor that ponies born with big heads meant something good. No specifics, it just meant good luck. Yeah, right. Who believes those urban legends, anyways?

My parents, Sea Current and Hazy Brook, gave me the name of Anchorage. More like, my father did. For once, he won an argument. An argument that lasted quite nearly a week. The name was derived from the safe docking of a ship, if that wasn't obvious already. I suppose my father had early thoughts of what he wished for me to be. Heck, my accent is northern.

The years went by like seconds it seemed. Kindergarten was over in the blink of an eye, followed by elementary school. Middle school was just about the same. That was, until, my final year before high school. Despite the almost-perfect life in Winneighpeg, just like that, it was all over. Both me and my mother came to be devastated upon learning my father was being forced to transfer elsewhere. Somewhere very few south of Trotonto recognized. It left us no choice but to part ways, or move.

It's plenty obvious what happened next.

⚓

Giving off a quiet, gentle yawn, my uninterested eyes shifted from the teacher standing before the black board with a pale stick of chalk in her hoof, writing rather quickly onto it with the hard clicks of the stick meeting the board being the only noise to be heard, and the rounded clock hanging just above the classroom's door, ticking away at the seconds.

My gaze held on to the clock for just a couple of those precious seconds, watching carefully as the larger hand shifted a hair closer to two o'clock. One could hope the teacher wasn't quick enough to finish what she was trying to write before the bell would ring, signalling the end of class for the day. That was probably why she was scribbling on the board as quickly as she was.

"All right, students. Who can—"

Before she could continue, before she could even finish turning to face even one of us, the bell rang aloud through the school. Anyone who might have been snoozing away couldn't have been any more. The teacher gave a soft groan, setting the piece of chalk down on a small steel ledge attached to the lower portion of the board.

"Legally, I cannot keep you longer than the bell. So, we will pick up on Monday. Have a good weekend, and don't forget to grab all of your belongings on the way out."

With the teacher now seated, and giving her final word, I reached beneath my desk and looped a hoof through one of the straps on my backpack and slid my chair back, standing on all fours and sliding my other hoof through the opposite strap to rest the bag on my back, atop the hooded jacket I kept half-zipped up almost all of the time. The other students in the room did the same, a couple of the fillies beginning to chat about plans for getting together over the weekend as they did on a normal basis.

Walking out into the hallway ahead of the crowd while keeping a gentle pace, I moved toward the front exit of the school. The other few classrooms were also letting out, and many ponies of my age were trotting out with their things. Most bundled themselves up, while the couple that didn't I knew were from around here originally. Much of the ponies at my high school hadn't lived in the north their entire lives. Even if they spent a good ten or so years away from the warmer climates, they would still find themselves wearing something heavier than a hoodie or a sweater.

An audible click and a gentle creak of the door swinging open later, my feathers ruffled as the crisp, oceanic breeze swept across. Just a block away to the right, the swishing and crashing of waves were the only noise to be heard where the rocky coast met the angry seas. Many would think of it as a nuisance, a noise that never ceased. I enjoyed it. The fresh, salty scent of the sea spray, the rumble of the waves building, the overall power of the water.

Further south would be far different. The island in which I moved to saw days very few and far in between where the ocean wasn't trying to make its way up into the town. The way the region was set up in terms of geography, there was always strong winds coming from the west. Off shore, however, winds came from everywhere.

This influenced the last mayor to implement a wind farm on the southeast side of the island. Much of the time, the turbines would need to be shut down to avoid a power overload. After all, only a few hundred ponies populated the island. Many of which, right here, in Gander Cove.

I walked the street in the direction of the marina, passing by the few small homes that rested between the coast and the school. A couple of which rested on stilts, the design was so the homes and everything inside would remain intact in the event of a hurricane. They were rare in these parts. That being said, they didn't not happen. Despite the smaller size of the homes, the ponies living in them paid a good hoof and a hind. Cheap houses on the waterfront weren't easy to come across anywhere one wanders.

At the end of the street was a ninety-degree corner, the pavement turning and running against the edge of the water and the wood-concrete construct boardwalk and boat docks less than a block further. Tied down securely at their docks, the sailboats and fishing boats rocked gently as the waves slapped against their sides. The ones closer to the land suffered less with the docks having forcing the ripples to tone down slightly. Today was just a decent day.

Stopping at a wooden bench against the steel barrier sitting between me and the water, I set my backpack down to my side and leaned back. I gave a light shudder feeling the wet wooden surface press against my flanks and soak a bit into my clothing, not that it made me any less comfortable.

Resting my hoof on the wrought-iron armrest, I relaxed, staring out into the grey waters beneath the overcast sky. Out in the water, a single sailboat, followed by a small schooner, parted ways as they passed each other in the harbor. The few ponies that manned them were too small to make out due to distance. In a town like this, everypony knew each other. Mostly.

This was where I spent much of the time after school. Mainly on weekends. Weather didn't matter much, although it made my parents extremely unhappy and forced me to listen to their lectures on how I could become sick. Even on the sunniest of afternoons, my mother always found a reason to go against my decision to sit out here and listen to the ocean's sweet ambiance. That was one of the numerous things mom and dad argued about, only because my father enjoys bumping into me occasionally on the waterfront. He was the one who got me into such a calming hobby. After all, he's a sailor. A different kind of sailor, however.

"Anchorage!"

Just like that, the moment was over.

I snapped around, hoof on the back of the bench. Blinking a couple of times, I eased myself.

"Hi, mom."

Walking over to me with a bag of groceries in one hoof from across the cobble street, the hazel mare had a light scowl visible from a mile away. She clearly wasn't happy. "What have we gone over with you being out here after school?"

"You act like this is dangerous," I answered, motioning my hoof.

"The fact is, I don't want you coming here when you get out of school. It is completely out of your way home, and it's pointless! What do you even do other than sit here and stare out into an abyss of... nothing?"

"Well..." I shrugged, eyes shifting to the side and back. "Perhaps I enjoy it. It eases my mind after a long day."

"What could possibly be so comforting out here? Why not listen to music, or read?" My mother raised her eyebrow.

"One, I'm not into music, and two, we do reading in school. I wouldn't exactly call that relaxing."

Once again, she scowled. No, this time, she glared. "I don't appreciate your tone, Anchorage. If you're not home by four-thirty, I'll get your father. You hear?"

"Why are you attacking me? All I'm doing is sittin' here. I could be doing far worse, like—"

"Now!"

Recoiling back, I pinned one ear down and nodded. "Yes, mom."

The mare nodded once, turning her nose up and walking off. When she was gone, I looped a hoof back through the leather straps of my backpack and got up, mind set on getting home as soon as possible. In the past when she's caught me out here, it was typically followed by the usual speech about how worried she was to not find me at home with no prior knowledge. Now it was about her not wanting me out here at all. And as much as I wanted to talk to her about it, I was afraid of it becoming less civil. Mares...

⚓

Our house wasn't necessarily as far away as possible from the ocean, though at the same time it wasn't the closest in the least. The island had quite a few hills on it. One of the smallest was just north of town and was where many of Gander Cove's residents lived. The homes were larger than the ones in town, each one secluded by thick pine and brush, though some on the edge of the hill had a better view all around from their balconies.

Marching up the hill was little issue. Over time, I grew used to the somewhat steep terrain. Rather than flying, both me and my father hoped to build arm and leg muscle rather than more useless wing muscle. It only made more sense to. That, and the walk wasn't half bad. Even if it was, as my father has said a few times, getting to where you're going is only achievable if you motivate yourself to.

I took a single key from a side pouch on my backpack as I walked up onto the wooden front porch of our home, weaving past some of the outdoor furniture and to the front door, unlocking it with a single, quiet click, and inside I trotted.

Half of the time I would be greeted by mom or dad. The only times I wasn't were obviously when they were out working or shopping. It was more common than not. Dad was still at work in East Harbor, a decent-sized naval installation on the east-central coast, no more than twenty or so miles from town. This was done to keep any activity away from the population, as well as avoid taking up limited room. The only way to and from the port and town was by a single path. That, or the other windy, directionless dirt paths that could be found all across the island.

Dropping my backpack off on the railing of the staircase and letting out a semi-exhausted sigh, I made my way to the kitchen for a snack. When dad stayed at work later than usual, that meant dinner would be, too. Thankfully, neither parents minded what I eat, as long as it isn't poison. With that, I grabbed a small bag of potato chips and a can of cola to hold myself off for a short while and trotted up the stairs to my bedroom.

I slipped my hoodie off and set it on the back of my desk chair, then hopped onto my bed with a soft grunt, grabbing a binder on my nightstand and a pencil. Popping open the bag of chips, I slipped one into my mouth and crunched on it politely while flipping through the pages before coming across a pencil sketch of a well-known ship in Equestria, the R.E.S. Titania.

The ship had been built just a decade prior to my birth, and to date remained to be the largest hoof-built steel container ship to ever sail the world's oceans. Recent years had been booming for the shipping industry as more and more vessels had been constructed in Manehattan and Baltimare. They provided for quicker transport to and from the eastern Griffon Kingdoms, as well as Saddle Arabia and other nations far from Equestria. A couple of times its needed to make port early out of emergency, due to hull integrity being compromised or severe weather. That was all I knew about it, aside from what it looked like.

Now with one hoof digging through the small snack bag, and the other working on the line work of the sketch with just my memory feeding the information of what to draw, it continued to come together after a good week of work and retries. Since I was a foal, I was drawing just about anything I saw. Houses, carriages, trains, skyscrapers, landscapes, and now, anything maritime. I wouldn't say it's a huge talent of mine since I still lack some detail, not that it truly mattered. As long as what I was drawing is clear, that is good enough for me.

Finally, it was done. The paper with a massive container ship sketched onto it, along with the harbor it traveled through, and the pillar of light smoke trailing up and behind. My longest artwork project, complete. Looking over it one final time with a small smile, I carefully tore the paper out of the binder and rested it atop a small pile of previous sketches on my desk opposite of my bed. Sitting back down and grabbing the bottle of cola off of my nightstand, I cracked the lid off and took a big, satisfying gulp of the fizzy, sugary drink.

As I did, however, the front door swung open downstairs, quickly followed by the gentle rustling of paper bags and hoofsteps.

"Anchorage?"

I set the bottle back down on the nightstand and hopped up to my hooves and out of my room, into the hallway, where I stopped at the top of the stairs. "I'm here, mom!"

"Alright, good. Could you come downstairs and help me out, sweetie?"

"Sure thing," I replied, trotting down the staircase to the bottom as my mother made her way into the kitchen with a couple of tall paper bags.

She let go of the bags on the black granite counter top and worked on putting some of the groceries away from one of them while I took responsibility for the other. With a smile, she looked over at me. "How was school?"

"Long, as always," I'd replied honestly.

"Learn anything new?"

"Not any more than yesterday."

"Any homework for the weekend?"

"Nope. Teacher didn't get a chance to finish teaching, so no homework. Again."

"That's good, I suppose. Although, homework does keep you busy," she said, opening the refrigerator and putting away a carton of milk and some sticks of butter.

"In a negative way. I don't see the point of giving us homework on the weekends. I don't see the point of it at all. Six hours a day apparently isn't enough for them, is it?"

"I'm afraid not, Anchorage, but that's how the world is. You won't be complaining when all of this school gets you a suit-and-tie job some day."

"... Suit-and-tie job? Mom, we've gone over this."

"It's just a suggestion, sweetie. Most jobs require a decent education. Certain ones require college. You should get off just fine without college, though. Your father would like you to, but that's all your choice."

"I quite honestly don't have a clue what I want to do yet. I'm about to be in the tenth grade, usually when they start pressing career options onto you between classes. That... won't be fun."

My mother looped her hoof around and pulled me a bit close, planting a kiss on my cheek. "These are the years to decide, Anchorage. Before you know it, you'll be wanting out of the house to live on your own and have a job. That's just over two years from now. I guarantee then, you'll be wishing you listened," she gave a soft smile.

Crumpling up the now-empty grocery bag and tossing it to the trash can, my gaze shifted to the hazel mare at my side. "I'll think about it."

She smiled some more and kissed my cheek once more, then patted my shoulder and let go, moving to the other side of the kitchen.

"Hey, mom?"

She paused and looked back. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Why don't you like me going to the marina?"

Her smile faded in an instant. My heart sank. Her expression didn't fold into anything else, however.

"I just worry about you wandering around instead of coming home, sweetie. That's all."

"It... doesn't seem like it." My one ear fell back.

"Well," she exhaled deeply. "I don't quite understand what interest you have in the ocean. It seems rather odd to me. I don't want you doing it."

I felt my blood briefly heat up. No, calm down, Anchorage. Be civil. "Why not? Just because you don't enjoy it doesn't mean I shouldn't."

"You are my son, and I would prefer if you do the same thing everypony else does. Nopony sits on a wet bench in the middle of the afternoon just to sit back and watch the constant waves. Who does that?" Her head tilted slightly.

"You said dad did before you married him."

"Yes, but, he doesn't any more. Why should you?"

My focus shifted to the counter for a moment, then back up. "It makes me feel good. It makes me feel at home. I didn't have this in Winneighpeg."

"But I thought you missed Winneighpeg, sweetie?" My mother continued to look more confused by the second. "You cried the night Sea told us what he had to do."

"Well... I was afraid of change. After we moved, I changed. I felt different. It might be the air since you can smell the salt of the sea, and occasionally the stench of fish, but..."

"...But what?" My mother stepped closer.

My gaze moved to the window, looking outside at the trees. My head shook a bit. "I don't know. I just like it here."

Hazy's ears slipped back gently. She walked closer and wrapped her hooves around me in a hug. I returned it.

"I am sorry, Anchorage. I truly had no clue you loved it here so much. I... I thought you've always hated it."

A small grin crept across my muzzle. "Have I ever complained?"

"I wouldn't know. You're quiet at dinner a lot."

Just like that, it faded. "I know."

My mother pulled back and looked me in the eye carefully, then smiled warmly. "You're just like your father, you know that, right?"

Letting out a chuckle, with the smile returning, I nodded once. "Yeah, yeah. I know, Mom."

2. Friday Evening

The door unlocked and swung open with a slight creak as my father stepped through the front door, dressed head to hoof in naval blues. He removed the cover atop his combed azure mane and hung it on the hat hanger beside the door, then made his way into the living room, where my mother napped peacefully on the couch. Sea smiled, placing both hooves on the back of the couch and leaning down to softly plant a kiss on Hazy's cheek, which made her eyes gradually open. She gave a warm, tired smile once she saw her husband above her.

"Sleep well?" Asked my father, nuzzling her stomach a bit and walking around the couch to take a seat at her hinds.

"You know I did," yawned Hazy, sitting up and nestling to Sea's side with a smile. "How was work?"

"Same old. Nothing all too new. Where's Anchorage?"

"Probably upstairs or down. You know how he likes going in your little stallion cave sometimes," Hazy smiled and yawned once more.

Sea chuckled softly. "I'll go look, then I'll start dinner."

"Sounds great, honey," Hazy pecked his cheek, watching Sea with a loving smile as he stood up and trotted to the basement door behind the love seat.

⚓

I sat in the six-wheeled office chair, elbows rested against the light-tan desktop, eyes set on the small black screen with a green grid across it, and a single line that slowly spun from the center with multiple blip signatures moving gradually with every rotation. I never quite understood my father's need for a radar as well as a maritime radio to listen in to broadcasts between boats nearby. Not that I minded at all. It was his, after all. The whole basement was, practically. Everything down here was nautical-themed. On the wall hung pictures my father or others have taken of naval vessels.

A three-story shelf stood to the right of my father's little bridge, as I had called it, which held medals of his grandfather's military service as well as some trophies he had won in his high school days. It was quite impressive to say the least, and much of the shelves were full. Not necessarily full as in no room left, but close.

I rested my chin on the desk, listening in to the radio calls as they came in every few seconds. It limited itself to a certain amount of calls to ensure it wasn't cluttered with activity, little did I realize the hoofsteps coming from the top of the stairs all the way down.

My father cleared his throat, watching with a gentle smile. That faded after a moment, and he cleared his throat again. I still hadn't noticed he was even home. So slowly, he approached the back of the chair, his faint shadow casting over the desk.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I jumped, whipping the chair around and hoof resting on the back of, breathing a sigh of relief. "Don't scare me like that!"

"I cleared my throat twice, Anchorage," my father replied in a stern tone. "You may want to work on listening to your surroundings, son."

With a sigh, I nodded. "Yes, Dad. I'm sorry."

He slowly grinned. "I'm kidding, Anchorage," then looped a hoof around my neck and pulled me in for a hug out of the chair. Surprised by the movement, I returned the embrace and smiled. He then asked, "How was school?"

"The usual," I replied as a matter of fact.

"I see. It makes me suspect—"

"Yes, I was out at the marina."

"Just as I thought," my father grinned more. "Did your mother catch you?"

I nodded without saying a word.

"Huh. And I could have sworn me and her had this discussion a week ago. Perhaps we'll have to have it again at dinner..."

"Don't worry about it, I talked to her already."

My father blinked twice, making direct eye contact. "You did?"

I nodded again. "She apologized as well."

"Wow. You have a way with words, don't you? It didn't happen to involve any swears, did it?"

I shook my head this time. "No, sir."

A hoof gently whapped me on the ear. I jumped slightly and winced. "Don't call me sir, I'm your father. I won't do what many others do."

I rolled my eyes and stood up straight. "Whatever, dad," then grinned.

My father gave a single nod, then smiled, looping his hoof back around me. "Come on, I'll get dinner started and I'll tell you about my day at the table."

⚓

Balancing two dishes on his wings horizontally with a third in his hoof, my father slid the dinner plates down onto the table before me and Hazy, carrying the third to his seat on the end of the table, where he sat down. "Dinner is served."

On the plate were large cooked carrots wrapped in fresh lettuce, along with a side of sliced cucumber and dip—one of my mother and fathers' favorites and something they shared when they were still dating. Taking one of the lettuce-wrapped carrots, I bit down into the savory vegetable and munched on it until it was no more. The chips I'd had earlier didn't touch my hunger all too much.

"Everything taste fine?" My father asked before he could begin eating. He did this every night.

I gave a quick nod, chewing on the second carrot. Simply saying yes with food in my mouth would have been extremely rude.

My mother nodded, gulping down a bite she took and smiling. "It's wonderful, honey. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Sea replied with a warm smile in return, cutting his carrot with a knife. "How was your day?"

"Like clockwork, love. I took your knife to the blacksmith like you asked and stopped by Rocky's, then came home after grabbing Anchorage."

"From the marina, yes?" Sea grinned.

Hesitantly, my mother nodded. "Yes, from the marina. We talked, and I apologi—"

"I know, honey. Anchorage told me," my father said, lifting his fork to his muzzle and chewing the food quietly.

"Now, what about you? How was your day?" Hazy asked, taking a slice of cucumber and dipping it in some ranch.

"Long, and busy, to put it short. Construction crews are beginning to lay out the foundation for a sixth and longer dock."

"What for?" I asked, looking to my father as I took another bite.

"I couldn't be happier you asked," Sea grinned. "The Navy's newest destroyer is to make port in a couple of months and we need to be ready for its arrival. The raffle to determine where to station it picked our home base, and it will leave Baltimare along with its crew. Once that is said and done, somepony will be chosen after a series of small games, where the Head of the Navy will decide who the commanding officer of the ship will be."

"Do you think they could pick you?" My eyes widened just before I spoke.

"Possibly, if I score above the others. Although, currently, I'm not of rank to be put in position of a destroyer. Not yet, at least."

"Wow..." I sat back in my seat. "That's... really awesome, dad. When are the games?"

"The middle of August, just before school kicks back in. Why?"

"Perhaps me and Anchorage could come and watch, if that's okay," Hazy smiled at my father.

"Oh..." His one ear fell backwards. "I... don't think so."

"What? Why not?" I put my hooves on the table, my grin fading.

"They don't allow families on base unless it's for homecoming. I'm sorry."

"That's nonsense. Surely they'd allow friends and family to spectate the games. How many will be participating?"

"Just about everypony will. It's not just about deciding the new commanding officer, it's more of a competitive thing the Navy's had with other stations around Equestria. The concept is, in my opinion, extremely pointless, although it allows ponies from all over to give everything they've got in the conditions handed to 'em," my father shrugged. "I will have to check with the base commander to see what will happen. I'd assume allowing families in would be chaotic."

"Well, I for one would enjoy watching you compete with other sailors. It would be exciting, wouldn't it, Anchorage?" Hazy's focus shifted to me.

"Of course it would! Not to mention, how amazing would that be to become captain of the Navy's brand new destroyer?!" I was beginning to geek out.

Dad simply chuckled. "Now, now. Don't get your hopes up too much, Anchor. That's still quite a ways away. But yes, I would love you two to be there. I just hope that will be the case."

I couldn't help it. The thought of my dad commandeering a giant ship such as the one being built and transferring to Gander Cove was too much. It was a shame naval vessels didn't always pass through the town's harbor knowing the base was situated opposite of the town, as I would always be down at the marina watching them go by, and even wave at my father when he left or returned from deployments.

Man, being a sailor must be so awesome, I thought. Maybe I should do something like that when I'm older!

And that was how it all kick started. It was then where I began thinking of what it would be like in the Navy, what I would be like, where I would go, what I would do, everything.

3. Detour

"What do you mean next week?"

"I mean, next-next week. I'll need for you to gather your ponies, give a briefing on the situation, and tell them to be prepared for a possible deployment. As for you as well, I'll need for you to remain on base."

"But, what about my family? They need to know I might be leaving. I can't not come home for fifteen days and them to expect me to be okay!"

The commanding officer gave a grumble, rubbing his temple with his hoof. "Fine, fine. You may go home, but you are expected to spend overtime every night until then, which means late nights for you."

"Yes, sir."

⚓

The big diner in town, known as the Salty Lion, maintained its typical mid-afternoon traffic. With school over for the day, the place began to seat hungry teenage ponies, mainly ones who skipped the sometimes-terrible school lunches. Me as well as a few of the other ponies I knew well gathered here just about every Tuesday. Four total, including myself.

The bigger colt, Azeruth, was popular in my school. Well, kind of. He flirted with fillies frequently, and sometimes they would flirt with him. The colt around my size, Vixen, was a mix of an athlete and a nerd—no, nerd is a bit rude to put it. Genius? Nah, he's had his dumb moments like everypony else. Over all, he had good grades, and after school he would jog up and down the hills.

Then there was Misty, a tough, also smart filly. She'd felt abandoned by many of the other girls at school because whenever they'd put a colt in her face, he'd usually come to class with a black eye, or some injury of that sort. I suppose that's why she hung out with us, and neither of us minded it either way. Ponies are ponies.

From the toughest colt to the girliest, bubbly filly, as long as we all had something to talk about that interested us, no one gave an eye. Not to mention, Azeruth came from a military family as well.

"So, Anchorage, did ya hear about—"

"The new destroyer? Yeah, I'm excited for that, one-hundred percent. Soon our little town will finally be known for somethin', am I right?"

Azeruth furrowed a brow. "Well, yeah, but that wasn't what I had in mind. Did ya father get any news lately?"

Gulping down a sip of soda and setting the bottle down, I shook my head. "Not that I know of. What kind of news?"

The grey pony briefly exchanged looks with Vixen, then returned his focus to me. "You may wanna ask him tonight."

I nodded. "Will do. He may not even know what the heck I'm asking about."

"Perhaps. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, we're used to him being gone by now. I can't exactly say it's tough."

Misty was the one to speak up next. "You mean, you don't worry about him when he's gone?"

"No, no, I never said that. Of course I worry, just not as much as before. I mean, Equestria hasn't been in any sort of conflict for a decade or two. Aside from that, it wasn't even that huge of one. The last real trouble we've gotten ourselves into was nearly a millennia ago. Or, at least, I think..."

"It's not like Equestria is a fully-pacifist nation, Anchorage. For all we know, we may be on the brink of conflict. It's just a matter of time before we're at war again. I know Princess Celestia doesn't enjoy that thought, but, sometimes it is the only thing to do unfortunately."

"So, what does that have to do with my dad?"

Misty grumbled, facehoofing gently. "Anchorage..."

"What? He's in the Navy, it's not like he'll get himself killed. The worst thing he has to be concerned about is severe weather." At least, I thought.

"Ask him yourself. You're misled."

"Whatever you say," I replied, taking a final swig of my drink.

⚓

Much of the evening was spent in my room, sketching like always. They were more of blank drawings than anything while I thought of something new to focus on. These were what I used to jump start new concepts. Something prevented that, however. Rather than ideas of what to draw next, thoughts of the afternoon tacked on. My father was still working, and yet there was no word from him regarding more overtime this week. Perhaps something was up.

My ear perked at a sudden slight pressure change in the room. Downstairs, creaking of the front door opening wide echoed throughout the hallway outside my bedroom. The pressure shifted again as the door shut, and I dropped the pencil in my hoof onto the desk, standing up and walking out into the hallway to the staircase, calling out, "Dad?" as I did so.

"Anchorage?" Replied my father, locking the door behind him. He glanced around the corner, up the staircase straight towards me. "Still awake?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Where have you been? Me and mom were worried."

Sea let out an exhausted sigh, beginning to undo the buttons on his uniform. "Had to stay on base late. Work stuff, is all. Where's your mother?"

"She's in bed," I answered, coming quietly down the steps. "I should be, too."

"Don't worry about it, Anchor. I have something to ask you, anyways."

Uh oh. "Yeah?"

Stepping closer, my father made direct eye contact. "Would ya like to come with me tomorrow to work?"

I blinked twice, eyes widening and ears perking slightly. "Would I?"

"Would you?"

"Yes!" I let out a rather un-colt-like squeal, then covered my mouth quickly.

"Shh, careful not to wake mom," Sea motioned his hoof, whispering. "Okay, I'll call in to your school first thing in the morning, then I'll take you."

"Wait a minute, I thought family and friends weren't allowed on base?"

"I'll make this an exception."

"How does that work?"

"I have my ways, Anchorage."

"I won't question that," I chuckled softly.

My father smiled, patting my shoulder. "Now, go get some sleep. We'll be up early."

I tilted my head slightly. "Earlier than when I get up for school?"

"Way earlier."

"Five AM?"

"0500."

"Right, right. Of course."

Sea smiled, kissing my forehead. "I love you, Anchorage. Sleep tight."

"I love you too, dad. I will," I smiled back. "Goodnight."

⚓

In the blink of an eye—well, much more like, closing my eyelids—morning had come. A knock on the door jolted me awake, followed by the slightly audible call of my father from outside.

"Up and at 'em, Anchor. Get in the shower and get dressed."

After he'd gone, I let out a soft, tired groan, glancing to the window to the right of my bed. The sun wasn't nearly close to rising yet. Then again, it was five in the morning.

Reluctantly, my body lifted itself out of bed, while gravity fought to take dominance and make me fall back asleep again. A shower would certainly help, assuming the hot water wasn't used up. I opened the door, trudging across the hallway and into the nautical-decorated bathroom. Switching on the lights, my eyes burned and ached as it echoed off of the bright blue walls—at least it wasn't bright green.

Starting the shower, I hopped in almost immediately, disregarding the temperature as I worked to get clean as quickly as possible to avoid keeping my father behind. Reaching for a bottle and soaking my mane beneath the semi-warm water, I squirted just a slight bit of shampoo into my hoof, rubbing it through while rinsing it out as the water continued to warm gradually. Next came scrubbing my body and wings thoroughly. Surely, I would have to look decent enough to be on base, too.

Once the last of the suds flowed down off of my hooves and into the drain, I turned off the water and reached for a towel just beyond the shower curtain, pulling it in to dry off. In the process, the cloth had left my mane even messier than when I'd woken up. Dang towels...

I pulled the curtain to the side and stepped out of the shower carefully, towel over my back. The first thing I grabbed was a mane brush to set it down to at least a non-messy appearance. Next came my toothbrush, and following a slight struggle with the toothpaste, I brushed and brushed until the awful morning breath had gone.

Before I could return to my room to find something warm to wear, I checked over my feathers to straighten a few of them out, then re-brushed my mane. When I finished, I crossed the hall once more, dropping the now-dirty towel in a laundry basket and opening the small closet in my bedroom.

Despite it being considerably small, not many clothes were hung up in the closet, aside from some different pullover hoodies, a jacket, and a blue flannel shirt. The next question was, what to wear?

...

Flannel shirt. The last time I wore it was at least a few months ago. It should still fit, considering my growth spurt stopped the year before. Added to that, knowing local weather like the back of my hoof, the temperature had to be in the forties at the highest. Yes, this would definitely do to keep me warm.

Once dressed, I trotted quietly down the staircase to meet up with my father, whom prepared a quick breakfast for the two of us. He was readily fully dressed and already eating. He patted the stool beside him, where I took a seat.

After swallowing, he said, "I'm surprised you're not sluggish. This is way early for you. Sleep well?"

"I slept alright. Could have been better," I replied, taking a bite of a juicy apple.

"Well, that's the life of a sailor, my boy. I'm afraid it's what you'll have to put up with."

Wait, wait, wait. Did he just say, it's what I'll have to put up with? How... does he even know? I don't even know! What is there to know?!

Oh, right. Being a sailor like him.

"I see," I replied, scarfing down the rest of the fruit. "How long does it take for you to get there?"

"How long does it take to get to base? About twenty minutes, thirty with poor weather. Flying is much quicker, but your wings get cold pretty quickly. We're lucky today."

Twenty minutes. Perfect. Early start to the day, already being pushed to walk a good distance to and from, whenever we would come back that evening. He was right, though. Flying there would possibly end up in an injury or two.

Finishing up our breakfast, my father grabbed his duffel bag and led out through the door, thus beginning the long walk. The chill hit my body like an oncoming train, and I shivered heavily. It wasn't long, however, before I adjusted to the cold. After all, this was my kind of weather, and my father's, too.

The cobble road took us through a dark, thick pine forest outside of town, the only road leading to the port. By far, the biggest fear moving through here was bears, although, the two of us could just fly up to avoid them. That we could do.

Reaching the top of yet another hill, down below and over top the trees, a faint white halo glowed. It had to be the naval station, as nothing else was out here apart from one or two log cabins.

Eventually, the two of us approached the main gate of the base, where a single sailor sat in a small booth, dressed like an eskimo pony and still shaking terribly. The poor pony must have been new to the area. He caught sight of us, stepping out of the booth. Around his neck hung some sort of rifle that reflected the tiny structure's exterior spotlight. Seeing that made me extremely uneasy for the first few seconds and made my motions freeze temporarily.

"Identification?" The guard asked, taking a look at my father's card when he handed it over. With a nod, the pony returned the card, shifting his focus to me. "Identification?"

Again, I froze. "I... don't have one."

"Then you're not permitted to be on b—"

"Don't worry, sir, he's with me," Sea cut in.

"He isn't Navy personnel. He can't be allowed on base," the guard kept a stoic look toward the both of us.

"He plans to be, isn't that right, Anchorage?"

Glancing to my dad, then back to the guard, I nodded. "I'm working with him for the day."

The guard gave us suspicious looks, then nodded. "Alright, fine, head on in."

"Thank you," Sea nodded once.

"Yes, thank you," I said as well, following my father inside. Deep down, I was extremely nervous. This was against regulations.

Beyond the gate was more forest, although, we were past the perimeter fence and technically on-base now. Far past the dark sea of pine, more lights faintly shined. I walked just to the left of my dad, looking around us at the total darkness as we approached.

Reaching the edge of the forest, my eyes opened wide in awe. All around were numerous structures of similar design, but different size. Many of which were two-story apartment-like buildings with the hallways on the outer walls.

"Those, over there," my father pointed at the buildings. "Those are the barracks. Two each per room, though if needed, the base commander will add bunks to house four per."

"What are they like inside?" I asked, eying one of the structures.

"They're quite like dorm rooms. Small, compact, but they've got everything a pony needs. Bed, shower, and a kitchen area. But, I'll be honest, Anchorage, hardly anypony uses the kitchen. There's on-base amenities to keep everyone fed and entertained," he explained, continuing down the center path.

"Sailors are put into them after boot camp to make room for new trainees. Although, we really don't have too much of a training facility. Much of that is in Manehattan. It has to do mainly with zoning and what not. After all, the island isn't that big." Sea chuckled.

"Huh. So, once you graduate and are assigned bases, or what ever that process is, they just put you in one of those?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Sea nodded. "Now, the flag pole is right up here, too."

Looking forward, about twenty feet away, stood an extremely tall steel pole. On top, the Equestrian flag waved proudly in the ocean's wind. It appeared to be a gentle wind, only due to the fact that the flag was much more massive than it appeared from a distance.

To my side, my father stopped, observing the flag. I halted as well, too staring upward. The blue rectangle piece of cloth, printed with the figure of our dear Princess Celestia that ruled the country, between the sun and moon grasped in her magical aura.

"Moving on..." My father said, continuing down the central path, where around the flag branched off other paths to different sectors of the base. "The Command and Control Center is ahead of us, as well as the offices that are part of the complex, which is also where I work," he gently nudged my shoulder, and I chuckled.

"And the shipyard is behind the offices, right?"

"Exactly," Sea smiled warmly, donning his cap which just barely held onto his head due to the breeze picking up.

As we approached the small complex, one thought came to mind. I might as well ask while we're here.

"Hey, Dad, where are the Naval Games taking place?"

"Well, they're just being set up. I'd like to show you, but, unfortunately, the area doesn't have any lighting just yet. So, we'll have to wait until lunch. How does that sound?" he replied, stepping up to the door of one of the office buildings.

"Sounds like fun," I smiled, following him inside.

⚓

"And this, Anchorage, is my office," Sea said, trotting in and flipping the light switch on. With a couple of flickers, the room lit up nice and brightly, reflecting off of the window opposite of the door. Suddenly, he said. "Oh, hey, they brought it in!"

Inside wasn't too large. It wasn't big at all, really. Just a generic office room, scarcely decorated with anything but a couple of potted plants and mainly filing cabinets, with a couple of picture frames here and there. On Sea's desk sat a coffee mug with pens and pencils sticking out, a pencil sharpener, a small dark-brown wooden picture frame facing the chair, and finally, an all-white box computer, the tower beneath the desk. That's what intrigued me the most, considering computers were extremely rare and mainly used within the military. Most ponies didn't see the need for them, although they did make work spaces more tidy. This was likely what he meant by brought it in.

"So, what do you think?" He smirked slightly, bringing a chair around to his side of the desk, then sliding into his own.

"It's... well," I looked around. My thoughts were ones he'd likely not be happy to hear, so it took a few moments to put together what I wanted to say.

"It could use a couple more picture frames."

My father shrugged. "I'll look into it. Chances are I won't be able to. What I've got in here is already pushing the line," he said, tapping a square object connected to the computer's monitor, and the screen sprung to life.

"You mean, they don't let you have belongings in your offices?" Sitting down, that kind of shocked me. Looking forward, the picture frame sitting on the desk was of me, my father, and my mother. It was definitely an older one, because I'm surely not that small now!

"Nah, not usually. It is an office, after all. Why decorate them when you can feel like you're in a prison instead?"

"What?" I glanced at him, blinking.

"No-nothing," he stuttered, beginning to type on the keyboard.

I then proceeded to watch him type away on the computer, shifting my focus between the keyboard and the monitor. My head tilted.

"How are you able to type so precisely?"

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't look that easy to type with hooves."

"If you use the tips, you will turn out just fine. Although, yeah, the keys are pretty small. But using my wings isn't that comfortable, either."

Shrugging it off, I relaxed back into the chair, once again peering at my surroundings, to the picture frames on the walls. One encased a silver medal of some sort, the other, an aerial picture of a destroyer at sea. At some point, I would have to ask about that medal. Surely it meant something.

What crossed my mind afterwards was, did he actually want me to work with him? Why isn't he having me doing anything yet? Perhaps he was looking forward to it, albeit the computer changed his mind. Then again, if it was so new, how was he so good at using it? Too many questions, he's working, I won't bother him.

"Hey, uh, Dad?"

"Yes, Anchorage?"

"Is there..." I cleared my throat. "Anything you'd like for me to do?"

"Such as?"

"I dunno, file papers, fetch something from the cabinets, water the plants... anything?"

"Er... No, not right now. Thank you, though," he said, not once moving his eyes from the monitor.

Once again, I fell silent, fiddling with my hooves and unsure of what to do. It wasn't like I could go and walk around, unless I truly wanted to get arrested. Being on base alone was against regulations, at least, I believed they were. Maybe only to certain points. Either way, boredom was beginning to quickly set in.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you want me to do?"

"Well, hmm..." I listened closely as Sea turned to glance at me. "I was going to have you run these reports down the hallway for me, but, I don't want you going anywhere without me. So, for the moment, nope."

Sighing, I nodded. "Okay, Dad."

⚓

Finally, the sun gradually rose above the horizon outside the window, shedding light over the area. For once, I could actually see what was outside, even though the majority of the view was blocked by another building. Past that, however, one of the docks as well as the ocean were visible. With the sunrise, the water reflected the pinkish-orange glow that painted the sky and making for a postcard-worthy photo, if I had a camera.

A small clock on my father's desk ticked away, bringing my attention to it. The hands read two-past-seven. It felt like an eternity, though we'd only stepped on-base a little over two hours ago. This would most certainly turn out to be a very long day.

All of a sudden, the bell of a telephone I didn't even know was there chimed to life, jolting me from the trance of boredom. My father reached over, picking up the receiver. "Gander Cove Naval Station, this is Sea Current," he spoke, staring forward.

I turned to him, blinking twice. The pony on the other end sounded panicked from what I could make out.

"Miss, this is the Naval Station. If there is a maritime emergency, you want to call the Coast Guard. They provide rescue services to vessels. Their number is in the phone book. Have a nice day."

With that, he hung up. I continued to stare with minor confusion.

"What was that all about?"

My father relaxed into his chair, stretching his hooves. "Whenever something happens, ponies seem to forget that the Navy isn't the Coast Guard. It gets annoying sometimes."

"Aaaand... you tell them to call the Coast Guard instead?" I furrowed an eyebrow.

"That's all I can do. Navy personnel aren't authorized to contact the Coast Guard unless it involves our own situation. That's how it is."

"Well, if that's how things go, then I don't see much of a problem," I shrugged, relaxing myself. "But now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'd love to help out any way I can. I just don't know how."

"Well, I did—"

"You wanted me to run some reports to someone's office, yeah."

"I'll take them myself in a bit, but I want for you to come with me. If anyone walked in and saw you sitting here, they wouldn't be happy."

"That... reminds me, Dad."

"Hm?"

"Are we breaking any rules? Like, rules about non-Navy members being on base?"

"Not exactly. You see, well, hmm..." He paused. "It's difficult to explain. It isn't normal. That being said, technically, you are fine if you're working with me."

"But I'm not."

"Anchorage, I don't really know what there is for you to help out with. I didn't have a clue that they would get the computers in here so quickly, otherwise I'd be having you read things to me while I write others. I'm sorry," Sea turned back to his computer, sighing.

Now, feelings were setting in. I knew it wasn't his fault since he didn't know how the day would go, either.

"I'm just happy to be here with you, Dad."

He began to crack a small smile, turning to look at me once more. "I'm happy you're here, too, Anchor."

4. Brewing Storms

Lunch came along a bit quicker than anticipated, even though it was still early in the morning. Both me and Dad left his office, him having unexpectedly packed lunches for the two of us and stuffed them into his bag. In the courtyard sat a few picnic tables and we sat down at one.

We ate in silence, all the while taking in the warm sunlight as it broke through the few clouds here and there. Today was to be, surprisingly, one of the warmer days of the year. Summer temperatures didn't even get up past the higher sixties, all because of how far north we were. In the sun, it felt more warm, and eventually I had to take my flannel shirt off to remain comfortable.

Finishing up our lunches, Dad stood up, tossing away any trash left over in a nearby trashcan and returning.

"Hey, Anchor, ready to see the shipyard?"

I blinked, my eyes widening. "The shipyard? You never said anything about that!"

"I wanted to keep it a secret," he winked. "Come on, let's go. I'll show you around."

Eagerly I stood up, trotting around the table to Dad's side and following him closely as he led toward the coast.

Beyond the offices sat a few warehouse-like buildings, and a single crane. Some sailors lingered around, carrying boxes back and forth from a small cutter vessel tied to one of the docks. To the right, a significantly larger all-grey ship. A missile cruiser, commissioned by the Equestria Navy two decades prior. It rested unoccupied, alongside another on the opposite side of the dock.

Dad led down the shoreline, toward the cruisers. My eyes didn't once shift away from them. For all I knew, they were probably as wide as they could possibly go, heck, even sparkling like cartoon comic art when it comes to shock and awe.

We stopped at the beginning of the pier, between the two massive ships, my gaze still stuck like glue to them.

"So, Anchor, what do you think?" Sea smiled warmly, glancing over towards me.

"They're so much bigger than I thought... They're amazing!" I squealed with excitement.

My father's smile faded, and he motioned his hoof to tone it down. "Hey, hey. No yelling. We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

Quickly, I calmed myself down, eyes widened. "Right, right."

He lowered his hoof, then made direct eye contact. "There's something else I have to tell you, Anchorage."

"About what, Dad?"

"About that new ship."

"Oh, the new destroyer?"

"Yes, the new destroyer. Listen, you know how I said at dinner a few nights ago that the games would determine a commanding officer?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Dad let out a soft sigh, easing himself. "That isn't happening anymore."

"What?!"

"Now, hold on. The games are still going to happen, just, there is no true prize except for a trophy or medal. Anchorage, the reason why, is because—" He stopped, looking up above me slightly.

"Because why?"

"Anchorage, stand beside me. Now," he spoke using the side of his mouth, eyes locked on something behind me.

As quickly as my hooves could, I moved to his side, eyes now set on a base watch pony making his rounds, with us in plain sight. The pony approached, a rifle around his neck. He stopped just a few yards away, head tilting, then approached my father.

"Sir, non-Navy personnel on base is restricted. Are you aware of that?"

"Yes, sir. We went over this at the gate. My son is... well, he's working with me for the day. I'm simply showing him around in case he wants to be just like his father. Right, Anchor?" He looped a hoof around my neck.

I nervously nodded. "Y-yeah, just in case."

The guard raised an eyebrow at my response, shifting his gaze back to Sea. "I'll let you off with a warning. I do not want to see him anywhere on base again unless it is when you leave, or else I'll have no choice but to bring you to Commander Glacier. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." The two of us replied, exchanging looks afterward.

"Good," the guard nodded once, walking around us to continue his patrol.

My father let out a deep sigh of relief, wiping his forehead off. I looked at him worriedly.

"Dad, I'm not sure if I want to be here anymore."

"Why not?" He quickly snapped his head to look at me with surprise.

"I'm not supposed to be. You could get discharged, or worse, because of this!"

"I was only trying to do something I thought you would like, Anchor. Clearly I was wrong about that, severely wrong," he grew a slight glare. "I'll call your mother and let her know you'll be coming home early."

"What?" My pupils shrunk to pinpricks. "Why are you getting angry?"

"Because, I..." His glare quickly disappeared, changing to that of one of despair. "I... don't know. I don't know anymore. There's too much goin' on to keep track of. I thought I was doing a good deed by takin' you with me here, now it's all backfired completely."

My ears slightly fell, I lifted a hoof toward Dad. "Then, tell me. What's going on?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You won't like it, not one bit."

"Dad, do you really think I care at this point? I'm trying to talk to you."

"Are you s-sure?"

"Yes!"

Sea stared me in the eye for what felt like a full minute in silence. He broke the eye contact, then took a seat on the edge of the concrete, hind hooves hanging over the water below. He stared out into the open ocean beyond the ship docked to the side.

I followed him over, sitting beside him and too looking out to the water. "Just tell me, Dad. It won't be that bad."

"I... really don't know, Anchorage."

"If it's about deployment, you're being awfully sketchy about it. Is it that?"

A few more moments of silence, then a slow nod. That was one thing out of him.

"Why so paranoid? You've been deployed, like... fifteen or sixteen times. That was before you met Mom, too!"

"This is different, Anchorage."

"What's so different?!"

"Everything!"

"Then, tell me what's different. We've gotten this far."

"You're not ready."

"I'm fifteen, dad. What could I possibly not be ready for? At school, they've already taught us about the Lunar Rebellion, they've taught us about the Great Griffon War, they've taught us sex-ed, they've taught—"

"I'm sorry, they've what?"

My eyes opened wide, then moved over to Dad, who stared me on directly with an eyebrow raised. I felt my cheeks heat up significantly.

"You get the point, right?"

"Well, maybe I feel you're not ready," he gave that look of seriousness. "Your mother would agree."

"Well, she's not here, is she?"

"That is not the point, Anchorage."

"Then what is?"

"The point is, I'm not ready for you to grow up yet," he answered, a slight tone of desperation growing in his voice. "I'm not... ready."

I froze, eyes growing wide yet again. "What...?"

Dad stared down at the water in front of us as it sloshed against the concrete pier. "Anchorage..."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"You're growin' up so fast. I mean, look at you. You're in high school, you're fifteen years old, where have I been this whole time? On a ship."

"Dad—"

"I was hardly ever here for you, Anchorage. When I was, I was afraid I wasn't doin' something right. I was never doin' anything right. I'm a sailor, I'm accustomed to taking care of my crew members. I... never grew used to takin' care of my own foal, my one and only son."

I watched him carefully as a single tear gathered up in his eye, still staring down toward the water below. "Dad, please..."

"I was never here to watch you grow up, Anchorage. I focused on other things when I should have focused on you. This political scuffle made me think of that," he slowly turned to look at me, the tear sliding down his cheek gradually.

"That's why I'm afraid for you... for your ever-so fast-approaching time to become an adult, for you to take on your own responsibilities and... move out, start your own family... and move on."

My ears fell back, eyes shifting down toward the water as well, as did Dad's. Sighing inaudibly, I slowly looped a wing around his back.

"I'm not going anywhere yet, Dad. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"But you might change your mind."

"That is a possibility, yes. Just like everything in life. You never know what's going to happen. That's why you gotta cherish things how they are now in case it does go downhill."

A small smile cracked on Sea's muzzle, and he turned to me. "When did you get so wise?"

"What can I say? I'm growing up," I returned the smile, though weakly. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Anchorage. I don't ever wish for you to think otherwise just because of how often I've left you and Mom."

"I wouldn't, because I understand."

"Are you sure...?"

"Positive."

Sea blinked slowly, then nodded once. "Then I suppose it's my time to grow up and accept things how they are."

"That would be a good idea."

"So would heading back inside, don't you think?" He then said with a tone of concern.

"Huh?"

"There's a storm comin'," Dad said, standing up. "Come on, let's head back before the rain starts."

⚓

Rain trickled down and pattered against the office window, a thick, grey mist shortening the visibility tremendously. This was the type of weather we were used to. That, and sudden, unexpected bursts of cold and snow. Aside from that, it was another boring day at the office—wait a minute, it was the same day.

This time, however, Dad had something for me to do: shredding papers that he didn't need. Not the best of things to do to pass the time, although, it was far better than sitting back and looking pretty.

Even though his office was already super tidy, it shocked me just how much he wanted disposed of, meaning I would have to make a quick dash or two to the trashcan outside of his office to empty the shredder can.

As I stood out in the hallway dumping out shredded bits of paper into the trashcan, however, a glance to my side caught an approaching figure from a few doors down, moving at a steady pace. Remembering I wasn't supposed to be there, I quickly finished up dumping out the can and walking back into Dad's office, shutting the door and sitting back down in the seat.

My hopes were that the pony in the corridor coming toward me would brush off seeing me—if he saw me at all—and continue on his way without confronting Dad. That was quite frankly the last thing we needed to be concerned about.

Unfortunately, it was now the first thing to worry about.

The door swung open, standing there in the doorway was the pony in the hallway.

"Sea Current?"

"Aye?"

The pony briefly glanced at me, his expression not changing. I tensed up in my seat.

"Meeting's being called. You're needed," the sailor turned to walk out, then stopped. "Bring him, too."

It was at that moment I felt both of our breaths catch. Me and my father exchanged looks, then got up to follow him out. My mind raced at what was ahead of us. Was the meeting about Dad? Was it about me? Was it about both of us? What on earth—

Glancing upward, I saw we were now standing in the meeting room, along with at least a hundred other sailors. A couple of which peered our way, but didn't speak up. So far, so good, I thought, seating myself beside Dad. Rather closely, too.

At the front of the room, where it was more darkened, sat a whiteboard, a rolled-up projection screen, and on either sides, numerous plastered papers that couldn't be made out from where we were. Or, my eyesight is just terrible.

A trio of ponies entered, one without his cover (uniform cap). Everypony in the room stood, creating a collective rustle of clothing and hooves on the floor, and I followed suit quickly.

"At ease," the older-looking pony called out, and all sat back down. He cleared his throat, stopping and scanning over the collection of sailors in the room.

"What we are here to discuss is the ongoing situation in the east Griffon colonies, or the G.E. for short. As we are all very much aware of, the Griffon Empire's Naval Commander was executed in the streets of Grestin about three weeks ago, and their Primary Generals are nowhere to be found.

"I have now been informed that two of the four Primary Generals are now dead, as well, and the remaining two are in captivity under the new rule, which is spreading across the kingdom like the plague. Their primary goal is to assassinate the King next and assume control over the Griffon Empire."

Some in the room gasped, others quietly exchanged brief conversations about the matter. The high-ranking stallion at the front tapped his hoof on the floor, bring all eyes back to him.

"With these assassinations, while the King is still in power, he has no control over the country's military, and it is already halfway in control by the assailants, which have now given themselves the name, the New Order of Gryphons, or N.O.G.

"Added to that, we now have reason to believe their naval fleet is crossing the Antlertic, possibly on a path toward Equestria. If this is truly the case, then it will be all hooves on deck here quite soon," the commander spoke grimly in the last sentence.

More chatter built up in the room, increasing in volume after some time. Two more hoof taps brought their attention back to the commander.

"I ask of you all to remain on the task at hoof. We could very well be on the threshold of war, mares and gentlecolts. The first naval-involved war in centuries. Your commanding officers will hold separate briefings to prepare you for deployment."

⚓

The walk home was long. Long, cold, and wet, to be more precise. Neither of us said a word from the moment we left the gate to when we came up on our home. Just by a single glance to my right, I could tell how he felt, judging by the look in his eyes. This was a new type of fear between us both.

Today had been a long day. Long for me, even. Being on base when I wasn't supposed to was stressful to begin with, having to deal with the tension in the air during the commander's meeting only added to that. Both me and Dad knew very well he would be leaving again soon. I think the worst part about it was knowing the both of us had to break the news to Mom, rather than Dad bring it up to the both of us like he used to.

Walking inside, we gently hung up our clothes, Dad holding his hoof on the jacket after hanging it up and staring down toward the floor. I felt my ears fall back, and I reached a hoof to rest on his shoulder.

He didn't even look my way, nor acknowledge my presence. At least, not for a minute, which is when we heard Mom coming.

"Hey, how are my two boys?" She approached with a welcoming smile.

"Fine, dear, just fine," Dad replied. His tone was enough to make Mom question it, which was her next look.

"Something wrong, honey?" Her smile faded, an eyebrow raising with suspicion. She then looked at me to see I had a similar reaction.

"I think it's somethin' to talk about over dinner, alright?" Sea slowly wrapped a hoof around Mom, nuzzling her mane slightly.

"Of course, hun."

⚓

By dinner, we sat at the table, eating our meals quietly. No one had said a word just yet, and Mom still had her look of suspicion and concern all across. Fifteen years taught me how she felt just by facial expressions.

"Sooo..." She began, scooping her fork at some mashed potatoes. "How was work?"

"It was good," Dad replied flatly, poking at his food. I did the same, my head leaned onto my hoof.

"That's... good," she turned to me, swallowing a bite of her food. "How was it with Dad today?"

"A bit slow, but good," I hadn't moved my eyes up to her. This caused more suspicion.

"Okay, both of you, what is wrong? You have been like this for the last hour and a half. Did something happen?"

Sea looked at me. I looked right back at him. He nodded gently once, turning to Mom.

"Sweetie, there's somethin' I need to tell you that Anchorage already knows."

Hazy's brow furrowed more, she slowly nodded in response. "Alright. What is it?"

Dad took her hoof slowly, gripping it with a slight tremble. "I'm being deployed again soon."

"Deployed?" Mom blinked twice. "I mean... what's the concern about it?"

Dad sighed softly. "We... might be going to war."

"W-war?!" Mom gasped, eyes opening wide with shock.

Dad nodded slowly. "They're ordering everypony to be on alert and the fleets are heading out for sea soon. There's reason to believe the Griffons are going to invade Equestria if nothing is done."

"The Griffons? Invading us? But why?"

"Honey, I don't think that's something you need to—"

I jumped up slightly, fork clinking on the plate. "The eastern kingdoms are under attack by their own, their king is being overthrown and their generals are being killed!"

Dad glared slightly at me afterwards, Mom gasped again and looked at him.

"Honey..."

"Hazy, I promise you. Everything is going to be just fine—"

"H-how do you know? What if you go out and don't come back?!"

Dad sighed, then made gentle eye contact with Mom.

"Listen, dear, Equestria has the most advanced naval force in the world. The Griffons have one of the oldest and least advanced. They still have wooden ships and conventional cannons. If by any chance they managed to sink one of our vessels or disable it, there's another two to take its place."

Just by the sound of his voice, it was the least bit evident he was lying about something. I knew he was worried. He had reason to be. Mom believed him, though.

"If you say so, Sea," she nodded in understanding.

Dad nuzzled her gently, pulling her close. "I don't want you or Anchorage to worry."

Mom sniffled slightly. "When do you h-have to leave?" She squeaked out.

Dad once more sighed. "In a week or two. Until then... I promise to spend as much time as I can with you. Both of you."

Author's Note

Sorry if this chapter is a bit rushed. I'm hoping chapter 5 won't be so, since it took me forever to get this one done.

5. Deployment Blues

And so, that week was gone in a flash. The big day was here. The day in which I would say goodbye to my father for another three or more months, or however long he would remain at sea until the conflicts across the ocean ceased or were resolved.

These were the only times civilians were allowed on base. Since our town was so small, that was everypony here to bid farewell to the sailors shipping out into hostile waters. Among those ponies were myself and Mom.

Standing in the center of a weeping crowd, my father, dressed in his work uniform rather than the average crackerjacks, held both me and my mother in either hooves as tightly as possible.

"Try not to worry too much about me," Sea spoke softly. "This is not much different than the last times."

"Please, honey," Hazy sniffled softly, retreating back from the embrace to look my father in the eyes. "Please, come back to us, safe and sound."

Sea smiled genuinely, a smile that typically calmed Mom instantly. "I will. I promise."

With one final, lung-crushing hug, my father begun to step away toward the brand new, fresh-out-of-the-shipyard destroyer as other sailors had already boarded, or were currently doing so.

Me and Mom observed as he walked up the ramp onto the massive vessel. He gave a final glance our way, a look of concern, and even a bit of fear all over. That was a new sight to see. A terrifying one, at that. It was a look I would remember forever.

As the last of the crew boarded, some gathered on the railing, waving their hats to everypony in a final goodbye. On the far side of the ship, a pair of smaller tugboats rolled in, towing the enormous hunk of steel away from the pier, facing it seaward.

In a sole plume of smoke from the exhaust stack, the engines whirred to life, kicking up some rather high surf in its wake as it began to sail away, joining a multitude of other distant ships within the fleet that had come from other cities.

Some ponies, family or no family aboard that boat, wept at their departure. My mother was among those in a breakdown, and she only had me to hold, and I only had her to comfort.

All we could do from this very moment on, was hope and pray for a safe return.

⚓

In hopes of keeping much of the negativity out of our lives, throughout the first two weeks, me and Mom kept the radio turned off. The both of us had decided it was no good to continuously feed ourselves with news that may only worsen our fears. Dad was typically the one to read a newspaper, which also meant Mom had no reason to buy one. At least, not until he is back.

Nonetheless, Dad was still on the top of our minds, no matter the time of day. It felt... off. Even around town was different. The way ponies acted, even how they spoke. Everypony seemed to know well. The feelings were all mutual.

One brisk morning, after showering and dressing up warm to my standards, I made my way down the stairs, slinging my feather-weight backpack across my shoulder with a hoof through one strap, and stopped at the door.

"I'm leaving, Mom. I will see you after school," I called out. No response. "Mom?"

"O-oh, yes. Alright, honey. I'll see you later. I love you," she finally responded from the living room.

One ear pinned back slightly. Part of me felt the need to check on her. The other part was trying to tug me out the door. I was running a little behind for school as it is. I could not be tardy for the third day in a row.

"I love you too, Mom," I replied, taking the doorknob in my hoof and pulling inward, and on my way I was.

A light rain fell from the overcast sky above, somewhere between a sprinkle and a drizzle. The buttoned-up jacket I wore kept out much of the breeze that ran down the street in a losing battle against myself.

From deep thought I was startled as one of my hooves landed in a puddle, sploshing slightly onto my sleeve. Softly, I groaned, shaking off my now-drenched hoof and continuing downhill and into town.

⚓

Somehow, at some point, I ended up at school earlier than I expected to be, just as other students were filing in through the doors and into the halls of the small building.

"Hey, Anchorage," came a filly's voice to my left.

Glancing up and over from the tiled floor, I blinked twice, eyes meeting those of Misty's. "Hey."

The just barely-shorter crepe filly met my pace as we walked to class, one hoof on her backpack strap while it rested on her shoulder. "I haven't seen you lately. Where have you been?"

"I haven't missed school. Maybe you just... were looking at the wrong time," I replied halfheartedly.

Misty proceeded not to question that, and instead nodded. "Have you seen Azeruth?"

"I spotted him at the market on Sunday. Why?"

"He hasn't been to school since... yeah."

"I can understand that. Teacher ain't punishing anypony for staying home. Not yet, at least," I faced ahead, slowing my pace to keep the conversation going a bit longer.

Misty nodded slowly. "How are you handling?"

My gaze shifted to the teenage filly briefly, then once more forward. "Better than last week."

"What about your mom? Have you been taking care of her?"

"We've... kind of been taking care of each other as of late. We're used to Dad being gone a lot, so, it's not really anything new at this point."

Misty nodded again. "Alright. I was just checking. Hey, later on, wanna meet up with Vixen and go to the Salty Lion?"

I went over the plan in my mind for a little bit before nodding. "Sure, that sounds good."

The light pink filly smiled slightly. "You tell your mom first, though, so she doesn't worry."

"I will," I returned the smile, stopping at my locker.

Misty kept the smile, then walked off and rounded a corner to her own. I watched as she left, smile gently growing but remaining weak.

A sudden ringing echoed throughout the halls, the two-minutes-before-class warning, and it immediately reshifted my focus back to school.

Taking the combination lock in hoof and twisting the dial, until the click that jarred my locker's door open, I slid my backpack from my shoulders and hung it up on a small hook inside. Unzipping and reaching inside the bag, I then pulled out some pieces of paper, my homework that was due today. Any more pieces, and somepony might have believed I was bringing some sort of presentation.

I wouldn't exactly call it procrastination, although, I have been slacking on completing homework in the last few days starting from last week. It didn't help at all that, with my recent tardiness, the teacher decided it would be a brilliant idea to double the work I needed to do per night. As if two full sheets of algebra problems were not enough already...

Turning around and taking a final glance at my homework, I froze upon bumping into a taller figure, whose shadow loomed over me almost threateningly. My gaze moved up from my homework, eyes meeting those of a smirking colt standing in center of two others who had surrounded me. The school bullies.

"Can I help you?" I asked flatly, kicking my locker door shut gently with one of my hinds and eying the center pony.

"How's your fillyfriend treating you, Anchorage?" the taller, older earth colt chuckled. "Anchorage... what kind of name is that?" he cackled, this time with the other two joining in.

Rolling my eyes, I answered, "For the five-hundredth time, Cobalt. She is not my fillyfriend, and again, for the six-hundredth time, it is a maritime term," I motioned a hoof. "Defined by a ship finding a suitable place to—"

Before I could finish, both of Cobalt's hooves shoved me back into the closed locker with a hard clank and a grunt coming from me upon impact.

"Shut up, Anchorage. Nopony cares about what your name is supposed to mean, if it means anything!" He snarled, pressing a hoof to my chest to hold me against the locker.

I shifted slightly in Cobalt's hold, continuing to eye him carefully, though primarily unfazed by this latest attempt of his to break me. "Then why are you here?"

"Misty is mine, you hear? And if I find out she falls for you, guess who's going home with a black eye... or two?" Cobalt chuckled, his other hoof raising, recoiling back.

My gaze moved to his hoof, half-preparing for it to pump forward in a painful hit. I knew he wouldn't, though. Despite his intimidating appearance and personality, for the last two years, this has always been as far as he's gone. Even after being caught by teachers once or twice, he kept going at it.

"Whatever you say, Cobalt. Me and her are just friends. I'm fairly certain that she doesn't have a taste for colts like you and I."

His smirk faded, transforming into a scowl, his hoof further recoiling back. "What is that supposed to mean?!"

"It means she is not looking for anypony to date. More so, you will be the last she goes to just for the fact that you try to make it appear as if you two are dating," I lifted my hooves to the one holding me to the wall, prying it off carefully.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get to class, and so do you," I said, beginning to walk around him.

"Hey! I didn't give you permission to leave!" Cobalt spun around, swiping a hoof and loudly smacking the paper out of my hooves, covering the floor beneath us in my homework.

I turned around quickly, glaring right back up at him. "Just, back off, alright? I'm really not in the mood for this today," then reached down to regather my work.

With no further reply from him, I filed my homework neatly and begun walking off.

"His father doesn't love him, that's why he named him Anchorage," Cobalt whispered from behind to his buddies.

"He named him that because he's in the Navy. Anypony who names their foals after their passion doesn't care for them."

"I'm sorry, come again?" I stopped, glancing back at him with a suspicious eyebrow raised.

Cobalt turned in my direction. "Butt out of it."

"Because... I could have sworn I heard you say something about my father," I rounded back towards him slowly. "That's surely not true, is it?"

"So what if it is? I can gossip about anypony I please. Now, get out of my face!" He pulled a hoof back, thrusting forward to punch me.

Out of defensive reflex, my wings opened, quickly moving me just out of the way of his hoof and landing no more than a couple feet from where I had just stood. My eyes immediately locked with his.

"I see how it is," I replied, spreading my wings and flapping hard once, propelling me forward, directly into Cobalt at a speed that shocked even him.

Falling to the cold tile with a deep grunt, Cobalt's eyes opened up wide at my attack. Now he was the one staring up at me, and I was on top of him, tossing punch after punch into his muzzle.

Much of the minute was a blur, his yelps and cries tuned out while I proceeded to practically beat him senseless. The two others he typically strolled with hadn't made a single move to pull me off of their friend, instead rushing off. I didn't have a single care for them. My primary focus was Cobalt.

"N-no, stop! Agh!" He yelped and wriggled underneath. "St-stop, Anchorage, stop!"

"Anchorage!"

My hoof froze just mere inches from Cobalt's blood-dripping nose. Any more hits and he likely would have passed out, now that I got a decent second look at him.

Gradually I swung around, body trembling and heart pumping quickly and heavily in my chest. A crowd had gathered down the hallway, in center standing the school's few teachers, and the principal, all staring with horror mixed with shock.

It was somewhere in those heart-wrenching moments where I finally realized, Cobalt had broken me.

Author's Note

Another well-overdue (and unexpectedly shorter) chapter. I was hoping to create more of a darker atmosphere in this one, so I do hope I pulled it off just right.

More chapters should (hopefully) be coming soon, so keep an eye peeled!

6. Homecoming

To my left, opposite of the closed-off room, stood a lone uniformed stallion keeping watch solely over me and to keep me from running. Not that I planned to, anyways. Behind the shut frosted-glass door, the muffled chatter between the school's principal and my mother was all to be heard.

With droopy ears and little regard for my current surroundings, I faced down to my cuffed hooves. For all I knew, the officer was contemplating bringing me to the base north of here.

Our town didn't have need for a police department, or a Royal Guard division, like most cities had. Because Gander Cove is so small, the naval base was technically our police force, and military police were the only authority. They could not be deployed, so no matter the circumstance, they would always have a presence in town.

"He insulted my father..." my inner voice said.

It apparently wasn't my inner voice, but instead my actual voice, because the officer replied to it out of the blue.

"Violence is in no shape or form the correct response, kid."

I didn't bother looking up. My heart ached further. Now I had to talk to him.

"He disrespected him. He threatened me."

I assume he looked at me then. The sudden feeling of him watching ran like a cold chill up my spine.

"Who is your father? Is he deceased?" The officer asked.

Slowly and briefly I shook my head. "No, sir. He deployed recently."

"What was his name?"

"Sea Current."

No response.

My gaze shifted up to the officer slowly after a few moments of silence. I'd noted he had taken a seat on the wood bench to my left.

"The name is carried about, though I have not personally met your father."

"So, you do know him?"

"Know of him, yes," the officer nodded, removing his cap and keeping faced forward. "Violence is still no good answer, son."

"I... couldn't help it," my teeth lightly grit. Brief memories of my hooves striking painfully into Cobalt's muzzle flashed back, forcing me to wince. "He was just so obnoxious... then he decided to insult him! I... had enough."

"I understand that," he said, this time with a little more care in his tone above the flatness. "But, did he attack you first? Were you in any sort of danger?"

"He tossed me against the locker and held me there for a short period... after that, I... walked away. Then I heard him mumble those words, and... I lost it."

"So there was provocation?"

"Sort of... the insults w-were what did me in," I lifted a chained hoof, bringing the other up with it, and wiped a tear away.

"I see," the officer went back to his flat tone, with no further reply after that.

My body weakly trembled. Half of it was out of fear of being sent off to jail, or something of that matter. I would become more of a known name around town, and in the worst imaginable way. News didn't usually take long to spread. This would explode.

With no notice beforehand, the metallic clicking of hoofcuffs releasing caught my attention. My tear-glazed eyes opened, now staring down at a pair of uncuffed hooves. Free hooves.

My head snapped up with surprise to the officer, who tucked the cuffs into a pocket with only one hanging out, the key along with them. He stood slowly, then turned to face down at me.

"Your side is more than enough of what I need. I will speak with your teacher, as well as the principal, when you head home," he stared cement.

"Th-thank you..." I shuddered out and nodded my head once, slowly and respectfully.

"Just doing my job. I am sorry you were forced to go through this," he returned the nod, just as the principal's office door swung open. Out stepped my mother, the principal and my class' teacher standing in the doorway as she exited.

The officer shifted his gaze back to me as I stood. "Take care, kid."

Nodding a second time, my focus moved to Mom, stepping up to her side with my head slightly low.

"Come on, Anchorage. L-let's go home," she said, voice broken.

⚓

Second through the door, first on the staircase. Only a few steps up, Mom's throat cleared as she stopped. I froze immediately, peeking nervously over the wood railing down at her.

"Why, Anchorage? Why did you do this?" She weakly spoke.

"Mom, I—"

"Do you have any idea what this means for you? For me? For all of us?!" Her voice raised by the word.

I winced. To have her raise her voice like this was never a good feeling. It resembled an arrow to the heart, and not in the love sort of way.

"I... Mom, please. Let me expl—"

"Do you have any idea? Do you?! Damn it!"

It just got worse. Now came the word only Dad ever used.

"Please, Mom—"

"Anchorage, it's bad enough your father is deployed. Worse yet, I am left alone to take care of... a troublemaker, a school bully!"

"Mom, I didn't want to!"

"You didn't want to what?!" She practically screamed, hoof stomping on the hard wood.

I jumped, recoiling back away from the railing. Never had I seen her this angry in my life. She was tearing up, too, which was worse.

"Mom, I..." I collected myself and breathed out. "I... think it is best if I go upstairs. It's... really been a long day, and... you should rest too, okay? We can, uh... talk about this tomorrow, first thing."

The tears began falling down Mom's cheeks. Sniffling heavily, she nodded after a few moments and turned away, hoof raised to her muzzle to hold back. No further word was said.

Lowering my chin, I sighed quietly, trekking the staircase slowly and up to my room down the hall. For once, the door was not shut all of the way when I'd left it alone. Crawling into bed, I paid no mind to undressing, instead laying down with my jacket still on and looping both forehooves around the pillow carefully.

Above my steady breathing, the single sound emanating from downstairs was the heartbreaking wail of Mom's sobbing, which had gotten progressively worse day in and day out.

I think from that moment on, I found myself, for the first time since foalhood, crying myself to sleep. Silently.

⚓

Early the following morning, my body rose from the silky sheets, having not budged from the same position at all throughout the duration of the night. Shifting upright, my shoulders collapsed back down, eyes tiredly gazing upward, the blurriness fading gradually.

While I could not be for certain, my eyes felt red and puffy. At any moment I expected to come across a mirror, and the first thing I would notice is my tear-strained eyeballs. Perhaps even bloodshot, too.

Coming to my senses, every nerve in my body tingled as if being tickled by a feather. My heart pumped quickly yet gently in my chest, and I took in shaky breaths.

God, what was wrong with me? I have never been like this after waking up in my life.

This must be what it feels like to have anxiety.

I took in slow, deep breaths, so as to hopefully slow my heart rate a tad. The tingling all throughout my body did not cease. To be quite frank, it simply worsened. Short after, I found myself breathing heavily. Heavy enough to hear.

A hoof lifted up to my lower throat, lifting and settling while pressed to the rapid inflation-deflation of my lungs.

The room seemed to darken, as if nightfall had already come and time was speeding right through it. Everything in my room faded away as I zoned out. The voice in my head repeated the words 'make it stop' over and over, gradually getting louder as if coming closer and closer.

"Please, make it stop. Please, make it stop. Please, make it stop. Please, make it stop," the voice echoed, incrementally growing in volume.

A crushing pressure grasped either sides of my head, over the temple, squeezing tighter and harder by the second. At each and every squeeze came a surge of pain that became more excruciating the longer it ensued.

"Please, just... make it stop. Please!" it begged further.

"Help me..." it cried. There was no help in sight. There was nothing.

In the blink of an eye and a gasp, everything returned. I was back in my room, flanks rested on the edge of my bed with my hinds hanging off, just mere inches from the wood surface.

Before a full realization could be made, both hooves released their tight grip on my temples, relieving the pressure they were creating and granting the blood in my head space to flow.

Thoughts raced about my mind. Some of those that caught my attention were ones questioning whether or not I had just inconspicuously made an attempt to kill myself. That could have explained everything going black around me.

I took in a long, deep breath. A relieving breath. One that eased my body, and my mind, temporarily ceasing the constant thinking that was going on up there.

Sliding gently off the edge and standing on all fours, briefly I stretched, withholding a groan and walking with soft clops of my hooves out of my room and into the bathroom, taking my toothbrush in one and toothpaste in the other, squeezing just the right amount onto the bristles.

As I brushed my teeth, the self-speculation lingered anew. Did I actually just try to kill myself? the voice in my head questioned. Was I just zoning out? came the other possibility.

Determining it would be best to assume the latter, the questions pushed away to focus on other pressing matters. Dad.

A sudden stinging surged in the gum between my teeth, prompting me to yank the brush away. Snapping my gaze to the brush now held in front, with a closer look I examined a spot of light red mixed into the crystal texture of the toothpaste.

A warm fluid dripped onto my tongue, followed by the somehow-familiar taste of iron. I raised my other hoof to my mouth and felt around, then drew it away, now observing a thick drip of blood running down my hoof.

Writhing slightly, I ran my hoof beneath some cold water, watching the blood mix into the water pool and tinge it a faint red shade before disappearing down the drain.

Within my closed maw gathered a ball of saliva, collecting the metallic-tasting fluor. One hack later, and the blood in my mouth now spiraled into the sink and out of sight. Yet, with it gone, the bitter taste remained, resting frustratingly above the mint of the toothpaste. It would take something else to rid the iron from my tongue.

Cleaning off and leaving the wet toothbrush in a cup on the countertop, I made my way back into the hallway and down the staircase, only to freeze upon remembering the talk Mom had hoped to have this morning. Great.

So, cautiously I resumed, muffling my hoofsteps as much as possible against the floor surface. Rounding the lower steps and into the living room, I froze. There sat Mom on the sofa, staring blankly at the stone fireplace.

My throat clenched shut, preventing any words from initially coming out. She knew I was there. She was waiting for me to say something.

Eventually, I discovered my voice had returned. "Mom... I..."

"Please, just, sit down, Anchorage."

Heart rate picking back up, nonchalantly I strode further in to the living room and seating on the leather loveseat.

My gaze lifted, setting solely to the hazel mare situated on the couch opposite. Her eyes sat gently shut, chest gradually rising with every soft breath.

A developing lump of an assortment of words just narrowly held back plugged up in my throat. With a single gulp, I attempted to clear it all completely.

"Mom, I-I—"

"I am sorry."

My ice-blue eyes widened just. "Huh?"

Mom's lids parted, her glassy eyes meeting mine softly. "I am sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked, swallowing down another larger blockage.

"For how harsh I have been, how I am," she eased slightly. Only slightly. "As of late, I will admit, there has been simply uncalled for bad blood between us."

My ears languished marginally. I let out a deep breath. "There has."

"Neglect yesterday's incident. I now understand your views on the matter, or, I hope to," Mom looked up again. "What was it that Cobalt did that provoked you to such an act of violence?"

"He disrespected Dad. He said such unimaginable phrases about him. He... said he didn't love me for what he named me," my voice cracked somewhere in between.

"And you found yourself in an unnatural rage?"

"Y... yes. I don't know where it came from," my head slowly shook. The tears were beginning to well up.

"It came from you, Anchorage. Only you."

"Mom, I-I... I'm not like this. Please, believe m-me! I'm not like this!"

"I am not talking about that, Anchorage. Everypony has that emotional stress that may feed into a tangent of pure, uncontained hate," she continued softly. "The same occurred to me last night, before you went to bed, albeit I knew to quiet myself before I made the situation worse."

Gradually my gaze fell down, eyes sleek with water. "How have you been handling?"

"What?" Bemused, her head cocked sideways.

"How have you been managing since he departed?" At any moment I expected some sort of heartfelt, or angry response.

A dead silence filled the room. This silence lasted a good minute or two, until a response finally came.

"Not quite effectively or strongly as I should be," she responded lowly. "I have not lost this much sleep since after I graduated, Anchorage. I'm delirious, yet I am wide awake. Alert for the possibility that two ponies may show up at our front door with a folded flag. It... may as well be the true culprit of our conflict."

Slowly, I nodded. "I can concur with that."

"It is time we change that," she stood upright on the hardwood floor. "The sooner this is settled, the happier both of us will be, and the quicker Sea will be home."

Once more, I glanced up. Her hoof sat extended outward in my direction. One look was given to her desperate eyes.

"We have to do this, Anchorage. Otherwise, we are in for severe pain in the future."

Hesitation built. Yet, so much of me desired a course of action.

My hoof raised up, gently taking Mom's, the other three pushing me up. A look of determination crossed both of our faces.

"Let's do this. Together."

⚓

Battling the brisk autumn ocean breeze, both myself and Mom stood, waiting eagerly, for the moment we have been anticipating for more than six months. Dad was finally coming home.

When the announcement came through the mail, me and Mom rushed to prepare, then raced out to the naval docks, where quite nearly the whole town had gathered for a second time.

Many around us, most that is, were joyful. Elated, even. Then, mixed in between, there were those who appeared the exact opposite. Atop the bittersweet moment, deep down, everypony knew someone wouldn't be coming home.

Almost every pony around us scanned the horizontal ocean surface as far as the eye could see for a sign of an approaching vessel. Just like good old Gander Cove, dense fog blanketed the island for miles, hampering any efforts to spot anything approaching.

In the distance, just barely audible, the deep, signature blare of a horn echoed the hills. Both of my ears perked, snapping to my mom with wide-eyes and a large grin. "Did you hear that?!"

Each blast was separated by an exact ten-second interval, done as procedure when entering low visibility. With every blare it made, the louder it became gradually.

Soon after, others caught on to the noise. Celebratory cheering and stomping exploded in the crowd. One pony stood up, shouting. "Look, out there!"

Piercing through the cloud, the shadowed silhouette of a battleship came into view. Moments passed, and another appeared beside it. Then another. All were on a direct course for port, and neither me, nor Mom, could have been filled with more joy.

Exchanging a crushing-tight embrace, the two of us turned and observed the ships come closer, slowing down on their approach.

I felt at ease. For the first time in half a year, with pure happiness, my mind jumped to one thought. The one and only contemplation that had been kept a secret for far longer. With it, my smile faded just slightly.

"Mom?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"I... I want to be just like Dad. I want to be a sailor."

Author's Note

Another bit of a sad chapter, but things will begin to pick up soon.

7. Sweet Sixteen

At long last, the very moment we've waited what felt like ages for was here.

Sailors standing by on the water's edge were tossed long, extremely thick ropes in preparation to moor the vessel safely against the dock. Down the length of the ship, multiple pairs worked in tandem to tie the ropes. The grunts of effort each one put out was astounding.

Once all four anchor ropes were double-checked, gradually the massive craft slipped closer, only to stop with all but a yard gap between the starboard hull and the concrete pier. From there, the ground operation was not yet finished.

With the crowd giving space, four sailors hauled a wheeled-angled bridge to the side of the ship, two ponies on the deck above locking it in place. In just a moment's notice, ponies in their white-and-black crackerjacks came within view in masses.

All around, cheers exploded in the air. Many broke down sobbing. I know Mom did.

In a single-file line, sailors, with their bags slung over their shoulders, made their way down to the dock, only to be swarmed by friends and family at last reunited.

I held Mom, and she held me back just as tight. Both of us kept an eye out above on the narrow walkway for Sea Current. He would be fairly effortless to spot.

As the last of the sailors disembarked, some galloping off of the ship or simply flying off, the final pony, an azure-maned, sea foam-green pegasus halted his march, his eyes staring right in our direction.

My breath caught, and both ears fell about as quickly as my heart skipped a beat. There he was, standing proud in the bright white uniform with a neat black split-tie around his neck.

With just the blink of an eye, he now stood in front of us, as if a whole minute was wiped out of existence.

The pegasus' eyes welled with tears, his composure struggling to hold before the two of us. Carelessly, he dropped the skinny blue sack from a hold over his shoulder, allowing it to fall on the damp concrete behind.

All three of us seemed to fall into each others' lung-crushing embrace. My muzzle buried into his neck, the wailing of my sobs muffled out entirely as all went eerily silent.

It was not long before reality set in.

Opening my eyes, I glanced up at the ship. Pure horror struck me, arcing through my veins.

Instead of the ship that sailed away with my father a half a year ago, a slightly smaller battle cruiser sat rocking and bobbing gently in the rougher surf, the ponies that moored it to the dock now rushing up the narrow steel-built walkway to the deck.

Countless sections of the ship were damaged. Not entirely with bullet holes, either. At the rear of the bridge, just below the smoke stacks, rested a dark, gaping hole that still smoldered, sharpened pieces of steel peeled backwards in a near-perfect circle around the impact site.

Above the bridge, the towering antenna that on a normal day proudly flew the Equestrian flag, as well as where one of the smaller radar dishes was positioned, almost no longer existed. What remained was bent in an awkward angle, while the upper portion was missing entirely. One could even spot the scorch marks where the steel had been severely burned.

"Medic! We need a medic over here!" Shouted one of the dock workers from the deck, galloping down from the ship in a panic.

On stretchers, some uniformed ponies were carried by others as quickly and carefully as possible. Town folk on the ground made room for the injured as all observed the chaos in utter silence.

Some followed, having somehow received a decent-enough look at the wounded to know for sure it was somepony they knew.

When the last of the severely-injured were removed from the vessel, those who weren't—the grand majority—began disembarking. Rather than the white-and-black crackerjacks as any sailor wore on the day of return, not a single pony did not still don their working uniforms.

Upon closer inspection, very few strode without cuts or bruises, or casts on their hooves. Not many did not have some sort of dirt or grime on them, either. All of these were sure scars of warfare.

With each passing moment, fear for my father rose. I felt the urging need to grasp Mom even tighter now. Her cries of joy and excitement for reuniting with Sea had rapidly shifted over into sobs of terror.

All around, the semi-chaotic reconciliation between distraught serviceponies and those braving the cold to meet them again was well underway. Perhaps one or two ponies in the gathering hopped for joy. Apart from them, not one soul appeared celebratory.

Anxiously, we froze in place, inspecting the bedraggled sailors one by one while they marched cautiously off of the boat and on to dry land for the first time in half a year.

By each passing second, the further concerned Hazy became for Dad. I didn't. Not yet. Assuming correct formation remained, everypony under his command would alight prior.

Alas, the last of the crew trickled off of the boat. Minutes ticked by, and thus came the overbearing sense of dismay between either one of us. I felt as if the whole world came to a screeching halt.

But then, a miracle. Down the walkway strode a paltry band of ponies that some could surmise as the higher-ranking officers. My heart pattered with adrenaline. None of the sailors appeared familiar at first, until two of which engaged in conversation came into view.

Now fully alert, my ears stood up straight, and I muttered to Mom, "I know those ponies."

"You w-what?" She sniffled out, thoroughly examining the duo.

Another break. Yet still, no commanding officer in sight.

Then, a tremendous curtain rested upon our backs, relieving the haunting notion that built up higher and stronger over the course of thirty minutes.

Tailing a few feet behind another set of officers, a seafoam-green pegasus sauntered. His tangled, messy azure mane rested heavily hidden away by the cover he wore. From having significantly longer hair the day he left, it was difficult to tell just what happened over that time.

Gazing forward, he almost entirely neglected to notice the pair of hooves waving to grab his attention. He stared blankly at what ever was in front of him, disappearing beneath the horizon of tens of ponies surrounding us.

"I don't think he saw us, come on!" Hazy shouted, yanking my hoof to pull me through the crowd, calling out, "Sea! Hey, Sea!"

My heart raced. It had to have been a minute before my hooves regained traction, although still being dragged along by my mother, just less so. These crowds were far thicker than one who has lived here for as long as I have could imagine. Surely, at least a quarter or more of these ponies came from the mainland.

With another shout, the stallion's head turned in our direction, eyes scanning about. His breath caught upon hearing the familiar voice, and politely, yet gradually moving faster, he began sorting through the crowd and between ponies.

We reached a small opening in the crowd, both coming to a complete halt at the far edge. My heart skipped maybe two or three beats, more than would be considered healthy. There he was.

Our eyes locked, and instantly, all worries washed away, as if a soaking rain came pouring down to cleanse our shared fear and stress.

In what one could make out as just a flash, the three of us brought each other into an equally-tight embrace. One hoof for each of us, but four for him. All other noise drowned itself out, all but the sobs for joy between us three.

He planted kisses on our foreheads, squeezing tighter with both hooves. At some point, his cap had fallen off and laid somewhere on the ground, yet no mind was paid.

"I missed you... so much," he shakily and lowly said, only audible between myself and Mom.

Our responses, despite his comprehension of what was said beneath all of the wailing, to most would be heard as inaudible gibberish.

Eighteen blissful minutes later, what to us felt more on the lines of eighteen hours, or more, he picked up his bag from behind, and his hat, smiling with tear-drenched cheeks.

"Let's go home."

⚓

These first couple of weeks since Dad came home zipped by in a flash. Mom and I went back to our normal lives, relieved to have him home in the wake of six stressful months.

Soon, as well, school would start back up again. Strangely enough, the school system in town had a completely different schedule from those in the mainland.

Here, the school year began after Hearth's Warming. No, more like, right after the new year, then ended about mid-October. What would typically be summer break in Equestria, was considered 'autumn break' in Gander Cove, as it covered the second half of October, to the end of the first week in January.

Impeccable timing, too. With Dad off the boat, and me now out of school, we could finally catch up and hang out!

But, as time went on, I took great note of a change, one posing mild concern. Whenever I sat down with him, he would either glance away, or not notice at all. When I would give a poke to a conversation, he would seem... disinterested. Above all, he seemed distant, much unlike his normal self, especially now almost a month since he came back.

Mom advised to give him space half of the time, or let him sit on the couch or lay in bed in silence, which is just what I did, forcing me to hold back the urge of speaking to him unless he is in one of those moods, as we called it, where he finally talked. Sometimes, he would go two, maybe three days without saying a word. Not around me, that is.

I grew used to this new habit of his over more weeks, about to fall into November, my birth month. Throughout his deployment, I hoped he would at least be home in time for my birthday, which was, quite frankly, the only thing I really wanted.

Although my wish came true, a part of me felt as though not all of him came back, that this was only half of Dad.

By November, this behavior continued with no rhyme or reason to it. He drank more than the occasional stallion's night out to one of the town's limited choice of bars along the waterfront. He didn't hang out with his fellow sailors anymore, either. At home is where he sat down and guzzled alcohol 'til he was buzzed now.

Throughout the first couple of weeks, even Mom acted slightly suspicious. Not in the type of way Dad did in the days after stepping off the boat, but... eerily strange. At least they returned to conversing with each other more normally a month later, yet still, most of the time he'd refuse to even look in my direction.

Mom didn't say much more about it, other than she thought he was doing better. If he told her anything about what happened, it evidently was something I would have to wait until I'm of adult age—two more years away.

⚓

On the seventeenth day of the month, my eyes fluttered open, remaining itchy with tiredness. I yawned softly and quietly, blinking slowly toward the ceiling. Dotted shadows of raindrops sat on my wall, some steadily sliding down the window to my right.

Like most days on this tiny island, they were either cold, rainy, cold and rainy, or simply overcast—or snowing. For this late in the year, annually, we'd have had our first snowfall three blizzards or so ago. Rarely did it rain in November.

I sat up, careful as to not leave my bed sheets too messy, tidying them as if I floated out from beneath them, much like every morning. It became quite the habit for cleanliness in my room after so long of this routine.

Almost immediately after opening my bedroom door, my nose met the sweet aroma of pancakes and scrambled eggs flooding the hallway from downstairs. My stomach growled, the scent most certainly the reason behind it.

Without tripping over myself, I stumbled out of my room and down the corner staircase, looping around the railing and into the small corridor between the living room and kitchen.

"Hehey, there he is!" Smiled my father, sipping coffee at the dining table.

"Morning, Dad," I returned the smile, but then froze, met with bewilderment. "If you're here, then who's—"

"Good morning, my love!" chimed Mom, gently scrambling the eggs on the frying pan. She set down the spatula, walking up and pressing her hooves on my cheeks, planting a kiss on my nose. "Happy birthday, sweetie!"

My eyes widened. It was my birthday! Everything on my mind, I neglected to realize for this long just how close my birthday was, and today was the day, November 17th!

Lightly I blushed. "Thank you, Mom," I brought her into a brief tight squeeze.

"I'm making your favorite with your father," she smiled, returning to the stove to tend to the eggs.

"I made the pancakes, she's making the eggs," Sea added, reading a newspaper with a soft smile.

"It smells wonderful. Might be what woke me up," I chuckled, sitting across from Dad and waiting patiently.

"So, Anchorage," he began, folding up his newspaper and placing it to the side. He leaned forward on the table, making eye contact, but breaking it as he turned to Mom. "Honey, should I spill the surprise?"

"No, let it come!"

Dad chuckled. "Well, guess you have to wait a bit longer. It'll come after breakfast," he winked with a smile.

"I can't wait," I smiled. "I'll really be surprised, I didn't wish for anything in particular."

"You'll love it, we guarantee it. Last thing on the top of your mind."

The excitement only further built—as did some anxiety, but mostly excitement! In all reality, nothing could possibly disappoint me, assuming Dad wouldn't be leaving again. What kind of happy surprise would that be, anyway?

⚓

Finishing up breakfast, as stuffed as one could be, I silenced a belch and gulped down the last of the apple juice in my glass. Before I could move, Mom walked around, taking my dishes.

"Thank you," I smiled. "That was amazing."

"Glad you liked it, honey," Mom smiled, kissing my forehead, bringing the dishes to the sink for later washing.

"So, Dad, how was—"

A solid knock on the door interrupted, all eyes turning in that direction. I glanced back to Mom and Dad.

"Who could that be? Neighbor?"

"Perhaps you should go see," Dad smiled.

On a normal day, opening the door was the last thing they would be happy with me doing. Despite knowing everypony in town, that was one of the house rules. This was weird.

I got up, sliding my chair in, striding to the door and twisting the lock, pulling inward. My eyes shot wide-open, blood running cold.

"Good morning. You are Anchorage, I presume?" said the uniformed earth pony, dressed head to hoof in Navy blues, a sealed box across his back and a clipboard in his hoof.

"Yeah—er. Yes, sir, that is me," I straightened my posture a bit.

The stallion outreached his free hoof forward, which I took after a second of examining it. He shook firmly with the strength to quite possibly rip my arm off clean.

"I am Lieutenant Commander Reveille, assigned to the Junior Officer Naval Reserves in Alderneigh," he glanced up from his clipboard, expression blank.

"The Reserves are always open to new recruits, it pleases us to add to our ever-growing community, especially this far north," he grimaced slightly. I grinned faintly at that, and he raised an eyebrow. Immediately I wiped the grin.

"As of the twenty-fourth, you are expected at port to embark on the journey of a lifetime," he placed the clipboard to the side, reaching back to grab the box. "The paperwork has already been signed by your parents, therefore, I am obliged to provide you with thi—"

Before he could finish, I fainted to the ground with a an audible thud. The poor stallion's eyes widened, leaning down to examine me, wondering just what he did wrong.

Author's Note

One more chapter 'til we're past the halfway mark in the story!

8. Junior Officer Naval Reserves

I woke on the couch in the living room with a gasp, shooting upright and causing both my parents and the uniformed pony to jump. Panting and steadily calming, I turned to my parents, who looked right back with concern.

"I just had the craziest dream, you guys—" I froze, making eye contact with the Junior Reserves instructor. "Never mind, it's real."

"Are you okay, honey? You took quite a nasty fall," my mother said, holding a glass of water closer to me.

"I'm... fine," I shifted a bit and rubbed the back of my head, where I hit it the moment I fainted minutes earlier. "That hurt..."

"Looks like it did," the Lieutenant Commander, grabbing my attention a second time. "I was worried I did something."

"Just... left me shocked, is all," I let out a deep breath. "So, I'm... going to Alderneigh? To be in the Naval Reserves?"

"Junior Officer Naval Reserves, yes," my father nodded, then smiled timidly. "Me and your mother both know how much you love the ocean, and the Navy, to be more specific. We did some searching, and found out about a program for colts and fillies in their preteen and teenage years, and we decided to sign you up for your birthday."

"We thought about doing it when you were fifteen, Anchorage, but the process of signing you up took longer than we expected, so we held it off until now," Hazy smiled, nuzzling my cheek. "Do you... like it?"

"Like it?" A grin cracked on my muzzle. "I love it... I'm excited! Beyond excited, even. Thank you, thank you both!" I looped my hooves around both of my parents tightly. "I love you guys."

"We love you too, Anchorage," Sea returned the gentle hug, then released after a few seconds, as did my mother.

"Now, if you won't pass out this time," Reveille said, bringing a chuckle out of my parents. "I meant to give you this, before we go."

The stallion slipped a sealed package before me on the couch, then pulled out a small knife and placed it on top. "You might need that to open it, they tend to use the thickest tape for these."

Nodding, I picked up the knife carefully, beginning to cut down the center of the box and slice the tape neatly, then the flaps on the side. I handed the knife back to the Lieutenant Commander, then pulled the flaps open with a snap of the tape.

Layered above the contents of the package sat some bubble wrap, which I pulled out and placed off to the side, turning back to what sat beneath it. What I saw made my eyes grow wide.

Reaching my hooves in, I pulled out a brand new, all-blue uniform, in yellow wording on the name tag reading 'Anchorage', and on the opposite side, 'J.O.N.R'. Beneath that, an eight-pointed cap matching the color of the uniform. It had nothing on it but a silver anchor in center on front of the hat.

"You will have more options at the camp for your cover, depending on how long you stay with us. We have clothes for all types of weather," Reveille flatly added, expression retaining its blank nature.

My father smiled again. "Why don't you try it on, Anchor?"

Typically I had a strong dislike for trying on clothes for my parents, yet this was the one time I would gladly do it. Leaping up off of the couch and over the back, I rushed into the bathroom and shut the door, probably too fast for any of them to notice immediately.

⚓

One by one, the buttons slipped through the slit holes along the edges to close up the uniform. For this long it stumped me just how many buttons there were. Evidently, it was so the whole jacket couldn't come undone during a fight. It still made no sense, though.

I raised my chin, examining myself in the mirror and adjusting the collars to straighten them evenly. This would certainly take some time to accustom with after wearing casual clothes my whole life.

When nothing on the jacket appeared crooked or uneven, I reached off to the side, picking up the eight-pointed cap and slipping it on my head, sliding comfortably between my ears and covering the majority of my mane. I readjusted it a couple of times to pull the bill down, like a normal hat.

Except, when it came to the military, nopony wore them normally. Rather, they sort of just halfway sat on top of your head with not much stability, as if the slightest of breezes would knock it off your head.

After no more than a couple of minutes to contemplate which way I should wear it, I took it off, then placed it back on formally, then straightened my posture to look at myself in the mirror. Without trying to brag or anything, but damn, did I look good! The blue of the uniform matched my mane, and even went along with the white-grey of my coat.

Eventually, I had enough of staring at myself, turning and walking out of my bedroom, stopping at the door with a hoof on the light switch.

My gaze scanned across the room slowly, bringing a notable frown to my muzzle. I let out a deep breath, accepting this to be the last time I will see this room—sleep in that bed, sit at that desk, stare out the window—for months. Until Hearth's Warming, probably, which was only a month away, not that we celebrated it. The Lieutenant Commander had not been entirely specific on what holidays we would go home for.

Shifting my hoof down, the light on the ceiling fan switched off with a flick, and I pulled the door shut, further darkening the room, then striding down the hallway and down the staircase, and into the living room, where my parents sat.

"Mom, Dad," I said, grabbing their attention from the corridor leading into the room. I nodded once. "I'm ready."

⚓

In the gradually-brightening dawn, the three of us stood along a wooden pier at the marina. Few other ponies stood there as well, but not to watch me leave. They were among the few traveling to the mainland, like myself, waiting to board the ferry.

For minutes on end, I held my parents in a tight hug, one in each hoof. My mother quietly sobbed and trembled, not due to the cold, either. Out of them both, she hugged the tightest. Any tighter, and my lungs might have burst.

"Do you p-promise to write every week, A-Anchorage?" Hazy shakily said, sniffling as she released me.

"As often as they'll let me, Mom," I smiled genuinely, albeit nervously. "Cross my heart and hope to fly," I added, gesturing over my chest in an 'X' symbol.

"A-and you'll be home for the New Year, right?"

"I'll have to see about that. They might send me home for Hearth's Warming, but, he didn't say."

My father chimed in after a lengthy silence on his part. "They will, as long as the weather is in our favor."

"Is it ever?" I chuckled softly, breath steaming in the cold of dawn. "I promise, it won't be long before I'm home again."

Sea gently placed a hoof on my shoulder. "We know, Anchorage. And, we're sorry your friends could not come to say goodbye."

My faint smile faded, but I nodded. "It's too early for them to be out here, anyways. Plus, they already know I'm leaving, so it's not like they aren't aware."

He nodded back slowly. "I understand."

The horn of the ferry sounded, startling us three, the other ponies on the dock beginning to walk along the short bridge up to the deck. I turned back to my parents slowly.

"You better go, Anchorage. They hate waiting," my father said.

I nodded a second time, hugging him and my mother again, tightly, but briefly. "I love you guys."

"W-we love you, too," Hazy sniffled out with a cracking voice.

Releasing them, I turned around, walking up the bridge and stopping halfway, inhaling, then letting out a deep breath, continuing up to the deck of the small vessel. A worker on the dock began reeling back the boarding bridge, and the gate along the side of the ferry closed.

The horn blared twice, signalling the ferry's departure. I leaned against the railing, looking down at my parents standing side by side on the dock, waving to them as the boat steadily drifted away from the marina and started its engine.

My father raised his hoof, gently waving in return. Until they were out of sight, thanks to fog, I remained against the railing, before heading inside the ferry to sit down, glancing up at a small screen that showed a regional map, showing the island, and Equestria to the west. It projected our path, our current position, and where we were due to make port in Alderneigh.

It felt very strange, sitting here on the mainland ferry, all by myself. The last time I rode on this boat in particular was when we first moved to Gander Cove. To see Alderneigh again will be even weirder. I imagine, by now, it didn't even look the same as it used to.

⚓

With the fog a distance behind us, and the sun cresting above the ocean horizon, I stood up from my seat and made my way out of the passenger cabin and along the front of the ferry. A smile crept its way across my muzzle, gawking with awe as the skyline of Alderneigh gradually approached.

Many other vessels of all size bustled around the bay-like harbor, ranging from sailboats to dinghies, other ferries, freighter and tanker ships, and everything in between. Basically anything but a warship. It was almost a dream come true. Almost.

I ventured back inside when the nipping cold filled in through my sleeves and collar, sending numerous shivers up my spine. The city itself was not situated too far south from home, a couple hundred miles at most, or more, so a change of climate was not a thing just yet, except for maybe one or two degrees.

The ferry eased closer to the dock and the adjacent terminal on steel girders above the concrete pier, with moving staircases in either direction. After leaving the boat behind and following the other passengers to the moving steps, I came to a halt, scrutinizing on the strange mechanism. A moving staircase... what kind of world was I in?

Reaching a hoof forth carefully, I jerked it back and took a few steps away. My ears fell back, and not once did I remove my eyes from the conveyor belt-like staircase. I ran forward, leaping up over the steel grate, then landing on one of the steps with a relieved sigh, being gradually carried up into the packed terminal that bustled with activity left and right, and everywhere in between.

Stumbling at the top, I scrambled to regain my hoofing, catching myself on a light pole and standing upright. Without a doubt I was blushing at that very moment in embarrassment. Thankfully, it seemed, nopony was watching at the time.

Taking a moment to breathe out and beginning to walk further into the terminal, toward what appeared to be an indoor strip mall of some sort, with restaurants, shops, vendors, even a plaza—all of this beneath a glass-paned arched roof that looked up into the sky. The entire building itself seemed to be windows nonstop, with massive beams stretching every which way for stability. This definitely wasn't home.

I had to stop near the center of this massive structure, glancing around without a clue of where to go next. Ponies walked past, conversing with one another, or over what appeared to be mobile phones. Nopony in Gander Cove had those, either.

From this vantage point, nothing was even remotely familiar, nor was I aware to keep my eyes peeled for something or somepony in particular upon arrival. The slightest idea of where the camp was sat in my mind, as shown on a map that was somewhere in my backpack.

Sighing, I strode over to a set of eating tables where some ponies enjoyed a warm breakfast or lunch, sitting down in one of the chairs and leaning against the table with a yawn mixed in with a stressed groan.

Here I was, in the middle of a big city, in a building I have not ever seen in my life, around ponies I hadn't a clue of who they were, hours away from home and without any means of contacting my parents, or the Lieutenant Commander—whom I would've thought might accompany me on the boat, but nooooope!

Rubbing my forehead, I blinked slowly, looking down at the frosted-glass table. Think, Anchorage, think.

"Ahem."

Glancing up from the table, my eyes met the gaze of a scruffy-looking stallion in green overalls and a matching flat-billed baseball cap. In one hoof, he held a mop, and a wheeled water cart stood a couple feet away.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. Were you about to clean here?" I picked up my backpack to stand up. "Because I'll move—"

The messy stallion shook his head and waved a hoof. "No, no, I wasn't. Do ya need some directions? You look lost, youngin'."

Stopping, I lowered my bag onto the table, nodding slowly. "Have you seen any sailor-like ponies around here?"

"None other than the ferry captains, I'm sorry," he shook his head, then tapped his chin with his hoof. "Actually..."

My ears perked and I looked up at him again. "Hmm?"

"I did see a stallion in them there clothes ya have on, somethin' like that, an' he was holdin' a sign. You lookin' for him?"

I shot up out of the chair, pushing it in. "Yes! Thank you, sir," then rushed off. Only a moment later did it set in, and I backed myself up. "Sorry, where did you see him?"

"Front of the building, near the main entrance. Ya can't miss 'im," the janitor responded.

"You're a lifesaver, man, thank you!" I smiled, trotting off toward the end of the building as told.

"Good luck in boot camp!" he shouted after me, then went back to mopping the floor.

Boot camp? He must have confused me with an actual sailor. Then again, the uniforms were strikingly similar in most forms. A look from afar between myself and somepony actually serving—Reveille for example—and somepony would believe we were one in the same.

I moved through some thicker crowds near the exit, slowing down and keeping an eye out for the Lieutenant Commander, or somepony he might have sent.

Walking around a corner, I stopped, gaze setting on a younger-looking stallion in a uniform not unlike my own at all. He stood statue-still, holding a small white sign in one hoof with the word 'Anchorage' on it.

Blinking twice and beginning to walk closer, I cleared my throat, then spoke up. "Sir?"

He turned his head just slightly, probably eyeballing me through the sunglasses he wore. "You Anchorage?" he asked, my assumption being just to make sure he didn't grab the wrong pony. I nodded in response.

Folding up the sign and tucking it away into a pocket, he shifted around and began walking toward the revolving door, gesturing for me to follow him.

We moved through the revolving door and out onto the brisk, breezy street. Masses of ponies walked the sidewalks, while others hitched to carriages trotted or galloped past with passengers sitting comfortably in back. One stood out above all, a black covered carriage parked along the curb with a warmly-dressed pony standing by, waiting for the both of us.

The stallion walked up to the carriage, opening a small gate-like door and taking some steps back. "After you."

Nodding with a smile, I walked up. "Thank you, sir," then climbed into the carriage, sitting down on the fine leather chair inside, as did him, closing the door.

Almost as soon as we were in and took our seats, the pony hauling the carriage started trotting down the street, and turning at an intersection that took us further into downtown.

Out the windowless side of the carriage, I glanced all around in awe. Alderneigh certainly had changed since my last visit years prior. It seemed as though the high rise buildings went on as far as the eye could see! Block after block stood tall buildings that shadowed the streets below, with only narrow rays of sunlight filling in the gaps between them.

I then turned to the uniformed pony sitting beside me. "How far is the camp?"

He tediously smiled. "No more than ten minutes from here. Enjoy the sights while you're at it, get used to them. You'll be waking up to them every single day from now on."

From now on? Not forever, I imagine. Even if I were to stay put the remainder of my colthood, legally, I would have to leave in two years, anyway. They can't keep me here forever, nor would I want to.

Needless to say, though, the closer we came to the camp, the more anxious I became—and not in the good manner.

Author's Note

I think I'm finally back in the groove of working on this story. So, here, have another chapter! Next one should be just as long, if not longer, and shouldn't take me a month to complete. Also, we are now at the halfway mark in the story!

Stay tuned for chapter 9!

9. Friend Ship

With a dropped jaw and wide-eyes of awe, I gawked out at the campus-like facility, surrounded from all directions with wrought iron fence. Building after building stood within the grounds, almost completely covering the area, and ponies walked about in groups or individually.

The main C-shaped building in the center stood above all, a clock tower spire overlooking from four more stories above. On top proudly flew the Equestrian flag, and beneath it, the Equestrian Navy.

We entered through the main gate, the carriage pulling up along the rounded curb that looped around a sculpture fountain, the statue sitting above the water pumps being an anchor with a short chain hanging off the edge.

The pony I sat with opened the little door and stepped out, waving to me, and I scooted over, then took the small hop and planting my hooves on the cobble. Two others stood along the curb, the carriage moving up to them, and they climbed in.

My assumption was that stallion pulling the carriage did rounds, back and forth between this camp and the docks, or elsewhere. There was a term for that service, and it sat on the tip of my tongue.

The uniformed pony accompanying me turned with a warm smile. "Welcome to Camp Wallop, Anchorage."

Facing ahead, I stared down the wide path, between a row of brick-and-stone buildings that other uniformed ponies of all shape and size—and age, apparently—walked between, carrying books on their backs or against their chests.

Further down, a stallion jogged ahead of a neat pack of colts and fillies, singing a cadence that I couldn't make out from this far. This really was a military camp, and the atmosphere felt... welcoming.

"Come on, I'll give you a tour before taking you to your quarters," he said, starting toward the center of the campus.

"My quarters?" I blinked, following from behind and to the side, looking at him with curiosity.

"Your room," he turned back, smiling again.

A room to myself, just like back home? This place didn't sound so bad.

⚓

"Class, before we get started this morning," the neatly-dressed unicorn standing in front of the chalkboard began. "Allow me to formally introduce our newest member of the Reserves, and our new home classmate. Anchorage?"

He turned off to the side, a hoof held out to his left, fixing his gaze on me standing just beyond the door frame. I blinked slowly, my brain encased in a thick fog that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The pony cleared his throat, attempting to retain his smile.

"You can come in now, Anchorage," he added.

The haze disappeared in an instant and I jolted alert, standing straight up and my irises shriveling.

With brief hesitation, I trotted into the room, turning to face the class of thirteen students in or around my age group. Each of their eyes met with mine. Twenty-six scrutinizing gazes mercilessly staring at me and the crackerjack-wearing teacher beside me.

He leaned down slightly to whisper into my ear, making it swivel. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

Somehow, I found it difficult to swallow at that very moment. In spite of the lump preventing any speech, I breathed normally while trying to ignore the fast-beating heart about to explode out through my chest.

It felt like minutes passed, but in reality, only a few seconds until my maw parted, and the lump vanished as quickly as the fog in my head.

"Hi there," I lifted a hoof and waved gently, then lowered it quickly. "I'm Anchorage. I'm from... Gander Cove."

Eyebrows raised as I sputtered, forcing me to freeze up again, and the teacher to grow a bit of concern. He whispered a second time, "Tell them why you joined."

My ears perked again as the thought train began rolling again with his aid. "Right. It was not me who joined, my parents signed me up for the program as a birthday present for my sixteenth birthday. Needless to say, I fainted when the Lieutenant Commander showed up that morning."

Some faint chuckles emanated from the small crowd, although most still seemed uninterested, prompting me to just jump right to the end.

"It's nice to meet all of you," I nodded once, trotting to one of the empty desks at the far back and center of the room, my ears pinned back in embarrassment.

I hated introductions, whether they be to new ponies or in front of an assembly, especially the unexpected ones such as now. I loathed them with every little bit in me.

"Well, er... Thank you, Anchorage," the teacher nodded with a smile. "On behalf of all of us, we welcome you to the Reserves, and we are proud to have you as a member of our little community."

At least this pony seemed more personable than Reveille. It would explain the smaller rank patch on his shoulder, too. From experience around my father's friends and coworkers, those of a lower rank were... what's the word I'm looking for? Serious? Nah. Stoic? Maybe, but that's about the same as serious.

I nearly laid my head on my desk out of pure chagrin, my gaze falling to its shiny surface. For a first impression to the other ponies in the room, surely I could not have butchered it any more than I already have.

All I could hope for is them to not think of it as poorly as it rested in my mind.

⚓

The messdeck—otherwise known as the mess hall, or the chow room, or the galley by some students and a few of the teachers—sat packed with fillies, colts, mares, and stallions of all shape, size, and race.

Both age groups had been partitioned off to certain areas as well, with younger ponies or pre-teens to the right of the only door in, and the older ones, teenagers—including a reserved area for actual sailors—on the left.

I placed my tray on the far end of a half-empty table, sitting down and ready to dig in at last, completely neglecting the others at the table a couple seats down, as they did me. Mashed potatoes, four diced carrots, green beans, and a vanilla pudding cup on the side, with a small carton of milk.

The voice in my head rambled on and on, warning me as a whole to prepare for disgusting food that I would never want to touch with a fifty-foot pole in my life in the future. He can't have been further from the truth. Of course, it wasn't my father's cooking, either. As long as decent meals are served here on a regular, I'd be happy.

While chowing down on my dinner, a few of the colts further down glanced in my direction, exchanging in conversation about what I could faintly make out was about me. Much to my assurance, none of it seemed threatening to my conscience.

About halfway through my meal, one of them called out. "Hey, you!"

Finishing a swig of milk, I turned to the seemingly-oldest of the three. "What's up?"

"Come over here," he gestured his hoof and his head toward them, smiling genuinely, as did the others.

That totally didn't strike me as strange. Without much of a choice, I slid myself—and my tray—down to them, closing the little circle a bit.

"You're that new colt, right? Anchorage, was it?" the colt asked, narrowing on me.

I nodded firmly. "That's me. Are, er... are we in the same class?"

"Close, next class over," the earth pony beside him said, before scooping a spoonful of corn into his maw.

"I saw you in the hall at the end of class, and I asked myself, 'who's that dude?'. Between all of us, we know just about everypony. It's nice to see parents still send their foals here to get beaten into shape," the older colt said, leaning back slightly and crossing his hooves.

"Beaten into shape?" I halted myself, lowering a fork of mashed potatoes to my tray. "Oh, no, no. That's not why I'm here," I smiled softly.

The colt furrowed an eyebrow. "Oh? Why are you here, then?"

That was actually a good question. Why was I here?

"To... be like my father?" No, that's not what I wanted to say! Damn it!

The small group chuckled, the older colt being the loudest of the three.

"Now, we all know that ain't the truth. I don't know anypony who ever wants to be like their old pops when they grow up. What, is your father an admiral?" he chuckled again.

My ears pinned back a bit. "No, but he gives orders. He is a great role model, if you ask me."

"Well, ya learn something new every day," the colt straightened his back. "You wouldn't be the first to say that, but I ain't gonna deny it. So, it was your idea to come here?"

"Well, actually," I paused briefly. "My parents signed me up for my birthday, had the Lieutenant Commander come to my door. Why?"

The greyish-black unicorn of the group spit out his drink over the table, nearly spraying the other two. "Reveille came to your house?!"

Startled by his reaction, I leaned away just. "What about it?"

"He never goes to ponies' houses anymore! Well, occasionally, but that's only when he knows the parents good enough!" the unicorn responded with wide-eyes that fixed on my own.

Sitting up straight again, I looked down at my tray. "It wouldn't surprise me if my father knew him in the slightest, our base is so small."

"Where are you from?" the older colt blinked.

"Gander Cove. It's northeast of here, off the coast."

"No kidding! My grandmother lives around there, says its beautiful, but cold and gloomy all the time. Is that true?" he smiled more, hooves on the edge of the table.

A smile crept its way onto my muzzle. "Is Celestia a princess?"

"Huh, what are the odds of that? Name's Cordial, by the way. This is Tidefire—" he pointed to the earth pony, then moved to the unicorn. "—and Saber. We like to call him Sabe, or Sabby."

"Or S, every so often," the unicorn added, rolling his eyes, then chugging down the rest of his milk.

"Nice to meet you all," I nodded once, retaining the smile, sighing out. "At least none of you saw me earlier than you did."

Cordial's ears stood up. "Why, what happened?"

Oh great. "Messed up in front of the class."

"What did you do?" he blinked twice, even more intrigued than before. Lovely.

⚓

Come to think of it, my parents should have probably discussed this ahead of time. Because the Reserves ran by Equestrian education standards, the school year began in August, meaning with my transfer, I was now required to attend classes without much of a 'winter break' like at home.

For each class, there were sessions that mixed recess with the military in order to keep us fit. Obviously, the teachers and instructors had been far less strict when it came to our exercises. What others failed at, they compensated with another excelling activity. So, it wasn't all bad.

Every few days, an assortment of games, both mental and physical, were held in the gymnasium that everypony took part in. These games included sports, flash quizzes on military terminology—primarily Navy acronyms and such, and other activities, like tug-of-war between us and the teachers, for example.

All in all, the Junior Officer Naval Reserves was more like a Colt Scouts camp, but on the lines of a militaristic one. On the weekends, firearm safety was taught, and we marched in formation around the edge of the camp. Every two weeks, surprise inspections popped up—which eventually became much less of a surprise once we discovered how to predict their patterns.

Outside of the busy schedule that slowed down going into December, and the wave of sickness that came with winter, I found myself writing more frequently to home, about once every two days.

Responses were far and few in between, and steadily becoming less frequent as time went on. It grew concerning for me as the weeks passed. Eventually, they ceased entirely. Now, I wrote dud letters that didn't have replies. My guess was a recent blizzard halted the mail service to and from the island and around much of the northeast coast as far south as Baltimare, and they couldn't reply in time.

But, in the days that followed, still, nothing. Not even a little note. It wasn't the most calming to not have a letter from my parents to read to myself before bed on occasion. At this point, I started to re-read older ones every night leading up to the last one that came, then started from the beginning. This came to be my newest—and strangest—way of reassuring myself that everything back home is just fine.

I sat in the middle of class, focusing on what I should write next. Gently and silently, I tapped the eraser-end of my pencil against my chin, fixed on the blank slate of paper held on the bottom-left corner with my other hoof.

For some amount of time, I hadn't been paying attention and rather focused too much on the letter. Worse yet, my lack of acknowledgement grabbed the teacher's attention. "Anchorage!" he shouted.

I jumped in surprise, snapping up from my desk and making direct eye contact, straightening my back in my chair. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you listening to what I am saying?" he asked, making his way between desks towards me with an eyebrow raised.

My eyes widened slightly. I cleared my throat, responding, "Yes, sir. Just taking notes is all."

The teacher slyly grinned, looking down at me. "Tell me what I've said."

He of course had to go there. Now I made a liar out of myself. Gulping quickly, I looked him straight in the eye once more. "The derivative of X is four—"

He raised his hoof, stopping me there. "Let me stop you right there, Anchorage. You should know which class you are in. So, tell us."

"Isn't this algebra?" I cocked my head.

"Close. Biology," he reached a hoof to tap me on the side of the head. "Pay attention, you might learn a thing or two. Let him be an example, class," he turned and headed back up to the chalkboard.

A quiet, collective chuckle emanated from the others. I lowered my head in humiliation, ears drooping and a frown pursing my lips. The only pony not to laugh was a freckled draft filly a row ahead and to the side, who glanced back in concern. I failed to even notice as I stared down at my desk in shame.

Author's Note

Another short chapter, which I'm hoping the next one will be a bit longer. The big one is still in the future though, so stay tuned!

10. While I Was Gone

While I lay in bed, I stared blankly toward the ceiling. The window cast a gentle, soothing blue light that blended with the dark of the room. Silence permeated the atmosphere, and any sound outside went muffled by the heavy snow falling from the heavens. It truly was a sight for sore eyes a week from Hearth's Warming—to me, anyways. Few other Juniors found enjoyment in the winter weather, much to my dismay.

As such, we were all given around twenty bits to purchase clothing of our choice for the colder months that we could consider holiday gifts straight from the Navy. Frankly, all I needed was some gloves for my hooves and a beanie—or what the officers refer to as watch caps. Having grown up in the cold the whole sixteen years of my life, this was nothing new or exciting in that manner, and nowhere near as frigid or snowy as back home this time of year. In fact, hearing the locals complain all the time, even after a measly inch or two of snowfall, was nothing but laughable.

One thing that did feel off was the lack of a tree. Of course, one for each room wasn't possible, though I wouldn't mind a fake tree as long as we each had one to set up to admire, or even craft our own ornaments to put on 'em. Then again, this wasn't kindergarten. I was a Junior sailor now. No time for fun and games anymore—not often, that is. On some occasion did it become mildly depressing, though it was to my acknowledgement I wasn't alone here, despite how lonely things were.

It had been a month and two days since I left home. Every week I would write to my parents, and usually within a few days I would receive a response collaborated by the both of them—though, it did become more apparent over the course of the past two weeks that Mom was the one doing much of the writing. They hadn't mentioned anything about it, but I wasn't planning on expecting anything for Hearth's Warming. Being here was a huge gift on its own, a dream come true; and to keep in close contact was all I truly cared about these days.

I did miss them. A lot, actually. Here I was thinking I'd do well on my own, not that I was against being around my parents like most colts and fillies my age. I suppose this counted as a glimpse of adult life, living on my own in a city far from family. Some aspects of it were exciting, others downright terrifying. Something had to change, though. I can't stay afraid forever. And while I don't see it as something they would do, in a little under two years my parents could legally kick me out as soon as the day after my eighteenth birthday.

Dad might not be extremely opposed to the notion, but Mom would be for sure, and I can see frequent arguments in the future assuming I don't leave the nest myself. Not that I don't have thoughts of it. After all, I seek to be just like my father, sailing the high seas and serving my country. Nothing and no pony will change that dream for me.

⚓

"All right, listen up, Juniors!" began Bullworth, my class' division chief, a simple green backpack sitting upright in the snow beside him. "Consider these lessons fairly light-weight as compared to your normal classes. It is part of our annual agenda on behalf of the Navy to teach every one of you colts and fillies the basics of tools that can and will help you in the real world."

Nine of us, ten if you include the chief, stood out in the snow under gloomy, overcast skies that threatened to open up for a second time in just under twenty hours. A couple of my classmates shivered, indicating they still had not accustomed to the cold of northeast Equestria and were from warmer climates of the nation. Even Chief Bullworth's form had a faint tremble to it, indicating I was the best-faring of my class simply due to my origin.

"So, you are out in the wilderness, far from home," he started again. "No cell reception, no easy access to the basic necessities. Say you wind up lost, or an accident lands you in this treacherous part of the world without the slightest of clues where to traverse. You came totally unprepared. You are as good as dead."

That brought a couple of gasps out of my classmates. Mainly some colts who, knowing well where the chief was going, should not have been taken by surprise in all actuality.

"But!" Bullworth pointed his hoof up, beginning to stroll back and forth in front of us. "What if you were prepared? In order to be, you would have had to previously acquired items that may prolong your survival. First item you can think of off the top of your head, go!"

"Bottle or canteen for water!" I called out. My answer garnered a firm nod from the chief, who dug into the backpack and swiftly tossed a black stainless steel canteen at me.

With only a moment to react, I reached up and grabbed it against my chest, only managing to stumble back a couple inches.

"Very good, Anchorage. Second item!"

"Blankets!" chimed Sunny Rain, a tangerine unicorn filly, raising her hoof. Despite her height, she was among the older of us teens; in fact, she had a year and three months on me.

"Space blankets, emergency blankets, whatever you may call them," nodded Bullworth, digging a second time into his backpack and producing a reflective-surfaced blanket that could have confused anyone for tinfoil, but it certainly was not that.

As it was tossed to her, Sunny Rain held out the edges to examine its shiny nature with a little awe in her eyes, before re-folding and placing it on her back.

"Third item!" Bullworth scanned among us neutrally when no one jumped out for an answer. "Any takers?"

I tapped my chin in contemplation, then an answer came to me. Before I could vocalize it, however, the chief cut me off as he drew a sharpened combat survival knife with a black handle and steel grey blade, holding it pointing upward and carefully moving it around to show us.

"This could very well be one of if not the most important tool to have on you in potential situations such as these."

One of my classmates, Tango, scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What, so I can stab myself and bleed out? I think I'd rather do that than having to physically and mentally deal with being stuck in the forest for Celestia knows how long—"

He was promptly cut off by the slicing of the knife in Chief Bullworth's hoof, which stabbed into the icy ground some six inches from the colt's forehooves. He lurched back, ears pinning beneath his watch cap, the act striking some fear into others' hearts as well.

Patience tried once now, the chief's toffee cores glared daggers into the startled colt's fear-shrunken pupils. "To cut yourself a patch of dry earth necessary to start a fire, once you have the ingredients necessary to do so, among other uses," he said, a slight snarl to his tone.

"Fourth item!" he continued, shifting his demeanor back. Bullworth instead reached into his left breast pocket, producing a rounded object with a hook and small carabiner for clipping onto you or your backpack. On one side beneath glass sat a labeled directional dial that changed even at the slightest of movements. "A compass. How to use one should be plenty obvious, but for educational purposes I am going to teach you every aspect of using this little thing for navigating."

Tango snorted. Apparently he hadn't learned the first time. "Teach us how to use a compass? Why don't you teach us something useful, like, I dunno, skin a rabbit for survival? Or show us which leaves and berries are safe to eat in the wilderness?"

The colt's remark garnered yet another soft glare from Bullworth. His maw parted for a response, only to be cut off once more by his continuation.

"This isn't the Colt Scouts. Why for the love of Celestia's golden flank would we be lost in a forest if we are on a boat?"

That's when Sunny rejoined, "Well... what if our boats sink and we wash up on an uncharted island?"

Tango threw a puzzled, dumb look at the little soon-to-be mare. "Why would we wash up on an uncharted island?! This isn't the fourteenth century, the world was completely explored a long time ago!"

Breaking the argument, the ear-piercing blow of the chief's whistle startled everypony into attention. Spitting it from his mouth, the lilac stallion's scowl carried across the eight of us with equal weight.

"Must I write home to each of your families individually?!" he threatened, voice echoing across the courtyard, startling even other sailors of his rank. At that, every single one of us shut our mouths tight and perked our ears attentively.

⚓

The eraser of my pencil tapped below my lips, squinting some down at the thinly-paged booklet sitting open to the final page on my desk. One of the electives I had chosen to last throughout the school year was a language course; Prench, to be precise. Something about Prench tickled my fancy from the previous year and, after only a couple of months consideration, decided to try it.

One nice aspect of JONR was class flexibility. Should we not find enjoyment in a chosen elective, we have the option of selecting another within a couple of months after classes start, but because I arrived later than most, I had a bit more liberty of choice than others.

Much of today's classwork involved finishing basic sentences, whether English or Prench, with the latter's variant of those words. Not the toughest of assignments, although I could understand if others struggled with it. Basics such as greetings, simple answers, and other easy words in Prench grew on me rather quickly, I must say, much to my relief.

Despite understanding the lessons, one particular fill-in-the-blank question left me stumped. With three more following it until completion, I guessed I had all the time in the world to figure it out. That was until I broke my concentration for the first time in twenty minutes and realized class was almost through for the day.

Without hesitating any further, I scrutinized the blank in the sentence only harder, reading over what built up to the word in need of filling in repeatedly in a seemingly endless cycle that would normally spark a headache. My hind hoof tapped against the floor out of the rush, making little noise however seeing as it was a thin layer of carpet that muffled hoofsteps.

Then came what I had dreaded: a single-tone chime to replace the obnoxious ringing of a traditional bell sounded throughout the classroom and beyond to signal the end of today's session, startling some awake.

"All right, pencils down. Stand up and turn in your packets for grading," said Meira, the teacher of this class, closing her newspaper and laying it off to the side.

A blonde mare from Fillydelphia with a Bachelor of Arts in Prench, she joined the Navy nine years ago as a radar technician with a sub-rate as a translator for when her ship, the EQS Cloudsdale, made port in foreign Prench-speaking nations. Ranking at Master Chief Petty Officer, she transferred to Camp Wallop upon immediate election as an instructor for this particular language.

At her word, I only rushed through the last few questions, scribbling faster than I originally believed my hoof could move. My conscience screamed with a war cry unlike any I have heard prior, and it was my own. Thankfully, it wasn't one to make it past my scrambled mind as I raced to finish up before standing and filing into line with the other Juniors.

Being a rather small class, only three others stood before me, exchanging respectful salutes with Meira before making their way out of the room individually. When it came to my turn, I handed over the closed test booklet gently and stood at an attentive stance, as expected by our superiors when doing so, and anxiously awaited her grade.

She looked down at the packet, flipping through each of the pages and spending only three seconds examining each answer before moving on with single nods of her head, making it a fairly quick process altogether. That's when she paused on the last page, looking up at me with a furrowed eyebrow. My eyes widened some as her sudden stare filled my mind with concern.

Meira tilted the booklet down just enough for my eyes to peek over, where I immediately noticed the cause for her bewilderment; all four of the final questions were quite literally answered with unreadable scribbles, even more so than cursive writing from three centuries ago. In that moment I felt my cheeks warm in embarrassment. Knowing the color tone of my coat, even the slightest of blushes was discernible from miles away.

But, instead of a jabbing glare, she offered a small smile. "I suppose not enough time is allotted for you all to complete your work in time, which is why I must stress that you should only take time for what you can finish, and the rest will count as your rackwork. I'll let it slide, Anchorage. See you next Tuesday."

The few seconds after her speaking was ultimately a blur in my head, but before long it hit me that I was now standing out in the hallway, with my things, as other Junior Officers were relieved from their respective classes. What just happened? I thought to myself.

I could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing now that my mistake would not go against me. That said, I had to acknowledge the fact that getting up to speed or even advancing on a lesson or two in my textbooks might not be the worst thing in the world after today, no matter how much I despised taking time out of my jam-packed schedule to study. With that, I started back to my dorm.

"Hey, yo, Anchor!" called Cordial from behind, having emerged from his physical science classroom. Halting, I glanced over my shoulder to look his direction. "Wanna join me at the rec center for some ping pong?"

I blinked as I pondered over his question. "Oh, er, I'm sorry. I have some Prench studies to catch up on tonight. Maybe some other time?"

"Come on, Anchorage, just one game?" he begged, waving his hoof with a grin.

He wasn't the type to be a bad influence on one's social life as I once expected him to be based on a first impression. In fact, his little friend group before I came along have all achieved a somewhat heightened status in the program for their responsibility to their work and loyalty to extracurricular activities, so this was not peer pressure as freshmen are warned about.

My gaze lowered to the small collection of books held securely to my chest, pondering only for a moment before I came to a conclusion. "Well, one game couldn't hurt. Only one," I emphasized, walking to him.

"Fine with me," he shrugged his shoulders. "Ever play before?"

I shook my head, widening his eyes in astonishment. "Never in my life. Now, I've watched others play it, such as at the watering hole my dad used to go to with his drinkin' buddies in the service. Pool, too."

The greyish-blue colt threw a look my way, one of puzzlement this time. "Your father dragged you to bars? Isn't that like... illegal?"

"Oh, no. He would give me some spendin' money to use on the arcade machines in the corner. The owner didn't seem to pay much mind to it, and besides, no one cares as long as a minor does not consume alcohol."

Cordial faced forward, eyes wide open but countenance virtually neutral. "Huh. Must be different in your town."

"What can I say? Little towns that barely make the map don't have much authority in them, especially when it isn't needed most of the time," I said as we rounded a corner and headed for the doorway into the recreational center, or compartment as our superiors preferred we call rooms.

Fairly decent in size, the rec compartment included multiple entertainment stations ranging from ping pong to pool and air hockey tables, a small movie theater, tables for card games such as Euchre or Poker (minus the gambling), and wall darts. Busier on the weekends, we were fairly lucky to come in at the time that we did on a Friday.

Both setting our study items to the side, we occupied one of the three ten-foot long tables closest to the television lounge and the chair we placed our belongings on, paddles and a set of five plastic balls were provided. No rule book, though I imagine there aren't many rules to this particular game.

Slipping a ball from the holding slot on the side, Cordial raised his stare to meet mine on the other end while I examined the paddle.

"Any certain way I need to hold this?" I asked, twirling it in my hoof. Neither side had any significant difference to each other, apart from the brand logo printed on one of them.

He responded with a shake of his head and a smile. "Whichever is most comfortable, they are both the same."

With that, I settled with the brand logo facing me and looked up at Cordial.

"Now, basic rules, pretty simple to comprehend: move yourself about within playing boundaries as you please in order to hit the ball back to me. If you miss, that is a point for me, and vice versa. The ball hits the net, it is a foul for the passer and a point for the opponent. You find the right moment to, you may hit the ball hard enough to send it sailing past me."

I nodded in acknowledgement, letting off a breath as I readied myself mentally.

"I'll start slow since you are new to the game. Once you get the hang of it, we can pick up the pace if you'd like," he grinned, dropping the ball onto the table to let it bounce vertically once. As gravity's will took hold of the ball, Cordial gently smacked it toward me, bouncing across the center without issue.

In a panic, I went to hit it back, only for the ball to slip under my hoof where I had moved the paddle too far to the right. Quickly I chased after the ball as it rolled under a nearby pool table, returning with it and a sheepish smile pursing my lips.

Cordial chuckled. "Part of your movement has to do with hoof-eye coordination, and relaxation. You don't want to trigger those fight-or-flight instincts or else you will force yourself to miss. Because this is a training run, any misses won't count as points for me."

I nodded again, gently tossing the ball back, where he caught it in his left hoof effortlessly. "Then let's try that again, shall we?"

The greyish-blue colt grunted in agreement, holding the ball in the air and dropping it, letting it bounce once before hitting it my way. Just as before, I threw my hoof with the paddle out too far to my left this time, albeit missing with less space between objects. Whipping my head around, it became apparent that the ball had slipped under my radar quicker than anticipated, and completely out of view somewhere.

I groaned in frustration. How many tries would this take? Surely I was doing something wrong here, because ping pong certainly was not this difficult to take by the handles. "Coooome on!" I threw my hoof up in reaction, probably drawing the looks of a few others in the rec center our way.

"You can't take your sights off the ball, Anchor, not even for a second," Cordial began, taking a second ball to replace the first from the holder on his end. He shifted into position yet again. "Ready?"

My hoof reached up, scratching through the back of my mane. "Ya know, I don't think this game is for me, Cord. Why don't we try somethin' else?"

He gave me a look that spoke more words than his mouth for a good few seconds. "You're giving up after two attempts?"

I shrugged. "I didn't exactly plan on spendin' more than fifteen minutes calculatin' out a damned ball's trajectory just correctly so I can hit it back repeatedly."

Cordial rubbed his forehead, shaking it into his hoof. "You don't learn without practicing. Come on, third time's the charm."

With that, I rolled my eyes. "Fine, fine," and settled into position.

"Remember, eyes on the target, rookie!" uttered Cordial, tossing up and down the ball in his hoof.

With that, my demeanor adjusted. This time, I could focus. Time seemed to slow as his paddle whacked the ball my way. It bounced once, narrowly clearing the dividing net at the center of the table, where it would bounce again shortly after as it rapidly approached.

I failed to remove my sights from the ball as it leaped upward a second time, swinging my hoof around just in time to smack it back at Cordial, where time seemed to resume at a normal pace. He almost seemed surprised, and was barely able to hit it back. "There you go, Anchor! Not so tough, is it?"

Between him speaking and my response, I had smacked the ball back at him twice, a grin pursing my lips. "Heck no, this is fun!"

The two of us managed to get a few hits back and forth, exchanging misses to tie up our first official game.

But then, the entire rec center atmosphere took a sudden one-eighty. Cordial's eyes opened wide, and he seemed to almost turn into a statue as the ball bounced off his blouse. Everypony swiftly shifted their focus in one direction. Taking notice, I swiveled myself around to see what the fuss was about.

And there he was. Lieutenant Commander Reveille, stood just beyond the doorway, a thin frown curling his lips downward. "Seapony's Apprentice Anchorage," he addressed, monotone. Confusion spread as he set his steady gaze right upon me, and a tinge of suspicion permeated the air as a result of the disconcertingly grim edge to his tone. "I need for you to come with me at once. It is urgent."

Eyes turned to me, particularly puzzled in nature and strangely quiet. Out of everypony present, no one could have been more bewildered than I was in that instance. Had I done something wrong? My grades were decent, I didn't pick fights... if anything, I was probably among some of the best attending Junior Officers.

Calmly I set the paddle down and looped around a pool table to the door, where the stallion who typically wore a neutral expression instead concerningly donned a non-wavering countenance of sorrow. I hadn't broken eye contact with him until he stepped aside to let me exit the room first, then ensured to close the rec center door behind us.

"Sir?" I said lowly, blinking, watching him start down the hall. Not a single word emerged from the lieutenant commander, not even a request to follow. I simply did, going to show how accustomed I was to how things ran around here. If you are told enough to do something, eventually you start to do it out of habit and saves authoritative ponies' time, energy, and patience.

We didn't stop until his office sat right in front of us. A sailor posted beside the door shifted sideways, opening it for the two of us. Reveille waved his hoof, signalling I enter first. Without a second of hesitation, I strode inside in respectful manner. My eyes flicked at the guarding sentry briefly, and in spite of his own deadened expression, nothing could block the overbearing sense that he silently judged me. Chances are he had as much of a clue as I did, although it isn't hard to imagine that he is used to observing troublesome ponies come and go from that office.

My mind raced as it struggled to piece together every possibility for Reveille's reason for bringing me in here. Every. Last. One.

But, as per usual, there was a single scenario I simply could not—and would never—expect.

⚓

"Th-th... This is a joke, right?" I deadpanned, a toothy grin widened across my muzzle. Despite it, my ears gradually lost their perk. Tears started to gather, glassing over my icy blue cores. "Who—who put you up to this? Cordial? Tidefire? 'Cause, excuse my language, but this shit ain't funny."

Seconds of silence ticked on by without the older stallion's expression changing. After that long, his gaze dipped to the desk surface, and his posture in the chair was no longer straightened. The grin quickly flipped upside down.

"I'm sorry, Anchorage," Reveille continued softly. "The word came this morning around 0600 from the Gander Cove Naval Command via local first responders."

"No..." I shook my head as the first stages of denial took flight. "No!" My hoof slammed down on the edge of his desk, then recoiled both in pain from striking the hardened wooden lip, and half anticipating the lieutenant commander to scold me for the rather sudden aggression against his office furniture. However, he didn't.

Swallowing heavily, my ears begun to fold back. "He wouldn't... do that, Lieutenant Commander... My father... wouldn't kill himself. I know him. He would never do that."

A low sigh escaped the superior officer's lips, gaze drifting to the desktop between us. Part of my mind continued to perceive this as false reality, attempting to pinch myself below his field of view. No matter how hard I squeezed flesh, no matter the pain produced, nothing changed. I remained standing here, in Reveille's office, surrounded by the same silence as prior.

That is when the reality of it all hit like an oncoming train. My entire world came crashing down in the blink of an eye, with a veil of darkness taking my essence by its sharpened claws. Going from a thousand thoughts, to a few, to absolutely none. None at all. Normally my mind would have something moving through it, but nothing came up.

My form took on the slightest of trembles, becoming notably cold all of a sudden. Illness plagued my stomach in seconds, and I felt as if I could just throw up my lunch right here, right now.

"I have personally arranged transportation for you to head home as soon as tomorrow. We would let you go today, but the weather between Alderneigh and Gander Cove is not in our favor, so the ferry isn't heading anywhere until 1400 tomorrow."

I gave the gentlest, slowest nod, sniffing heavily. Deep down, I fought hard to keep my emotions at bay. Now wasn't the time to break down. Although I don't think it really mattered anymore. "Th-thank you, sir."

Reveille returned a firm bob of his head. "We ensure every one of the Juniors are taken care of in times of emergency, and we move mountains to achieve such. This is the least we could do for you, Anchorage."

My hooves wobbled as they threatened to just give out from underneath me, and I think it was apparent enough to the lieutenant commander of how I truly felt. All it took was a knowing glance from him to acknowledge that I was dismissed, and that gave me all the liberty I needed to slowly make my way to my compartment like a mindless zombie.

⚓

The five-hour boat ride home seemed to last an eternity. The grayscale skyline of Alderneigh vanished, placed by an endless horizon of a light and dark tone of grey. Seas were particularly calm in the wake of the most recent system to blow through, and it made for a rather smooth journey to the island.

It wasn't until five past seven when the ferry's crew members informed myself and the eight other passengers aboard this evening of our approach to Gander Cove Marina. Exhausted throughout the trip, I found myself unable to sleep the entire time, despite the comfortably heated cabin. Upon announcement, I hurried out to the bow weather deck to anxiously witness the steady increase in proximity of my home town.

Even from a distance, I read the distress on my mother's countenance as she stood patiently among a pair of pier workers waiting to moor the ferry for the night. It was of some relief to see her now, though it ultimately altered the circumstances none.

I hadn't given time for the ferry to fully reach the dock, leaping clear above the gate and planting all fours on the edge of the jetty a whole eight feet away, inadvertently startling both those on the boat and the dock by my swift actions. I wasted no time, galloping straight into my mother's hooves where we intertwined in a mutual death grip, sobbing uncontrollably into the other. In that precise bittersweet instance, though I would have expected no different under normal affairs, we needed each other's shoulders to cry on.

Author's Note

After over a year's hiatus, I give you a long-overdue chapter ten to ~~hopefully~~ break my curse of unfinished stories continuously being neglected.

11. Fair Winds and Following Seas

Gunshots rang out, but none of the threatening variety. Three members of the Navy Ceremonial Guard Firing Party, supervised like a hawk by a fourth, simultaneously fired off their M14 rifles out to sea at her command. Finely attired with the most pristine of dress uniforms, these particular sailors and any other present this morning far outdid the number of townsponies attending. Due to my lack of proper apparel for the matter with such little notice, it was ultimately my mother's decision to let me don my Junior Officer uniform.

If I had to guess, almost everypony in Gander Cove was here, and for once the sky had cleared just enough to see the gorgeous blue beyond the overcast that typically blankets the island, as if by request or mere prayer alone, though little could be done regarding the persisting chill that left even me shivering under my clothes.

"Ready." The commander of the firing party called, and the sailors lowered their weapons from aim position.

"Chambers." At that order, their other hoof lifted to the side of the chamber and take hold of the cocking handle.

"Round." The three sailors tugged back on the bolt, ejecting the spent cartridge to load a fresh round into the rifle's chamber with a hard click of the hammer sliding back and cocking into place.

"Aim." She commanded, monotone as the previous three. The trio of M14s raised to roughly a 45-degree angle, directed out toward the east of the ocean. "Fire!"

For a second time, a unified bang of all three rifles firing echoed down the hill slope and reverberated off the forest marking the edge of town. In spite of anticipating the noise, it jutted me some in my seat, prompting Mom to gently hold my hoof.

The small cemetery just narrowly within town's corporation limits sat in the shadow of the lighthouse, near the top of Beacon Hill, one of the highest points on the island that overlooked the sleepy marina and the glistening ocean to the east and south, and even some parts of the tree-shrouded naval station a couple miles north. Elevation wise, the hill in which our house sat on was still higher, though not by a lot; perhaps a difference of ten or fifteen feet.

In the exact center of the graveyard stood a granite statue of a bearded draft stallion holding the wheel of a boat in his hooves with a real medium-sized anchor leaning against the back of it, erected to commemorate sailors civilian or military who have been buried here over the course of time.

I just wish it had not been somepony so close to me to become the newest addition to this sorrowful place. But what better way brings the family together, as horrible as that is to say? Mom's sister, my aunt, was here, seated to her left, while I sat to her right in the forward row of chairs. To my right sat Dad's older brother and step-mother, dressed to their finest in black or navy blues, as allotted by an old nautical funeral tradition.

"Ready," the commander instructed again, preparing her party for the third and final shot. "Chambers." Again, their hooves drew back to the bolt. "Round." Tugging back, the spent bullet cartridge ejected to the ground, and the release allowed for another new round to take its place. "Aim."

I closed my eyes. This time, I would remain statue still as the final salute rang out.

"Fire!"

⚓

The post-burial ceremony gathering at home interested me none. A small period in between events allowed some of the attendees to bring what I question considering to be party items such as food and drinks. Sure, they called it a funeral reception, with the purpose of it to spend time together to mourn the passed.

Of course, outside of the time taken out of their day to pay their respects at the burial, a large number of the townsponies continued their routine as if it were any other typical winter afternoon. In all, there were maybe ten or eleven of our neighbors downstairs in addition to my mother, aunt, uncle, and step-grandmother.

I'm sure they all questioned my presence, too. After helping out with setting up for the reception, Mom relieved me to my own thing, and that was to sulk in my room for the rest of the day. Or the rest of my life. At that moment, I cared so little about how long I would spend alone.

Every so often I would find myself gazing blankly out my bedroom window to a sliver of the house next door and the towering tree tops shrouding it. When I'd realize, I turned myself over to lay flat on my back and stare up at the empty ceiling with my wings half sprawled out on my sides. For some odd reason, I could not bear to so much as peek outside as something about it brought on dark thoughts from that corner of my mind.

One ear perked some at the twisting of a doorknob, subsequently followed by gentle creaking of my bedroom door slowly parting way. Out of the corner of my eye, in the door jam, stood a shorter-maned butter yellow filly no more than a few months older than I. Her soft, steady orange cores fixed on me as she halted there.

"What do you want?" I groaned out in a moderately exasperated manner, with such low volume that no one beyond where she stood could possibly hear. A faint voice in my head scolded my larger conscience for it.

Misty closed the door behind her, releasing the knob only after it was fully shut to minimize noise produced. After all, it would echo down the hall and the staircase, which didn't need to happen today for the sake of respect. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to the service earlier, had other matters that unfortunately came first. Figured you could use some company apart from the usual family."

I laid silent there for a long moment before finally mustering a fired response. "That's why you came? Just to... sit here, stare at me, and say a few words?"

Her brow lifted some as a result, prompting the filly to slide herself up beside the edge of my bed as a sort of attempt to put herself in my unfocused field of view. "You know, I would have guessed the Anchorage I knew well would be open to the idea of discussing his feelings in a time like this. What changed?"

At that, I tossed myself over onto my other side to face the wall. "What changed? Hmm, I don't know. Have you ever lost somepony you cared about?"

Misty's ears faltered some, and while trying to prevent herself from choking up too much, the hurt was very much evident in her voice. "I feel like I am right this second."

Her continued presence was working its way to ticking me off. Actually, I think it was already to that point. "Oh, cry me a river with your sentiment, Misty. I ask to be left alone just for a few hours and I can't even get that in my own home!"

There was an abrupt silence, only to be broken moments later. "Is that how we're playing today?" That's when I noticed a deep change in her demeanor, one not far off from the tone used when she is about to knock somepony's lights out on the school playground.

Suddenly I felt her hoof latch on to my shoulder and pull on it, forcing me onto my back. Taken aback by the move, I quickly discovered she had me almost effortlessly pinned to my bed... and those eyes, cores consisting of pure flame and fury glared down upon me.

"Get offa me!" I demanded, gathering enough will and energy to thrash back against the rather strong filly's hold. Despite some of my best efforts, she continued to keep me in one spot.

"Who are you really?!" snarled Misty, leaning her head down until her muzzle only distanced a meager few inches from my face, applying more pressure to my shoulders without causing too much pain. "Because, if this is still you, Anchorage, I am going to give you one hell of a reality check.

"Life has obstacles. Everypony overcomes them eventually, sooner or later than others. Your most recent wall that you've hit just so happens to be your father passing, and your emotions and heart completely shattering is completely justified in your case. It shows you have a heart and care for others around you.

"But, the manner in which you are handling this?" Misty shook her head in disapproval. "Mm-mm, no! I guarantee you shutting everyone out who is trying to help will not get you over the hurdles. You know what else? It will leave you perpetually lingering on these negative, degrading feelings until the day that you die. Do you want to be miserable the rest of your life?!"

Her words cut deep. Every last one of them did. It allowed me to finally realize what I've become, and what I was on my way to becoming, and neither held a positive outlook on my future. Despite this, the emotions inside swirled intensely like a hurricane, twisting my stomach into knots and carving at my chest with a dagger consisting solely of the memories of my father's time as far back as I can reminisce.

My muscles began to loosen up, indicating to her that she was getting through my wall. No, she sliced through it like butter.

"Anchorage, look at me," she said, a thin edge to her voice, but it was noticeably softer. Slowly I drifted my gaze to meet hers as the flames doused, as she eased up on her hold on me and lightened her tone when she continued. "You just spent two months of your life by yourself in a city far from home, brought back only by tragedy. You are surrounded by loved ones, yet here you are turning yourself into a hermit crab, thinking it'll make things better. It won't.

"This behavior is absurd, especially from somepony as resilient as you. Hell, your mother even agrees with me!" Misty then took a seat along the edge of my bed, allowing me to sit upright. "Listen, I'm not telling you not to grieve. But perhaps your method isn't the greatest, and in turn is hurting others around you as a consequence. Unless that is what you had in mind all along?"

Slowly I shook my head, staring down toward the hardwood floor as my eyes glassed over. Now a second pain took aim for my soul, roughly as significant as the first. I couldn't bear to look her in the eye again.

"I-I don't know, like..." I breathed in shakily, hardly able to keep my voice together without cracking. "I'm a shell of my former self, Misty. A part of me just vanished when he did, and... I'm just... so broken."

I felt a pair of hooves loop around my side, and the torso of the filly pressing gently into my left wing. "So why don't we pick up the pieces? All four of us?" she spoke in a borderline whisper.

My eyes closed, squeezing a trace of water between eyelids that gradually crept their way down my cheeks. "A-Azeruth and Vixen... do they even still care about me, w-with how I've treated you all?"

Misty's grip around my body tightened some, giving further evidence of those muscles of hers. "Of course they care, Anchor. They're worried is all, as I was. They'll be elated to see you again and return to our old adventures, I hope?"

I lifted my chin and opened my eyes as they burned to the air's contact, head turning some to look at the yellow filly. At that, I offered a faint, reassuring smile, the first admittedly in a while. "Anything to get me out of the dumps, how could I say no?"

Deep down, I acknowledged my emotions. Perchance this was a step in the right direction to moving on, no matter how tough it may be.

⚓

In the days following the ceremonies, Mom and I still hadn't finished cleaning the house. Not that there was a whole lot to do to begin with apart from minor things, such as washing dishes and finally discarding that cheese dip that never made it back to the fridge.

To ease off the stress on Mom, I offered to handle the chores for her. As hard as it was to admit, some of these tasks were Dad's at one point, but somepony else had to do it now.

Frankly, it was one method to achieving a much needed wipe of the mind. Granted, I couldn't completely shake the thoughts that now gradually accepted the fact that he was gone, and I doubt I ever will.

While dusting off surfaces such as the living room coffee table, the mantle, and other horizontal faces, I paused only to reminisce at fixating onto a picture frame of us three together. It was a portrait purchased after our last visit to Winneighpeg Zoo before relocating here; Mom and Dad stood side by side, while I stood on his back with my forehooves laying through his mane. I was that small then? I thought to myself.

My gaze lifted to a single hanging picture frame that branched off into multiple small pictures of our little family. The surrounding photographs depicted some of our best documented memories as a trio dating back to my first steps as a foal, which I somehow remembered like it was yesterday.

Then the center picture, the "trunk" of the photo tree, was a professionally-taken portrait of the three of us dressed to our finest before the leaves of autumn in the background. Mom wore a simple midnight blue dress, I sported my flannel plaid shirt, and Dad donned his dress whites. Any other picture of him in uniform, he bore the neutral mien of a commanding officer. But in this one, he smiled.

I drew in a breath to shove back the surge of emotion washing over, but nothing could stop at least two tears from rolling down my cheek. It wasn't until now, upon really focusing on these last pictures of him we still had, that truly compelled me to realize just how much I missed him. It hit me like a charging bull that my farewell to Alderneigh for the Junior Officer Naval Reserves was my final goodbye to him, and not a proper one as I wish I could have had. I guess that's how tragedy works.

It was over a minute before the realization came that I had begun to subconsciously clutch the duster to my chest, knowing well that it was Dad's prior. It felt... strange... taking responsibility in his absence. Many I think would call that reaching adulthood, but damn, this could not have been a worse way of doing so.

I let off a low sigh, folding my ears back partially. "To think I was havin' the time of my life, learning... somethin' new, with a friend of mine... and then, all of it just comes crashin' down in the blink of an eye."

A set of hooves clicked up from the kitchen, gentle clanks of glasses rattling on a wooden tray as Mom brought out a kettle of her lemon tea and two cups, placing it on the coffee table and walking to me. "Tragedy does not play fair, my little Anchorage. It waits for no one to be ready for its arrival."

Her hoof looped around the back of my neck, bringing my head closer some to nuzzle into my cheek. "I can't fathom how you felt, spending all that time down there with the horrific news running through your mind and waiting what I can imagine to be an eternity to come home..."

At that, I blinked twice, shifting my gaze to meet hers. "What are you on about, Mom? Reveille sent me home the morning after. There was a blizzard, the ferry was out of service that day."

"Wh-what?" she looked me dead in the eye, pinning back her ears in shock. "A-Anchor, he... i-it happened over a week before you came home!"

Everything around me froze. My tone grew deep and serious in disbelief. "What?"

Mom lifted her hoof, stroking a lock of my mane sideways. "They just told you?!"

"M-Mom, what are you talkin' about?" I swallowed heavily, my breath quickening. "R-Reveille pulled me to his office to deliver the news... h-he... he told me the call came that mornin'. Th-the next day, I arrived here, at home, and I jumped into your grasp."

After a couple moments of utter quiet, she started to sob, covering much of her face with one hoof while keeping her other on my shoulder. I recoiled some as tears gathered in my eyes, swiftly grabbing my mother in a tight embrace. This was not a development I wished to learn, but had to sooner or later.

They held me there, knowing damn well what happened back home. They lied to me; Reveille lied to me, and directly to my face. Anger boiled over the sorrow in me, at risk of spilling out in unnecessary places.

But perhaps there was a bit of a silver lining to it; maybe Reveille did just find out that morning, no one at that camp perceived him as a dirty liar that covered his tracks. Of course, that speaks for itself, but the real question is whether that was the truth or not.

Three audible knocks emanated from the front door, startling the both of us equally, breaking our firm embrace and snapping my attention to glance over my shoulder.

We certainly were not expecting any more guests this week to my awareness, so the sole question raised between us in simple exchanged glances was who it could possibly be leading up until the moment I opened the door.

My blood ran cold. Speak of the devil, it was Reveille, standing at the mat of our front door in his dress whites, gazing neutrally forward at me.

"Lieutenant Commander Reveille..." I stiffened my posture some before him, and any tears in my eyes dried immediately, leaving a burning sensation and a faint redness in my ice blue cores. "What are you doin' here?" I sniffed, at that moment opting to disregard military manner in partial spite.

He spoke with the usual monotone, borderline calculating voice. "I came to personally give my condolences to your mother, Anchorage, and to you a second time. In these trying times, it is part of my duty as a superior to pay respects to the family of a fallen warrior."

I knew that was not the only reason he was here. While it may have been a trip out of respect for my father, it was a reason to collect me.

"Under the present circumstances, I understand it may be in your best interest to break from your Junior Officer division permanently and stay home. Though, I am obligated to present the offer to resume your duties as a Junior Sailor if you wish to," he added.

The word 'permanently' hit hard. Sure, I wanted to stay home like any other normal colt, but it ultimately meant I would never see any of my Camp Wallop friends again. Cordial, Saber, or Tidefire. At this time, however, my mother needed me home. She needed me—and I needed her.

Without wavering a detail of my attitude, I looked the lieutenant commander dead in the eye and put forward my decision. "Thank you, sir, for the opportunity to learn the basics of the Navy. For what it's worth, I respectfully decline the offer to return to Alderneigh." Then I paused to briefly think. "However, I do have one final request."

The narrowing of his eyes in apparent contained annoyance was a further omen of Reveille's true mission; his quota. Losing one of his recruits would look poor on his record, regardless of reasoning. "And what might that be?"

His slight change of demeanor discouraged me some. What word did I have that he would live up to my simple demand? The least I could do is try. "Address my mates Cordial, Tidefire, and Saber of my absence. My departure may have been abrupt, but I would prefer they are made aware as to why."

Reveille silently stared for a moment, nodding his head once in response. "I think I can make that happen." And with that, he spun nonchalantly and headed down the steps of our porch, where he halted himself halfway down. "I hope we once again cross paths in the service, Anchorage. Your loyalty to home and family could be useful in the fleet one day."

The comment did admittedly catch me by surprise. But at the same time, it felt less like a compliment and more on the lines of guilt. Perhaps it was a mixture of the two. "Thank you, sir," I replied with a nod. "Have a safe trip."

He simply nodded in response, and continued on his way. I watched him go for a couple of seconds as the sailor in me combated my right mind, fighting a battle that would ultimately stop me from changing my mind in that short period of time it took me to finally shut the door and return to my awestruck mother as she observed from the living room.

She raised her hoof to stroke a lock of my mane as I came up. "You know I would always respect your decision, honey. I would not be upset if you decided to go back. After all, it was your father's idea when he saw how much his job excited you, to give you a small idea of what he went through."

"I know, Mom," I nodded slowly, folding my ears back partially. "I had friends there. Not a lot, but at least I wasn't alone. But..." I let off a small, disappointed sigh. "I was homesick."

Mom nodded in understanding, offering a small, genuine smile. "Your first time away from home for prolonged periods is always frightening. When I moved out of my parents' house in Trotonto to take up job opportunities in Winneighpeg, the moment I stepped hoof off that train I felt as if I could just faint from all the fear."

The start of her story brought us to the couch, where we both took a seat. She poured herself a cup of lemon tea, raising it to her lips to blow softly before indulging on a polite sip of the piping hot beverage. As never before told by either parent, this was her side to the tale of how she met my father, and it would forever be the only understanding I will hear.

⚓

School in Gander Cove started off early this year, a whole two weeks ahead of the norm. Perhaps it was new regulation passed by the education department in charge of the two facilities in town.

Due to my withdrawal from classes at Camp Wallop, rules of Equestrian learning curriculum reset me back to the beginning of sophomore year, much to my discontent. The one plus to it was, after only a couple of months in Alderneigh, it did give me some preparation to start over.

However, I knew from the start of my day that readjusting back to normal schooling would be tough. From the moment I woke, my mind simply refused to boot. A dense fog not unlike the kind that occasionally blankets town obscured every firing sensor, and tasks to prepare myself for the first day of class took twice as long as they should have. I felt... numb.

Some lingering part of me heading into the school expected to at least spot Cordial, or walk past Saber as he strikes up a conversation with Tidefire even against JONR guidelines, but I knew better to acknowledge that they were not here. While I did have my own small group of friends here that I have known longer than my Camp Wallop shipmates, I felt almost no interest in them anymore.

Most would consider that to be a form of depression. I'm not sure if I would call it that, whether or not it is what plagues my conscience. I suspect depression would feel much worse than how I do now, but what do I know? It's never been a problem for me, up until this point at least.

Another hard thing for me to keep in mind was the fact that after a long day in class, I would not be coming home to a friendly conversation with my father, either to vent or hear about his day. That would be something to grow used to over time.

My first steps through the south entrance of Gander Cove High started off normal, only to rapidly change no more than a second after. In that instant the main hallway fell so silent one could hear a pin drop onto carpet in the north wing. Almost every eye peeled towards me. It felt as if I had been accused of murder when I very clearly was not.

No one whispered rumors, even as I passed them slowly. I made it my goal to avoid too much eye contact the further in I strolled, though some fellow students I could not help but to glance at. A few carried on upon realizing the time before first period begins, granting me a chance to reach my locker without too many more staredowns along the way.

"Anchorage..." Cobalt deeply addressed from behind the very second my hoof set on the lock dial. I stopped what I was doing, sighing audibly, turning myself around slowly to face him.

I groused, glaring daggers up at the proportionally-larger colt. "What, you here to talk shit about me or my family again?"

I wholeheartedly expected a snarky response, but as if the genuine concern on his face wasn't abnormal enough, what really got me was what came out of his mouth afterward.

"I just... wanted to say, I'm sorry for your loss, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart for what I said about your father. As it turns out, he performed a lifesaving procedure on my mother when she had a heart attack while you were away."

Right when I thought he was finished, he continued. "And... I want you to know, no... we want you to know that everypony here at Gander Cove High has got your back."

Then he patted my shoulder. A chill ran up my spine as he did. He looked me dead in the eye, nodding once, and left it at that as he moved past me without purposefully bumping his shoulder into me, all while I just stood there in utter astonishment.

The whole encounter neglected to process in my head, let alone register the fact that I was not dreaming. Is the world ending? Why else would Cobalt, the school bully, actually feel the slightest wink of empathy for me?

Class had not even started yet, and I already felt the need to excuse myself to the restroom.

Author's Note

I'm pleased to put out a new chapter of this long-neglected story so soon after the previous. This was a rather fun one to write, I must say.

12. Two Hops and a Skip - Part I

Throughout the late summer months of the following year, following the end of the school day, I took up a part-time job at a fishing and outdoor store in town, named Harbor Bait & Tackle. After strolling the main street one afternoon, a 'help needed' poster stuck up on the Salty Lion snatched my attention faster than the day Dad asked me to come to work with him.

Less so a high-traffic establishment, my line of work primarily involved maintaining cleanliness and keeping shelves stocked to the max with cans of bait, wide-brim hats, high-quality fishing rods, and other necessities for spending a day out on a dock or boat.

Standard uniform was merely a brown apron with the shop's front sign sewed on, but for the sake of professionalism I made the purchase of a blue and white plaid button-up shirt that I rolled the sleeves of up to just above my elbows. Better yet, it matched the other employees' attire.

Buckridge was the name of the store owner, a middle-aged elk notorious for providing the town's predominantly marine-based economy with the finest goods on the market for a remarkably affordable price while still retaining steady finances for the heir-passed business.

His twelve-year-old son Bronco worked alongside his father for three years, but it was after this time that the elk decided his help would not be enough with so few of their large family willing or able to step up to the plate due to their own matters, and it was brought to my attention that in the long line of bucks and elk in their tree, I was the first outside the boundaries of their family to work here, let alone a pony.

For being a solid five years younger than I, the fawn had a firm understanding of the world and how things worked. No complaints, few jokes around his father, and overall was rather well disciplined for his age. I held respect for him, and the two of us got along quite nicely right off the bat.

We shared our stories, exchanged life goals, even discussed hobbies such as how I took pleasure with anything pertaining to boats and ships, and how he closely followed two of his favorite hockey teams every Saturday evening. Not long after I found myself tuning into a game or two at home or the small television in the shop's stockroom that Buckridge occasionally puts on when there is little else to do.

I'll say, Bronco's presence did help cope with my feelings much more than I anticipated. Not just caused by my father being gone, either. About two months ago, Vixen emotionally relocated with his parents back to his birthplace of Marewaukee. Word sprung about Azeruth moving on as well following his mother's soon-to-be discharge from the Navy, though there had to be some distance from truth there seeing how close his parents held this town to their hearts.

Then there's Misty, who also took up a job in her free time to support in paying bills after a rather frightening incident involving her father and a wrongly-armed harpoon on a fishing excursion in the bay, to which it caused an empty crab trap to fall and break his hoof. Being out of work until it can fully heal, they need all the money they can scrape together to get by. The struggle was mutual, although Mom and I had fewer worries. The house was paid off from Dad's bonuses over the years, so no concerns over mortgages or other overly stressful expenses.

About once a month did I have to loan money for groceries and the occasional electric bill. Despite having its own grid and power generator, it still costs a pretty bit on this island. According to Mom, however, that has everything to do with greed on behalf of the big energy companies and taking advantage of us otherwise helpless folk inhabiting this little town. But, despite this, it did allow some spending money for myself and a bit more freedom in terms of my day-to-day routine.

With an income came a negative, though. Gradually I noticed myself to be eating more than the norm, and a recent annual check-up at the clinic confirmed I had put on a whopping fifteen pounds since my last visit—which was six weeks ago, to deal with a rather persisting not-so-common strain of the common cold, defeated in mere days by some new strong trial antibiotics.

The news brought much concern to Mom, having taken notice of my newly developed habits, and suggested methods to chop some numbers off my weight. Frankly, it was beyond me as to why my activities at work failed to affect that, considering how often I carried boxes around and moved about the store.

My customer relations training always kicks in at the ringing of the simple little bell positioned above the door every time someone enters, and can sometimes interrupt my current duties, what ever they may be. In this case it was the cleaning up part of stocking some shelves when the bell chimed, prompting me to greet the customer. Already being in the main passageway through the center of the shop, all it took was a swivel of my body to face the entrance... and be met with a sight for sore eyes.

A butter-yellow earth mare stood just past the entry mat, her form silhouetted some by the natural light shining through the large storefront windows and the tall pane that consisted the majority of the door's surface area. She let off an exhale, flipping some of her grey wool scarf's length around the back of her neck before her orange gaze lifted and set on me.

"What brings a fine brunette mare like yourself in here?" I queried jokingly on approach with a slightly smug grin, leaning against one of the wooden pillars that suspended the upper floor of the shop. Okay, perhaps some of that was real flirting.

Acknowledging my comment on her new mane color, a faint blush appeared on Misty's cheeks, but lasted no more than a few seconds as she continued with her response. "Came in here to look for some things to give my father for his birthday. It's next week, after all."

I nodded in acknowledgement, smiling. "Right. How is he doin', by the way?"

"He is better. Should be getting out of that cast just in time for his sixty-first, then he begins rehabilitation to walk on it again," she smiled back. "Turns out the amount we owed to the clinic was much lower, so, I have my entire paycheck to blow on him for his special day."

If only I could say the same, and it left a small stinging pain in my chest having to realize that even months later. Sure, it took quite a bit of time to accept the fact, but it hurt no less thinking about it now. That doesn't mean I should rain on her parade, though.

"That's good, I'm glad to hear. The struggle isn't fun," I said with a sigh.

That garnered a shake of Misty's head. "No, it is not. But hey, we should be back on our hooves soon, give or take another month or two."

In the back of my field of hearing, I picked up on the signature clicking of small hooves approaching from behind. Turning over my shoulder, I spotted Bronco, pulling up short and wiggling his little tail. "You know this mare?" he queried with a bright beam.

"As a matter of fact, I do." I turned adjacent to the both of them so either were within a ninety-degree turn of my head. "Long time school friend since about the time I moved here from the mainland."

"Ooooh." Bronco's bronze eyes twinkled with wonder. "Is she your marefriend?"

"Bronco!" I yelped loud enough to reverberate off the store's wooden architecture, my face exploding with heat. Misty cackled at my reaction, followed shortly after by the young soul. God damn it, I grunted mentally, and began contemplating ways to successfully get away with slapping him and not have a buck's antlers subsequently impaled up my rear.

The laughing carried on for a good couple of minutes, all while I just stood there with my face in my hoof, shaking my head in utter embarrassment and overall annoyance.

At long last, he said, "I'll uh... I'll leave y'all alone, to uh..." but continued the humiliating presence by replicating rather realistic smooching noises with his lips and the gesture of his forehoof as if it was gripping one's chin in the act of making out, all while he made his exit to find something to do.

Turning her attention to me, Misty let out a final chortle as I grimaced. In hopes of dropping this topic, I straightened my posture and focused on something else. "What were you thinking about picking out for your father?"

"Well, you know he likes his fishing supplies," she swiped her hoof along the wood floor. "He has a surplus that he keeps for the company trawler, but never a whole lot for when he goes out with his friend on some weekends. Pondered on a bigger tackle box and a vest to replace the one he's had for almost a decade, maybe some new hooks, too."

"You're in luck," I smirked, jokingly trying to act smart as recovery. "We just so happen to carry those items here."

Misty slugged me in the shoulder mildly. "You'd better! Or else the 'Bait and Tackle' in Harbor Bait and Tackle is false advertising!"

Rubbing the point of impact with a chuckle, I began to loop around the end of a shelf to show her the way. Heck, it wouldn't be hard to find to begin with. Large signs in flashy lettering advertising certain departments hung from hooks hammered into the thick spruce planks that consisted of the second half-floor.

The fishing section included just about every crucial item one would need for a long, boring day staring at the idle surf as it washed in. Rods stood vertically on tall racks, neatly organized by brand and color. Cans of bait were, for the most part, tidily stacked on the shelves, as were the larger boxes for those who burn through it in the blink of an eye.

Then came the hooks region, as Buckridge referred partitioned item sections to, and my overall least favorite of them all. Jig hooks, treble hooks, buzz bait hooks... why are there so many damn types of fishing hooks? Whose bright idea was it to patent them and make thousands of variants in the process?! Only makes my job so much more difficult.

"Well, here you are." I moved aside for her to inspect our selection. "Anything else I can help you with?"

Misty tapped her chin contemplatively. "Hmm... I am interested, but not completely sold. I could use some information, maybe... an explanation?"

"What... kind of explanation?" I smiled sheepishly, ears folding slightly.

"Well, I could use their specs, plus a brief, or not-so-brief history of each kind you sell, where they are manufactured, who invented them, everything!" Misty smirked. Ha ha, so funny.

I stood there, stammering over my words to the point where nothing coherent left my mouth. Of course, she got a kick out of this, too, and laughed at my attempt at a response.

"You know I'm pulling your leg, right?" she remarked with a sly grin from ear to ear.

With my ears halfway pinned to my head, I chuckled in a moderately relieved manner. "I-I would hope so, 'cause... any of that information is beyond me!"

Misty giggled. "That makes two of us. One would think, 'Hey, Misty! Your dad's a fisherpony, you probably know everything there is about catching fish, why don't you give me some pointers for a newbie?', but in all actuality, I don't care all that much about it other than knowing what my dad likes and what he tends to avoid."

I ran a hoof through the back of my mane, nodding. "Right. It's like me with the Navy, ponies ask me if I'm a know-it-all because my father was a captain. I mean, I tried to learn all there was to know so I have an idea of what to say, and... I have a pretty firm grasp on how it all functions, the ranks, who does what, the ship classifications and their purposes..." I paused myself, realizing my topic was no longer in line with her's.

At my realization of me rambling, Misty simpered and ruffled her hoof through my dark blue mane. "You're a nerd, you know that?"

My heart skipped a beat. In a good way. "I-I am?"

"Of course," she replied, subconsciously plucking a plastic package of simple worm hooks off the shelf. "The boys and I would always refer to you as the Navy Nerd when you weren't around. Kind of became a thing when you shipped off to Alderneigh, and it just stuck with us. Grew onto a few others around town, too."

I smiled warmly at that. "Better nickname than the colt whose respected sailor of a father killed himself while he was away," I remarked grimly, but as I had hoped, Misty nodded in solemn agreement. No one has called me such so far, though it would not surprise me if like name flashed in someone's mind one time or another.

Then I adjusted my posture back to a playful customer service demeanor. "Now, what else can I help you find this afternoon, Ma'am?"

⚓

It was the end of my shift for the week when Misty completed her shopping, and for the sake of offering my employee discount, I accompanied her to the register where Bronco eagerly rang her up while I punched out behind the counter. In the time it took to get her items in the bag and the money in the register, it was clear he had something to say about the two of us, but chose to engage restraint.

As the two of us left the store, her attention caught directly across the street, halting her in her tracks short of the curb. "Huh."

"What is it?" I looked at her, then forward to what she was fixated on.

Above the doorway of a two-story building that was once a bakery some years ago, a pegasus stallion in heavy tan overalls and thick work clothes underneath floated his way down to the ground at a distance where he could observe his work for the afternoon; a red-lettered sign advertising the recent addition of a naval recruiting center.

I marveled some at the sight, eyes growing wide. That is new, my conscience said. "Gander Cove's never had one of those before," I uttered to Misty, and immediately found myself in a contemplative muse.

"Yeah, wonder what it took to put it in finally?" she replied. After a moment, she took notice of my silence and glanced over to see me, zoned out, with my sights still set on the newly-opened office. Judging by the sudden change of demeanor, her heart dropped. "Anchorage, you're not—"

"I am," was my response, sudden but curt. My attitude shifted gears then, as well. "I can't escape it, Misty. Just when I thought that phase might be over, this..." I gestured toward the building in question, peering over at her. "It follows me everywhere I go and appears whenever I least expect it. It means somethin', Misty, like it's my calling."

I read the semi-heartbreak in her eyes as they thinly glassed over, and as her ears folded back part way. She swallowed heavily as if to shove down a lump preventing speech. "Then follow it," she answered firmly, one that threw me off some. Maybe I was thinking of my mother and expected her to contradict it with genuine parental concern.

"But should I?" I countered out of my own worry. "My mind tells me I want it, but... do I really?"

Misty's hoof raised, placing itself over my chest to feel the soft beating of my heart beneath my shirt. "What does your soul say?"

"It... says..." I paused to draw in a breath, taking the moment to concentrate on more than just one voice in my mind for once. In her touch, my muscles notably tightened. "It says I belong... in the sea, on a ship... watching the sea, the sky, and the air for threats to our home."

A small, proud smile worked its way to curving her lips. "The least you can do for right now is talk to them, see what you are up against. If you are still set on going after they give you the facts, then what's stopping you?"

A simple glance into her eyes answered that question, washing the smile from her mien. She knew as well as I did what I meant without having to say a word.

"Anchorage, you are almost of age. Only a few more months of her standing in your way before, well... before she has no choice but to acknowledge you are no longer a little colt, that she can't wrap her metaphorical wings around you anymore. After that, you will be free."

My chin lowered, frowning on the muzzle. Misty's hoof began to rub along my chest between the buttons on my flannel in gentle circular motions.

The butter soon-to-be mare sighed lowly. "Hazy is a nice mare, Anchorage, I don't mean to defy what she thinks. But as what every parent must come to accept sooner or later, you will have to help her find her way there. Let's face it, no mother or father ever wants to face the reality that is their foal moving out of the house to take on the world alone. You will have to stand up for yourself, because no one else will, and then nothing will progress."

"I know, I..." I exhaled sharply. "What if I'm not ready for that?"

Misty backstepped some, gesturing her hoof out toward me. "Look at you. You're standing here in the street, wholeheartedly ready to march into the Navy's recruitment office and get yourself squared away to ship off for a life-changing experience. I'd say you are ready."

I looked deep into her core for a solid moment, delving deeper into her words. Perhaps it was a bit of over-analyzing, but ensuring not to misinterpret her argument in support of me going forward would never hurt.

Inhaling deeply and rolling my shoulders to relax them, I raised myself and faced ahead. "All right."

Without another word spoken, I crossed the street, aiming straight for the door. At each step taken, my heart pounded harder at my chest. Only when my hoof took hold of the metal handle did I turn over my shoulder to glance back. The motions of her lips as she spoke in mouth read 'you got this'.

I trusted her.

Author's Note

Once again I apologize for a long wait, I have been extremely busy these last couple of months with a new job and simply have not had much time to write. After long I just decided to make this chapter into two parts.

13. Two Hops and a Skip - Part II

Upon entry, the recruitment office was a whole new atmosphere to even what I would have expected. Propaganda posters symmetrically lined the greenish-brown walls, some advertising enlistment benefits such as college tuition, signing bonuses, and other gimmicks to draw in new recruits.

I stopped myself just beyond the entrance to examine each one, before moving on to a brass plaque with the Sailor's Creed engraved in bold lettering, complete with its year of origin at the bottom.

Drawing in a whiff of the sweet, flaky baked goods that have been absent for seven years, I turned to the amethyst uniformed stallion approaching from around the corner. "It still smells like bread in here," I commented.

The sailor (a Petty Officer judging by his collar devices) nodded, chuckling briefly. "Yeah, I'll admit, it is far superior to the new office scent most of our centers have." He then stretched out a hoof. "I am Petty Officer Taltucker, what can I do for you this evening?"

Like the day I stepped into Buckridge's office for an interview, I looked the stallion dead in his jade irides and firmly shook his hoof. Perhaps a bit too firm, but that all had to do with nerves. "Anchorage. I, um, noticed you all moved in here and, uh..." Come on, Anchorage, you can do better than that. "I've had interest in joinin' the Navy for some time now, and I thought it would be best to actually sit down with somepony and gather some information."

A warm, welcoming smile lit up on the petty officer's muzzle. "Always good to hear of the young's interest in serving their country, and having an understanding of all there is to know is certainly your best course of action for a career like this. Come on, Anchorage, we can talk at my desk," he said, giving a gesture of his head and turning back down the hallway he originated from.

I followed in silence as Taltucker moved through an open doorway into a brightly-lit, windowless room with night blue thin carpeting, four individual wrap-around desks, a couple of grey-hide couches surrounding a glass coffee table, a side-office behind a closed glass door and lowered blinds, and another small room through a shut wooden door.

Hung in tiers of importance, professionally-taken portraits of Princess Celestia, the commanding officers of the Navy, and even members of the Royal Court formed an arc of frames along the wall, around the emblem of the Equestrian Navy; a grayscale version of the two sisters on the national flag over top a sideways-leaning anchor.

Two other sailors of similar rank sat at their desks, one in the process of speaking to another colt who had already signed on and was visiting for a follow-up to disclose some final pieces of information vital to his enlistment. The second petty officer worked on her laptop, multitasking as she simultaneously copied onto a piece of paper.

Taltucker looped around the end of his desk and seated himself comfortably in his black office chair. "Make yourself comfortable there, Anchorage," he offered, pointing to one of the wood-finished leather seats with the word 'NAVY' in bold yellow stitched into the rest. "For reference, I'll need your basic information. This does not go towards anything but to help us determine what we need to do to help you out."

Slowly I pulled the chair back enough to slip in and sit down, sliding it forward closer to the desk as he prepared a form and a pen for me. I scanned carefully over the form, just in case, before clicking the pen and beginning to write down my name, date of birth, and anything else it requested that I was comfortable disclosing right now. This included standard medical information regarding any known abnormalities, such as asthma or something else potentially detrimental to military service.

Checking over my answers after completing any form was always a priority for me, keeping an eye peeled for any spelling errors or to make sure nothing was written in the wrong places and cause confusion. Once certain of my work, I slid the paper back across the desktop for the petty officer to look over.

"Mmhmm, mmhmm... Looks good," he noted. "In your senior year of high school, huh? You looking forward to that?" He lifted his gaze to meet mine with a cordial smile.

I nodded, reflecting his smile almost like a mirror with my own. "Very much so, sir. Been a long road, I'm about ready to leave it in the dust."

"Sounds like me when I was your age," he remarked with a grin, setting the paper down and leaning back into his chair comfortably while retaining eye contact. "We do offer programs such as the Delayed Entry Program, specifically designed for colts and fillies your age to finish up your schooling before we complete the enlistment process and send you off to boot camp. You are seventeen, yes?"

I nodded in a somewhat eager manner. "Ye-yes, that is correct. Eighteen this November." He scribbled that down, too. "What does the Delayed Entry Program do? Does it, like... is it like a reservation or somethin'? Like for my enlistment?"

Taltucker gave a so-so gesture of his shoulders and hooves. "Kind of, however it grants you the opportunity of freedom leading up to your ship-out date in case you change your mind. Personally, I consider it more of a boot camp prep, where we—all of us Petty Officers—set you up to be on the right track, both physically and morally.

"Most of it is simple exercising and other physical activities ahead of the otherwise intensive screenings that take place at basic training. Other activities include studying for quizzes on the Chain of Command, teaching proper attitude, and other need-to-knows going in, because it is our duty as recruiters to make sure every pony we take in is ready."

"I see," I nodded in understanding while I considered my next question. "So, for somepony like me, the DEP is a good place to start?"

The petty officer smiled, tipping his chin in agreement. "It is what I would recommend. We offer the program out as far as twelve months in advance of a ship-out date. Of course, as demand comes and goes every year, the fleet may need you sooner, or they may have us hold on to you a little bit longer, situation dependent. Your readiness through initial processing may also vary."

"Now, if you do not mind, I would like to ask you a few questions. Personal, non-prying things, mostly, but feel free to answer them as you please. This is just so we can get to know you a little bit more," he said, opening a drawer in his desk and producing a piece of paper for him to scribble down notes on.

"Of course, sir," I replied respectfully so. Addressing him formally would reflect positively on my record and perhaps better my chances at a decent start into the Navy.

Clicking the pen in his hoof, he briefly scanned over the first printed question. "Any hobbies?"

"Boats and ships, for starters," I answered with a grin. "Sometimes I'll sketch things here and there. Mostly boats, again."

Taltucker jotted that down on the provided black line. "So an interest for being out on the water and part-time artist. Any reason why those two things?"

I gave a small shrug of my shoulders, unsure of how best to describe them. "The water and the machines we've built to traverse it just intrigues me, always has."

"How long have you had an interest in becoming a sailor?" he queried next.

"Um..." I paused to ponder. "About a couple of years. Longer if we're talkin' non-military. It kind of came to me because my father served."

"So that answers my next question, any family history in the service, or the Navy specifically other than your father?" he asked while quickly writing these bits down.

"Besides him? My great grandfather, I believe. I couldn't tell you what branch he served," I remarked with a chuckle.

He smirked some at that. "Do you play any sports?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. Used to want to play hoofball back in middle school, though, if that counts for anythin'."

The petty officer simply wrote an 'x' in the space. "Now, what word would you use to describe how you feel about the idea of traveling?"

I blinked twice, spending a good couple of seconds thinking. "Exhilarated?"

He wrote that down, too. "What about a word to describe your feelings toward working as a team to make the world a better place?"

"Ecstatic, for sure."

"You like the E words, huh?" he chortled, placing both the pen and paper off to the side and leaning forward to put his hooves together on the desk. "So, back to the Delayed Entry Program. Electing to sign up for it is most certainly the best option the Navy offers to recruits as it allows a flexible schedule to prepare you for basic training, which is solely in Chicoltgo.

"About twice a week—depending on your availability since you did mention you are still in school—we will meet for sessions to get you in shape. Nothing too intense, perhaps an hour to two hours of physical activity alongside other recruits, along with introduction to drill and proper military posture.

"Now, I am obligated to inform you that even though this program is specialized for minors until they are of age, parental or guardian approval is required before we can move forward with anything."

Learning this made the veins themselves freeze over, not just the blood in them. How could I neglect to acknowledge this? Damn laws, requiring the presence of one's parent to sign for their foal into the military, even if they are borderline adult...

Worse yet, Mom wasn't even fully aware of my intentions. All of this would be a new development to her, as it was for me right this moment.

"I don't suppose you are able to bring your parents in today at all?" the petty officer questioned curiously. The change of demeanor on my countenance told him before I could muster a reply, and he simply smiled. "That is all right. I will keep your information on file, and when you are able to bring them in, feel free to do so. I am open for appointments at any time."

I nodded slowly, shrinking some into my seat as negative thoughts regarding my mother's reaction drilled itself into my soul. It was then that I began to wonder if I should have given this another day or two just to have her acknowledge what I am out here doing.

Plucking one from a little plastic holder, Taltucker slid a rectangular contact card with his information printed on towards me. "Here is this, in case you would like to call before your next visit. I am in from eight to six, Monday through Friday."

Politely I took the card, examining it briefly before looking back up at him and smiling, albeit more anxiously this instance. "Thank you, Petty Officer. I will let you know how things go, but I will be back soon to talk some more."

"From somepony as close to his guns as you, I expect no less," he nodded once, standing up and offering his hoof out one last time. "Have a good one."

"You, too." We shook as I rose, and with that, I was out the door in no more than a minute with his calling card tucked away in a pocket.

All that was left now is to finally completely enlighten Mom on my plans.

⚓

Sizzling emanated from the skillet as a combination of diced carrots, broccoli, and spiral noodles cooked to perfection, shuffled and mixed around with the spatula in my hoof. The kitchen and dining room filled with the mouthwatering aroma of the garlic seasoning, one that made my stomach growl simply by taking a whiff.

Not often did I step up to make meals, simply because I still have yet to learn how to cook more than just pasta. The one exception for tonight was to have her in a slightly easier position to slide my intentions to her casually. That, and being able to make food on my lonesome will help once I am out on my own.

Mom sighed contently as she waited patiently at the table. "You really didn't have to make dinner tonight, sweetie. You've been up since six this morning working."

"But you always cook, you earned a break," I replied, smiling to myself as I stirred the contents around, ensuring every piece of carrot and broccoli completely cooked through with a quick taste.

Turning off the stove burner, I brought the skillet to the side where two plain white plates waited, scraping off equal portions for the two of us with some still left over, before carrying both of our dishes to the table to finally eat.

She smiled as the plate was set in front of her, neatly prepared with a perfect balance of the mixed ingredients. "Thank you, my little Anchorage." While she appeared mildly anxious to dig in, on first taste she lowered her guard and happily chowed on her dinner, much to my relief.

"You're welcome, Mom," I kissed her on the forehead, rounding the table to sit in my own spot.

I took two small bites of carrot, feeling my stomach twist into small knots as my mind raced to think of how to approach the topic, despite a good two hours of carefully plotting it in my head. Actually coming to execute a plan such as this found me trouble, knowing the potential outcome's unpredictability. This time, I can't chicken out.

"So... Mom..." I began, struggling to restrain any signs of shakiness from my voice. "Did you... um... did you see what they put in downtown?"

She made sure to swallow the chewed food in her mouth before speaking. "I have not been through downtown in a couple of weeks, my love. What is it?"

It suddenly became harder to breathe for some reason. "A recruiting center for the Navy. It's... um... it's across the street from work, where that bakery used to be."

Her ears perked some, though not fully attentively. So far it didn't seem like she was catching on. "Oh? Good for them, maybe they figure this year's seniors might show an interest."

"Ye-yeah, perhaps." I let off a small, nervous chuckle. Butterflies tickled beyond the boundaries of my stomach in full-on panic mode. "Yo-you know how, when Dad came back from deployment, I said I wanted to join?"

This time there was a small change in her demeanor when I said that, judging by how hard she stabbed her fork into a chunk of broccoli and carrot. She probably hoped I wouldn't continue.

"I... um..." my hooves tapped along the edges of the table. "I went in after work and sat with a recruiter for a bit."

The fork in her hoof stopped halfway to her parted maw. Rather than preparing to take a bite, her jaw hung slack out of stupefaction. At the same time I felt the whole world come to a screeching halt as at any second, I expected her to either lash out, or break down into a wide range of emotion all at once.

Remorse permeated my soul as I shrunk into my chair in chagrin, jolting when her fork clanked loudly onto the plate after falling out of her grasp.

The worry on her countenance displayed itself like a billboard in the dead of midnight as she sat up, straight-spined. "You didn't sign anything, did you?"

My ears stood up, eyes widening. "What? No, no. I just... sat down to talk, and ask a few questions..." My gaze darted to the side momentarily before I remade contact. "I did... express my interest in enlisting."

I felt the room go cold with anxious tension shared between the two of us. Suddenly, she gagged, as if she was about to hurl. She jumped up from her chair and rushed to the kitchen sink, losing what few bites of dinner she'd eaten down the food disposal.

After washing the mess down the drain with running water, she wiped her mouth with a paper towel and returned her attention to me, wide-eyed. "Wouldn't you rather, you know... get yourself a nice blue collar career close to home, so you can stay with me? It would get pretty lonely around the house."

"I could do that, but... Mom, I want this more. I can travel the world, just like I've always wanted to!" I waved my hoof around.

Her volume raised some, though not frighteningly. Yet. "So, what, you're just going to up and leave?! You still have a month and a half of school left! Anchorage, you can't just drop out and go straight to the Navy, they won't accept you without a diploma!"

"That's just it! They offer a program for ponies still in schooling, so that we can finish up before we go! I'm not of age yet anyways, Mom, they would need your approval in-office to let me enlist straightforward."

"Well, you are sure as hell not getting any signature out of me," she said in yet another change of tone, sitting back into her chair, staring down at her plate as she tried to return to eating.

My ears drooped back partially. "Mom, it's just to get me into the program! I will be in it for as long as I am in school. All it is is exercises and teachin' of military attitude, that's all!"

“No, Anchorage! I refuse to let them take one more of my family for Celestia-knows-what!" she yelled, slamming her hoof on the table, shaking both of our dishes. "Do you see what the Navy did to your father?! It got him killed!”

"No, what got him killed was the lack of help he received! You saw him get off that boat a different pony, we both did! You dare speak ill of the dead, Mom?!"

"He wouldn't have needed help if it wasn't for the Navy sending him off to war!" she shouted with evident heartbreak in her eyes behind the furious glare she donned. "If you think for a second that I am going to let my son, my only son, march off to potentially face a similar fate, you are sadly mistaken!"

Letting off a frustrated sigh, she eased herself back. "I don't want to hear any more of this, ever again. Not even when you turn eighteen. Until you decide to move out of my house, what you do with your life for the time being shall be for me to worry about, not you."

My blood steadily began to boil. Eighteen or not, even as my mother she had no right dictating my life's path. She hadn't changed one bit since the days of sitting out by the marina boatwatching when she would yell at and lecture me to not be influenced by the sea.

As she got up to refill her glass, I sat in raging silence. Were it physically possible, my eyes would have turned blood red right then. Without warning, I swiftly rose from my chair hard enough to audibly slide the table away a few inches.

"You've never supported me or my choices, even since we moved here for Dad. You despised my friends, even after they proved their innocence to you and we did absolutely no wrong to anybody. Now as I approach adulthood, you still treat me like a mindless drone with no ability to think for myself, and when I finally decide what I want to do with my life, you shoot me down! You're... you're a bitch!"

The word as it escaped my mouth went like an invisible force that practically punched the glass from her hoof, smashing it to pieces against the hardwood floor. This created yet another ice that filled the room, enhanced by the eerie silence that seemingly put a pause on everything.

Mom was utterly dumbfounded. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and she gaped at the mouth. Some distance was added to her stance, having recoiled a couple steps solely out of shock.

Regret swiftly filled the emptiness that abruptly followed as the realization came. Did it show on my face? No, it did not. The look I wore spoke differently, that there was more to be said than there actually was.

Her form trembled down to her hooves, ears flat to her skull and eyes glassed over with tears. I struck her where it hurts, and that is precisely where I planned to leave it.

Without another word spoken, I strolled with heavy steps into the living room, up the stairs, and into my room with a final slam of my door.

I didn't need her approval. One way or another, I was going. Whether she liked it or not, there was going to be one more sailor in the family tree. The glass on the kitchen floor, our relationship as a downsizing family, it was all her mess to pick up.

⚓

Every morning after that night for three weeks started out the same, and for all days of the week I made sure to stay out of the house for as long as I could, even if it meant sitting on a rotting wood bench for three hours straight. Other than to sleep, it felt as if there was no reason to go back home and see her.

It hurt. Every last second of it. I saw no need to apologize for the profane name calling, because it was true.

In that time, we had maybe spoken five words to each other. Until she comes around, in all unlikeliness of that, I strictly refuse to strike a real conversation with the mare I am forced to accept as my parent.

Some instances I found myself contemplating dark ideas, ones that I even briefly considered carrying out against her. Intrusive thoughts mostly, but obtrusively out of my usual demeanor.

Today we made eye contact for the first time since. On my way out for school, she stood in the walkway between the living room and the kitchen, notably distraught. Something was definitely on her mind, but she failed to vocalize it before I turned a cold shoulder and shut the door behind me.

It seemed as though November would never arrive, knowing it marked the end of high school for me, and my eighteenth birthday. Perhaps fate purposely lengthened the span of time itself to hold me in an infinite, torturous loop of having to share a house with the very pony whose only goal is to derail my hopes and dreams.

Without her word, however, I was still stuck. The Navy won't take me into the DEP, and for another four weeks plus however long processing takes is the time left for me to suffer this now-bleak life, and I knew damn well this attitude will come back to bite me when it's finally time to leave for Chicoltgo. I would have to find some way to put up with it so that my career won't be in jeopardy, because one pony's emotional misery can lead to a whole group's failure.

As I tread down the path leading to the school's entrance, I took note of a peculiar lack of students doing similarly. The closer I came to the doors, the stranger things got when total darkness barring natural light inside met my sights.

Peeking in through the glass pane that made up the door's center, I scanned for any signs of life within. Nothing. My next instinct was to try the door; locked. Not a note anywhere, either. At least, not where one could easily spot it.

Glancing down, a piece of paper with a few words printed on read: Water leak. No class's today or tomorrow. I hoped no one that works here made that sign, because they sure as hell didn't finish school.

Just what I needed, more time to myself with nothing to do to pass it. The last thing I'd have wanted was to go back home, knowing I'm too much awake now to even attempt to burn more of the day away by sleeping, and it's unlikely that, despite Buckridge's generosity, he would be willing to let me work a double shift.

All I could think of on the fly was to take another trip to the recruitment office downtown to continue my discussion with Taltucker, even though signing anything was still out of my reach. That would be something to bring up with him, too.

The walk into town was a brisk and breezy one, per usual. Most of the trees apart from standard pines had long shed their leaves for the season, and what remained littered about after countless storms since then crunched damply under my hooves. It amazed me how long this island has gone without a single snowflake, as first snows typically occur during the middle of August, or September at the latest.

Gander Cove was well prepared in advance, though. Storefronts, one of the most prominent being the one employing me, displayed heavy-duty shovels for all ages and an assortment of colors. Large sacks of salt piled in opened cardboard containers, holding down metal signs at their base while the pole poked up through a narrow gap in the center to advertise a price. Seven bits for a twenty-pound bag? Not a bad deal. Only exception is, up here, you burn through that stuff like there's no tomorrow.

Unlike first time, I hesitated none opening the recruiting office's door. This instance I had the wide picture of what I wanted to discuss thanks to a steady train of thought on the walk over.

Two steps into the office were as far as I got, however, before I came to an abrupt halt at a sight I purely did not, nor would have ever expected to catch outside of the dreamscape; Mom, politely seated in the chair across from a now-neutral faced Taltucker. My unannounced entrance might have caught them off guard, too, judging by the look on both of their faces.

"Anchorage..." she said, ears low as she made an attempt at eye contact, which I quickly prevented by turning to the recruiter.

"What is going on here?" I questioned to him in total ignorance of my mother, firmly in tone.

Petty Officer Taltucker blinked twice, confused by my reaction. "Your mother came in to ask some questions. I have been talking to her for the last ten minutes about your enlistment."

"Yeah?" my stare transitioned to a scowl, redirecting toward the mare with him. "Has she mentioned her stern opinion against that?"

The amethyst stallion's attention turned to Hazy, puzzled by my claims as he very evidently was not made aware of our present conflict at home, and now apparently the recruiter's office.

"I just... thought I would get to know the pony I am to trust to take care of my son before he leaves," she asserted apprehensively, holding her little red purse close under a protective hoof, all while offering an innocent smile.

I recoiled some at that in disgust. "Let's take this outside. Just the two of us," I said coldly, turning and moving out of the main office for the door outside.

Once the two of us were out on the street and the door had clicked shut on its own, I spun to face her with a glare of daggers.

"What are you doin' here, Mom? Come to sabotage my chances at somethin' worth my time?"

This time she winced, appearing hurt by that accusation. She spoke softly to retain civility. "N-no, honey, I... I came to make things right, between the both of us."

My brow furrowed in suspicion. In my honest opinion, the best move would be to slam the door in her ass and move on. For all I knew she could have been playing me like a fiddle, but for dignity and respect's sake I chose to listen to what she had to say.

"Yo-you're right... I am a bitch. I have been one to you since... well... the day we moved to this town. I spent my time worrying that your father would influence you so much, that you only ever wanted to do with him and never me, a-and... I've been afraid of losing our relationship, but I haven't stopped to consider my approach, or how you might feel.

"I imagine all of these years, th-that's what you've been meaning to call me, isn't it?" she smiled brokenly in attempt to laugh it off. "I deserved it. But... I just want you to know, I've always wanted the best for you, my not-so-little Anchorage. I love you to the ends of the earth and back, and the last thing I want for you is to be hurt."

With a shaky sigh, she continued. "But I must also come to terms with the fact that, you will soon be an adult, and the choices you make now fall in line for that. I may not... agree with your decision to join, but... as your mother, I support your choice, and I will stand behind you the whole way."

My ears folded back. The becoming-adult side of my conscience advised against believing her for all she's done in the past. "I always loved Dad more than you. Now he's gone, and you're all of the immediate family I have left."

Saying this visibly hurt her, but the feelings were mutual. Dad's departure brought an unwavering pain to the both of us, though apart from that it felt as though her and I had no common connection. I wanted that to change, but my question was whether or not I am to expect it.

When I spoke again, my voice cracked under the crushing weight of suppressed emotions. "All I want, Mom, is for you to be proud of me for who I am... and what I aspire to be, and that is to be just like him."

Tears sat in our eyes as we made contact for the longest time in almost two years. Rather than clearing her own first, she raised a hoof to wipe my eyes dry, then hold my cheek comfortingly.

"I am proud of you, Anchorage. I never was not." She did her best to smile against all combined sentiment of the moment. "That is my fault for not showing you the love I mean to give you. The only reason I did not want you to go in was because, as your mother, I have my own right to worry about what my son gets into, even after he is out of the house. All I pray for is your safety and happiness, and it is my obligation to be there for your success."

My chest heaved as I fought a losing battle to hold back more tears than there needed to be. One glance into my eyes told her all she needed to know, and Mom took me in a gentle grasp at first to test my acceptance. Like dominoes, it all came tumbling down to earth, and I grabbed her tighter than the day I returned from Camp Wallop. It was then where my walls crumbled, and I bawled into her shoulder as she stroked a lock of my dark blue mane.

Anypony walking past would have given us funny looks, but neither of us paid mind to it. This was the reassurance I needed more than anything else at the moment.

"I-I love you, Mom," I whispered shakily, sniffing in hard afterward in failed attempt to clear runny nostrils.

"I love you most, my brave, beautiful Anchorage..." she uttered back softly, nuzzling into my cheek and kissing it as she broke our embrace to smile warmly at me.

She turned some as if to walk back inside. "Now, let's go back in there. I am sure that nice stallion has some paperwork for me to fill out for you."

I responded with a slow, quiet nod, following closely as she re-entered the office. There were questions to be had, for sure, particularly due to the sudden addition of red, puffy eyes and wet mats of fur from streams of tears on our cheeks.

I didn't care what he asked. My dream was one step closer to coming true.

⚓

The day was here at last. In the final hours of my time home, Mom and I spent every moment of it reminiscing over our life as a family; the good, the bad, and everything in between. Much of this came from a quick retrieval of a rather thick photo album archiving as many occasions as possible through photography, dating back as far as my parents' wedding day, up to my sixteenth birthday. Since then, it has yet to be updated.

Why hasn't it? Two words; Dad's absence. Neither of us have so much as lifted the family camera, fearing it may diminish the album's value to heart. That was to change, according to Mom's word. She wanted to document my graduation from boot camp, every second of it and every increment of time in between.

With the day officially coming to a somber close, I offered Mom the comfort of taking care of her chores while she turns in for the night. In the time after finishing up, I took a few minutes to glance over the picture frames hung up on our walls throughout the house, and took in the scents and sights that I am sure to long for over the next couple of months.

On my way up to bed, I stopped in my tracks upon setting my sights on a solid white door to the right of the landing, camouflaging itself behind a hoof-crafted rotting wood sign with metal caps on both ends, turned over to cover what it read.

Something outside of my control told me to take a close look at the door and this sign, and to flip it over back to the way it once hung. Slowly I reached up, taking the bottom of the sign and gently turning it to face me. A stinging pain pulsed through my chest to read over these words again, and they were; Dad's Hideout. Enter at own risk!

Of course it meant that for humor sake, knowing he never truly cared who entered past the door. Lowering my gaze to the knob, I took it, twisted, and pulled outward to open, and met with total darkness.

I stared blankly down into the pitch black abyss that the creaky wooden stairs carried down into. Flicking the light switch, I almost didn’t expect for the space below to brighten. Since Dad’s passing, neither myself nor Mom dared venture into his old stallioncave in the basement, where his radio equipment sat, collecting dust.

Like every other item down here, two years worth of neglect were beginning to show. It was cold down here, too; much colder than the norm. Perhaps that part was just me however, or it was the lingering energy of his spirit floating around, if ghosts truly are real. I could neither deny nor believe in their existence, or a realm plane beyond our own for that matter. Maybe that was just my own self doubt speaking for itself.

I drew in a breath, taking in the mildly musty scent of the basement, gaze drifting from left to right across the desk with his old equipment, to the lounge chairs and circular area rug beneath the perfectly centered wooden coffee table that once belonged to my grandparents and still to this day remained in pristine condition, dust aside.

The longer I stood down here, the deeper the ache drove into my soul. This all belonged to him, dating back as far as the day Command allowed him to live off-base when he was stationed in Chicoltgo for a short period during his non-active duty years, and the time spent learning every aspect there is to becoming an officer. By that time he had known Mom for a few months preceding boot camp, and the blossoming of their relationship led them to eventually settle down in Winneighpeg, where they had me.

Funny how it comes full circle to me. This was my last full day home. Come tomorrow morning, following a final meetup with my recruiters at the processing station to collect necessary documentation, it will be a long travel day to the boot camp north of Chicoltgo. A five-hour ferry ride, followed by another jaunt to Alderneigh Airport where I would catch a two hour flight as my journey’s final leg. After that point, I will be a new stallion, set on a track to become an Equestrian Sailor.

Giving one last glance at the living room, I rounded the staircase to retreat to my room for the night. With my nerves as high as they were, how I would receive sufficient sleep tonight to not be deliriously exhausted is beyond me.

Author's Note

Fun fact: this entire chapter takes heavy inspiration from my real life regarding joining the Navy. The recruiting office bit is taken directly from my experience visiting a recruiter, and while later on it doesn't completely mirror experiences with my mother but if things were different and I had not previously announced my plans to enlist, I picture this is how it would go.

14. The Dead Pony's Float

Straight off the plane at Chicoltgo International Airport, I knew I was in for a wild ride. I had met up with a couple other recruits in Alderneigh who shared flights, and as instructed we sought out the khaki-dressed chief petty officers waiting in an ESO lounge on the second floor of Terminal 1, where we found another small group of recruits standing by for orders.

Because of the establishment's association with the armed forces, we were provided hot meals on-the-house to fill us up after a long day's journey, now that we had been informed that the final jaunt to basic training would not be until later this evening, once all recruits in our training division have arrived and are accounted for.

However, in the time we spent waiting, there was no talking in the chiefs' presence. Absolutely none. The only exception to this were the few short instances we were asked questions regarding our enlistment, such as name, place of origin and recruiting station, and even a couple quick knowledge checks. That, and if we needed to use the restroom, which many of us did in that span of time. One or two of the others returned some ounces lighter, having already lost their lunch due to high nerves.

By around nine that evening, the three remaining recruits arrived and checked in as soon as deplaning procedures would allow. One's flight was delayed over an hour in his home city due to heavy snow showers affecting visibility, though it certainly kept our new superiors content that they made the eleven o'clock deadline. After that point, they would have been written up, their own fault or not. That's just how strict it is.

One by one, our names were called for a final count, a glint of hope that we would be soon leaving. Only a few minutes later were our prayers answered, and in a single-file line, we were led up a floor to a platform that extended half the length of the terminal itself. There, a two-carriage passenger train sat idle, only opening its doors for us as the chiefs ushered us inside.

While taking the outside appearance of a basic light-rail train for identity concealment, it made you crystal clear upon first step aboard who it belonged to. Small posters of propaganda much alike the ones at the recruitment office sat up high between windows, and a lighted sign on the front of the carriage virtuously read 'Next Stop: Your Future'.

We quickly took our seats a minute and a half before leaving the station, after an accompanying master-at-arms ensured nopony unauthorized would join us for the journey. Puzzled commuters on the platform looked on, probably wondering why an armed guard took watch over one of the city's many metro trains, little were they aware.

And so this was it. My mind raced a hundred miles per hour, as if in utter disbelief that this was real, that I am less than an hour from arriving at Navy boot camp.

I relaxed into my seat, glancing out the right window to watch the quiet city streets roll past below. The track from the airport curved east, bringing us close enough to downtown to gaze in awe at the expansive skyline before turning north, along a main line that would eventually branch off near our final destination. After all, what sense would it make to construct a track solely for the purpose of connecting the airport to the Navy's only boot camp?

Soon, the bright metropolis faded off, and the golden-orange glow of street lights became less frequent. For a few minutes we raced through empty countryside before pulling through another small city, presumably one of Chicoltgo's outskirt suburbs.

Throughout the journey, my fellow recruits repeatedly found themselves drifting asleep while things were tranquil. However, that didn't last long, as before they could complete a full minute of sleep they were swiftly reawakened by a chief's booming request for a serial number, which they were forced to recite in an alert manner in spite of evident fatigue. No matter how far each of us have traveled to end up here on the train together, we were all equally fending off sleepiness as long as needed until we reach our racks.

At the same time, there were a few of us who found it difficult to let ourselves doze off. The overbearing sense lingered that at any given minute, we would arrive at boot camp and immediately be shouted at. I especially found myself in a constant, somewhat anxious muse of wondering what will happen tonight and for each day over the next two months. What spiked my adrenaline the most was the idea that anything can be thrown my way, and that both excited and worried me.

I did have something to look forward to, though. Following a week's wait after taking the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery—or ASVAB for short—it was to my surprise to learn just how well I had done on it and what was available to me; and that was just about anything I could think of. So, with a little extra time discussing high-scoring rates, Petty Officer Taltucker explained the Electronics Technician rate to me. It piqued my interest initially, but it wasn't until he discussed sea rotation time that really drew me towards it. And so my hoof was in the door for the 'A' School upon completion of basic training.

A light bump in the rail jutted me out of contemplative trance, just in time to watch a large sign reading 'Recruit Training Command North Shores', along with numerous division emblems unreadable to my moderately zoned-out eyes slowly pass the window.

The train's wheels screeched as it braked into the depot, which also marked the end of this track with concrete bumpers. Nothing more than the average city stop, the station was open-air with a tall metal cover with brick pillars to match the architecture of what the camp appeared to be its own incorporation based on size.

On the platform stood a pair of silhouetted sailors, notably stocky with shortened manes even under the poorly-lit canopy. I'm not sure why, but seeing them waiting there, completely motionless in the dark of night not unlike that of a preying serial killer, sent a cold chill running up my spine.

Exiting the train, we lined up on a white painted line that extended the length of the platform. No one's hooves were allowed past that point, and it was made clear after one of the recruits in our training division, a sky blue earth pony, mistakenly placed the tips of his forehooves over the edge and was immediately bombarded by the incoherent barking of not one, nor two, but four chief petty officers.

A brief check ensured each of us had the required paperwork on our person, where it would later be glossed over thoroughly by the sailors that process in new recruits.

Without another word spoken, all four chiefs—two leading, two tailing—brought our surprisingly tidy group of eleven toward a two-story brick building, its atrium-type entrance sitting beneath a clock tower that looked over the whole of and marked the exact center of North Shores.

Inside, beside a painted mural of Equestria's naval history that extended the whole of the south wall, another thirteen recruits stood, perfectly lined up in rows of three, but were soon forced to shift around to consolidate us new arrivals in based on name. We figured it out pretty quickly, given the chiefs patience would run out in the blink of an eye if we didn't in under a minute. Having the first letter of the alphabet as the start of my name, followed by the letter 'N' put me behind two others in the far left row.

Once rearranging had completed, the four chief petty officers formed their own line ahead of us. The tallest, a well-defined teal unicorn with one hell of a ribbon rack on his left breast, stepped forth, and spoke with a voice deep and stern.

"My name is Chief Petty Officer Stygius, and I am your Recruit Division Commander, or RDC for short, but you shall address me as Chief, or Sir. Welcome to Recruit Training Command North Shores, where today marks your final day as a civilian.

"Over the next eight weeks, you will endure a series of relentless tests that will either make or break you. The latter shall not happen on my watch so long as you follow my every command, as well as the orders of other petty officers in our training division. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Chief," we answered in unison.

He blinked, unaccepting of our response. "Is that understood?!" he raised his voice.

"Yes, Chief!" we answered again, louder this time, echoing through the hall.

"Excellent. Through these double doors, you will have sixty seconds to make a phone call, so spend them wisely. Once that minute is up, I expect each and every one of you to be back out here in the exact spot you are standing now."

With a repeating sideways gesture of his paper-holding hoof, he glared down our line. "Get moving."

Third into the room, I walked up to a stand shaped like a pentagon that included five phones, there being four more in the room to accommodate as many recruits at one time as can be, plus many more along the walls between propaganda signs.

Singular bits were provided to begin the calls. To save as much time on the call as I could, I picked up the receiver and held it to my ear, spent a couple of moments to remember the correct number, and slipped the coin through the slot.

It rang for a good few seconds, eating away at precious time. As it seemed to speed on by with no answer, worry grew in my mind that I may not hear her calming voice one last time. It was late, an hour later back home because of time zones, so she could have been well off to sleep by now.

However, a glimmer of hope shined through as I heard the clicking of a hoofset lift up through the speaker against my ear.

"H-hello?"

I smiled softly, but had to speak up over the ambience of others talking simultaneously. "Hey, Mom. I made it here safely."

⚓

Sweat slicked my forehead and drenched around the collar of my yellow t-shirt. Grunts emanated from my throat as I pushed myself up one more time. Every day in the first two weeks followed almost the exact same routine; wake up at 0500 sharp, don our training clothes, exercise for an hour before breakfast.

First week and the four days prior, which were processing days or 'P-Days', consisted of a mixture of exercises and medical examinations, as well as setting up crucial credentials for the service, such as the Navy's secure and exclusive bank branch.

Second week included drill, knowledge exams and, while less than the week before, continued exercises such as running, crunches, and push-ups, all of which to prepare us for the end of this week.

Coming up was a major physical test, which our performance would determine our advancement to the next stages of training. Between push-ups, us pegasi were ordered to replicate the number required with our wings only to build up their endurance ahead of a flight capabilities test.

Flying was not my greatest strength; it wasn't that I had never learned, it was because even leaping off the ground for ten seconds back home is a risky move because of the cold. Despite conditions varying little here in Chicoltgo, it was still part of the graduation requirements to pass a test for pegasi.

Come to find out, too, each race had their own unique assessment. We had to strap ourselves to a machine and let it launch us airborne, where we would then have to immediately recover our spin and land safely, and each of us would do it again until we succeed.

Earth ponies had an advanced sort of swimming test on top of what everybody else would later have to endure, for which we would be issued a one-piece blue uniform called coveralls that are supposed to be of some aid in the water.

Finally, unicorns took a two-day course to sharpen their use of magic, from utilizing it for the most basic of tasks to actual spells and attacks, as well as the art of takedown against opposing unicorns.

Frankly, I don't know which exam I am least excited for. Either one, if failed horribly, would result in the forced enrollment of a class to bring me up to Navy standards. Despite lack of experience in either field, however, I had slightly more hope in my ability to ace the flight portion.

Swimming, not so much. With waters surrounding Gander Cove that averaged anywhere between 30 to 50 degrees during the summer months, and colder-than-freezing in the winter, taking a lengthy dip in the harbor any time of year varied my chances of winding up in urgent care to be treated for hypothermia.

At Stygius' command, I leaped up on all fours attentively along with the rest of my division. In spite of the nipping December cold, my entire body radiated with heat, and my head throbbed like the pounding of my heart.

Part of me relieved in standing up straight once more, though the trembling of my hooves threatening to give out from the push-ups said otherwise. Being barely noon and this exhausted already, it was certainly a long day ahead. Hell, my flank still faintly ached from that massive shot administered three weeks ago, dreaded by just about anypony to have ever enlisted in any branch; the Peanut Butter shot.

Well... it wasn't that bad. I think something in the syringes jabbed in my arms earlier that same day and the one prior enhanced my tolerance of large objects sinking into my flesh, or perhaps overall pain from being exercised to near death cancelled out the feeling. I wasn't the biggest fan of needles from birth on, so when it went in and came back out with a smaller pinch than the tinier needles used before it, I was more than dumbfounded.

One thing Misty was right about, though. Shortly before leaving home, about a few days ahead of time, she did mention how basic training was more mental than physical. I believed it then, and boy, do I believe it now. Granted, it was to test our steel under pressure, and anypony that can't stand it either must suck it up until they refuse to any longer, which then they are discharged and sent home as soon as their bodies hit the deck.

That won't be me. Not now, not ever. I am determined to make my parents proud, even if only one of them still resides on this earth. I will make it. I will survive Navy boot camp.

⚓

"Today you will be taking the Third Class Swim Test. This is to determine whether you will be able to stay afloat and survive long enough for a rescue operation to take place, such as if you were on a ship out at sea and fall overboard."

Swim call. Of all days, I dreaded this one the most. Before the march that brought us to the large structure containing the pool where we would take our test, Chief Petty Officer Stygius, along with the rest of our RDCs, gravely and repeatedly advised us throughout the morning to increase our water intake prior to swim call. This was to prevent our bodies from cramping up in the middle of the test.

The edges of this pool were made of retractable panels, each individually programmed to move in or out to simulate real oceanic conditions without the need of a steady wind. They were inactive right now for our training division, but would be used later for another arriving in the late afternoon.

"This test consists of two modules. Module One has three separate events; a deep water jump from a twenty-foot platform, a fifty-yard swim, and a five-minute prone float, also known as the Dead Pony's Float."

The instructor paused briefly to clear his throat. "Two of you at a time will jump from the platform the moment you are instructed to. Any hesitation, and you will be pushed off by an observing petty officer. If you land in the water in any manner other than vertically upright, you will be forced to start over.

"Once you are in the water, you are to swim the fifty meters to the other end of the pool without stopping. You will not be timed on your performance, and you may use whichever stroke you are most comfortable with. After you complete the swim, you are then expected to begin the prone float, which will last a total of five minutes.

"During the float, you will face down the entire time and make minimal movement to keep yourself on the water surface, and raise your head gently to come up for air. It is as simple as that." I'm sure he meant that with complete sarcasm to make us feel better.

"Immediately following the Dead Pony's Float will be the Inflated Float, where you are to fill your coveralls with air bubbles to help you float. Doing this means you must hold one end of your coveralls open with a hoof while beating the water with the other to fill them with air.

"Following those four tasks, successful completion will result in qualifying for the swim. Those who fail must be rescheduled to qualify. Those who fail the second time will not be allowed to advance any further through the rest of boot camp, and will be promptly discharged."

It would be these words that, I pray, fuel me with the motive to pass this test as a whole. The idea of retaking a test with no margin for error second time around piles the pressure on more than the first, so here I was hoping all goes well today.

Of our training division of 24 mares and stallions, I was among the first few up on that platform to take the place of the two ahead who had just taken their leap of faith. Once they were safely out of the way and swimming to the end of this massive pool, it was our turn.

"Go," commanded the petty officer standing between me and another recruit.

I had not even hesitated for a full millisecond before I was given a firm shove, adequate to move me enough off the diving board to fall in. Fight or flight instincts kicked in almost instantly, but it was quick wit that helped correct my fall into the right posture for entry.

My biggest mistake thus far was forgetting to hold my nostrils shut as I splashed in, resulting in my sinuses being blasted with a rush of warm, chlorinated water and leaving the inside of my muzzle with a severe burning sensation. Thankfully it appeared that was not a disqualifying factor, and upon resurfacing, I began the fifty-meter swim.

About halfway across the pool, my arms grew increasingly tired from freestyle strokes, enough to where I briefly considered switching methods to get me to the end without needing to rest. After all, the only goal was to reach the end.

Come to find out, however, slowing my movements enough to change strokes threatened to sink me below the surface. This led to a momentary panic, and a swift return to freestyle, even as I strained to carry on. But finally, after seeming like an eternity reaching the end, I did it. So far, so good.

Then came the worst part. I did take a moment of pause to rest with one hoof out of the pool to hug the edge, only to be forced into the next stage of the test by the ear-piercing shriek of a whistle that echoed throughout the structure.

I pushed myself from the edge and out of the way of incoming swimmers, finding myself in a somewhat cooler region of the water where the other recruits ahead of me were in the middle of their prone float.

Having not witnessed how they managed to achieve such a position, it was up to me to figure it out on the fly.

Carefully, but doing so in a hasty manner, I lifted my hinds out from under me and proceeded to shift myself into a flat floating position, chest down, on the surface. Doing so resulted in my face submerging instantly, before I could get the chance to take a deep breath, and sent my conscience into overdrive as I attempted to compensate in the form of panicked splashing to bring my head above the surface.

By the time I was able to raise my muzzle just high enough to take a breath in, my entire posture was screwed up. The lower half of my torso sunk below the water, and all that effort put into floating face down had gone to waste.

In feeble attempt to retry before a trainer notices my struggle, I practically threw myself forward in a partial tackle, face smacking the water and hooves shifting about, splashing around, and causing a scene.

They say the best thing to do in a float is to relax your muscles; but truthfully, I just couldn't do that. Easing up any part of my body gave me the horrid feeling that I will lose control of my float and sink like a rock.

And just when I thought I had it, I heard a heavy splash nearby, and a pair of hooves swiftly wrapping around my torso that pulled me through the pool before feeling myself lift out of the water. Opening my eyes to figure out what was happening led me to discover my form encased in a greenish aura that sparkled around me, only to fade as I was set down on dry ground.

I coughed heavily twice, propping myself up on a hoof and flicking my head to get the wet mane out of my eyes and look around in confusion, then up at the unicorn instructor shadowing me.

Before I had the chance to question it, when in reality it was against general orders to do so, the magenta mare answered just what I was mentally asking myself. "You showed signs of struggling, Recruit. Should this have been real life, and you were discovered by an enemy, they would have shot you on sight."

I simply sat there, propped up on my elbows, chest heaving with deep breaths as I slowly calmed myself.

With a neutral grimace, the mare instructor backstepped to make some room. "Wait over there until the others are done. Anypony else that fails will join you, and you will be held back until the retest."

Held back. The two words I dreaded most right about now. Well, apart from the three, 'You're going home'. That is sure to come next though, I imagine.

Mind filled with disappointment, I slogged damply to a small set of blue bleachers to sit and wait, shaking off my hooves and wings of any excess water along the way. My coveralls stuck to my skin like glue thanks to the pool, and overall felt like they weighed two pounds more afterward.

⚓

It was two days after swim call, and in that time period, I was separated from my division. Thankfully, I was not the only one to have failed the Third Class test; five in all, myself included, were set to retake the test once we are seen through lessons to help us at least pass the second time around.

In the meantime, we were subject to intense exercises. This included a set of forty push-ups, thirty crunches, and twenty-five pull-ups. Most considered it punishment, I would just call it keeping us busy while we wait for our lessons to be set up.

By mid-afternoon, after lunch and a second round of less intensive activities to work off our intake, the five of us were led by Chief Petty Officer Dolden, one of the other recruit division commanders assigned to our division, back to the pool house for our lessons.

Once there, we were split up and assigned our own personal instructors. This was done so one pony is not in charge of an entire small group at once, and that any help was direct.

What puzzled me the most was, out of the instructors present, only one of the ponies—a marmalade earth pony with deep purple irides and a shortened, tidy auburn mane—donned recruit attire.

After sending off the other recruits with their respective instructors, Chief Dolden moved on to me and the orange stallion, who were all that remained. "Meet your swim training partner, Gallant. Fellow soon-to-be ET, as soon as you both graduate—if you graduate, you'll be in A School together. For the duration it takes for his training division to catch up, he's offering to help our swim instructors get you to where you need to be."

I glanced forward at the stallion, who stood no more than a couple inches taller than I. The two of us blinked in silence at each other at first. Frankly, it was less than reassuring to team up with another recruit instead of a legitimate trainer. What if he can't help me? Then what will I do?

Chief Dolden then turned to head out. "I'll leave you to it. I expect greatness out of both of you!"

"Yes, Chief!" we responded in almost perfect unison.

Then we made eye contact. After a solid moment of quiet between us, the orange pony offered a hoof. "Hi, I'm Gallant," he said.

I looked at his hoof, taking it slowly and giving it only a light shake before I leaned in close to speak with a glower on my countenance.

"Let me set the record straight here, mate. You're goin' to show me what I am doin' wrong, and you are goin' to help me correct it. If I fail because of you, well..." I stopped. Shit, I didn't think my plan through. Thirty seconds wasn't enough. "Let it rest on your conscience that you failed somepony! How 'bout that?"

He didn't even flinch at my threat. Should it even be considered a threat? "You won't fail, and I won't let you. We are in this together. That's why they're disciplining us to work as a team, is it not?"

I suppose he was right there. Confident or not, I had to put my faith in him that he can help me pass my retest, or else my dreams of following Dad's hoofsteps were dust in the wind.

"Right," I nodded. "Where do you want to begin?"

"You tell me. What do you need lessons on?" he countered, flicking an ear.

⚓

Blackness filled my vision behind closed eyelids. Water filled the outside of my ears, creating a soft hum that muffled all sound above the surface. I sat as still as could be, hooves out sideways in a sort of t-pose.

Roughly an hour into testing my capabilities in the pool, I started my practice for the floating portion of the test. Difference right now was, I had it easy by having the freedom of floating on my back, without the complicated effort of maintaining stability on the surface while trying to take in fresh air.

A gentle touch on my side prompted me to open my eyes and lift my head up some and empty my ears. Bobbing gently beside me was Gallant, observing my float.

"It won't do you any good to practice on your back. Typically that is the easiest float for somepony to accomplish. I can't help you if I don't see you trying face-down."

"Are you insane? I'm not going to do the Dead Pony's Float right this second!" I rejoined in exasperation.

"Just do it," he grunted. "Think about it this way; the sooner you do it for me, the faster we get out of this pool and move on with our day."

I sat there in hesitation as I stared at him. Without questioning him further, I shifted myself into an upright position, then with a deep gasp in, began to work myself into a prone float, per the test required.

Hooves reached out by my sides, I closed my eyes as the warm water caressed over my face. This time, I took the risk of holding my breath a couple seconds longer than the norm. Despite not being able to see Gallant, this did not seem to concern him. Of course it wouldn't, how on earth would he know the length of time which I can hold my breath?

When it became too much, I raised my head just enough above the surface and exhaled quickly, before drawing in another breath. Just like last time, my hinds dipped further into the pool, giving the uncomfortable feeling that I was sinking and forcing myself into compensating.

This did result in mild splashing, though none of the panicked variety, and this time I did manage to recover and regain my float. However, second breath in, it all went south again.

Unable to replicate my initial success, I positioned myself upright, coughing twice as I returned to normal respiration patterns. I parted my maw to speak, perhaps in a snarky tone, and that might be why Gallant cut me off when he did.

"I see two problems with your method. First thing, you come up too fast, which causes you to lose control of your float. Second, you emptied your lungs too much. You become less buoyant that way."

I grunted in evident frustration at that, but nodded in comprehension.

"One other thing, that makes it three problems; try slowly breathing out under the water and come up once you need air. That minimizes the amount of time spent with your nose above the surface. If all else fails, there's no shame in a subtle head turn."

Floating backward with a single pump of his hooves to give himself space, Gallant proceeded to adjust himself into a downward prone to demonstrate. "Watch me, then try it again."

So I sat there, watching his face vanish beneath the surface, the image of his muzzle shortened and distorted under the pool's steady waves. He remained face down for roughly nine seconds, gradually letting off small pockets of air from the moment he dipped in before raising his nostrils narrowly out of the water to refill his lungs.

About a minute passed of the repeated process, and seeming as though little to no effort was put into sustaining the appearance of a floating corpse. Of course, throughout his demonstration, I observed every crucial aspect of his posture to mentally take note of.

When the minute was over, he pumped his forehooves downward to shove himself upright, shaking his head briefly to clear his face of water and wipe over his eyelids with a hoof and across the bridge of his muzzle down to his chin. "Now you try."

Feeling somewhat more confident in myself, I eased myself this time into position after drawing in a deep breath. Ten seconds precisely passed, steadily letting off air under the water in the meantime before raising my head, slower than previous attempts.

Already I felt my performance improving. My hinds didn't sink nearly as fast, which would have normally sent my mind into overdrive to fix my mistake, and my float remained stable.

After each break for air, I would find myself spending more time under in order to counter an abhorrent number of instances coming up. First it was ten seconds. Then eleven. Then twelve. Then suddenly, fifteen seconds. Seventeen. Even with my eyes closed, I felt myself starting to black out, and my hearing muffling even without my ears underneath.

That's when I realized what it was doing to me. My eyes shot wide open, meeting the warm water that stung with chemicals. I darted upright, gasping for air as a shadowed tunnel in my vision retreated to the boundaries of my eyeballs.

I rubbed my eyes as they simultaneously itched and burned thanks to the chlorine balance in the pool. "This ain't workin', man."

Gallant sighed, rubbing his forehead momentarily. "Don't test your luck holding your breath for extended periods. Ten seconds is enough, unless you find pleasure in nearly drowning yourself. In that case, by all means, keep going."

Stress of failure constricted around my head in a throbbing ache that even the strongest of painkillers probably would not have diminished. I was doomed to metaphorically and literally sink, as was my potential naval career.

"Have you tried letting your wings sit unfolded? You know, for flotation?"

I blinked in silence as I pondered it for a moment. "No. Why would I?"

That's when the blow of a whistle around somepony's neck rang out across the pool hall, loud enough to startle some of us in there. It was the signal to get out and make way for others to take their test.

He shrugged. "Just thought I would suggest something. It may help next time around," then began to swim to the edge to climb out. "Good luck on your retest."

Good luck. The two words I needed to hear more than anything. Well, besides you passed, but that's another story. It went to show his efforts to help meant more than a simple command by an RDC who took notice of his excelling performance in the pool, and that he cared for my future as much as I did.

Perhaps I was just a little too sensitive towards Gallant; in all honesty, he wasn't that bad. Hell, it's a wonder he isn't interested in becoming a Navy diver instead. He definitely did not seem like the Electronics Technician kind of stallion, though I've learned by now to not judge a book by its cover.

Once out of the pool, Chief Stygius was the one to collect us for showers and supper, and hopefully news on when we would retest.

⚓

Lo and behold, we were right back at the pool first thing next morning. Surely not for more training, no; this was it. No more chances. I show the slightest of effort in staying afloat or attempting to get air, and I am done.

And so, we jumped right into the test—literally. Off the twenty-foot platform on my own influence (and not a shove), nostrils held shut as I splashed hind hooves-first in, and immediately began the fifty-meter swim to the opposite end.

Fueled by an angry motivation to succeed, I failed to notice just how fast I swam until, upon reaching the end, noticing the recruits that were ahead of me upon diving in were suddenly a couple seconds behind.

With only a second of pause once the other four held-back recruits finished their swim, I hesitated none in starting the prone float.

I splayed my wings out flat on the pool surface, making as little movement as possible. Despite this, water sloshed into my ears, and trying not to shift in discomfort was more difficult than it sounded. They were sure to ache later on, but that was the least of my worries.

My heart pumped at the walls of my chest as my mind continuously attempted to trick me into thinking I was actually in danger, when in reality I wasn't. When I felt myself nearing the threshold of passing out, I raised my head to bring my nostrils above the water surface for fresh air.

That went horribly awry at first when a sudden small wave washed in right as I inhaled, causing me to cough heavily under the water and send up sudden large bubbles that attracted the attention of two rescue swimmers on standby along the pool edges.

Quickly I recovered by keeping as still as can be, raising my nose even higher above the water ripples to draw air into my lungs, then dip back down flat, and repeating to do so as much as needed while still as little as possible for the remainder of the test.

The longer I went in the float, the more it felt like it was all a lie, and that we were just supposed to stay here for the rest of our lives. Under pressure, time really does slow itself to a crawl, right when you wish it would fly by. After two full minutes, I grew enough used to it to where any worry of failure quickly faded into nothing.

Then came the relieving fweeee that was a blow whistle hanging around the swim trainer's neck, signaling us to return to upright floating position. Soon after, we were to begin filling our coveralls with air bubbles for the final part of this test. Thankfully, come to find out, we could keep our heads out of the water for that one.

A minor setback is all the first try was. Unfortunately, this now meant I would graduate three days later than what was previously thought. But that was a worry for another time. With swimming now out of the picture, I felt as though nothing could stop me now.

Author's Note

First published chapter of 2019 on any of my stories, here we go!

The Dead Pony's Float, as you probably would have guessed, is a ponified version of the Dead Man Float, an actual part of the Navy swimming test and something I am deeply terrified for when I do finally enlist; particularly because I do not float well.

16. Second Chances

To my immediate disappointment, as well as my mother's, our reunion was cut far too short by orders. Mere hours following the conclusion of pass-in review, every graduated sailor now had a new task; to get to their designated stations on time.

The nice part about the journey to the airport was parents could now accompany their sailors, allowing precious time to spend before they move on to the next step in their career. It was rather relaxing to sit down with Mom for the first time in two months and catch up with her.

In that span of time, she'd somehow managed all on her lonesome. Come to find out, Misty stopped by to help in her free time, much to Mom's appreciation in my absence.

She'd even handed Mom a neatly-written letter for me to read once I graduated.

Dear Anchorage,

Assuming you are reading this and not speaking to me in person, I apologize wholeheartedly for not being able to attend your graduation. I wrote this ahead of time just in case, and it is to my understanding that you will not be returning home immediately.

I just want you to know that I miss you, and I love you. I am proud of you, too, for finding the courage to challenge yourself and earn yourself a title of inexplicable worth.

So go out there and be the best damn sailor you can be.

Anchors Aweigh.

~Misty

I raised my head to smile at Mom upon finishing. Without saying a word, I wrapped my hooves around her in a warm, tight embrace. Needless to say, I probably confused her with this gesture at first.

"Give her one of these for me next time you see her, would you?" I said.

Mom's lips curled in her own grin. Her hooves soon looped back around my torso. "Yes, sir."

I blushed some at that. Of course she did it to poke at me. "Please, Mom, don't call me that."

She laughed for a good few seconds, before planting a motherly kiss on my cheek.

On arrival to Chicoltgo Airport some forty minutes after leaving North Shores, we learned my flight's departure to Manehattan was two hours from the moment we stepped off the train.

However, being one of the world's busiest airports came with its setbacks; the queue for security into the terminal I needed stretched back into the check-in hall and consistently moved at a snail's pace. Sure, military on orders received some priority through the lines, but the number of other fresh-out-of-boot-camp sailors mutually heading off to their next assignment would counter that perk.

In order to be at my gate on time, only ten more minutes were spent with Mom. Because of an extra day booked at her hotel, she would not head home until tomorrow morning, meaning she could not accompany me to the gate even with a pass.

And so we exchanged final glances from where I filed in to the shortest of the lines. Like a mother habitually would, Hazy stood in the check-in hall long enough to watch me vanish around a corner to process through the hectic environment that was airport security.

⚓

On approach into Manehattan, even before landing, I knew I was in for a treat.

As we prepared to land, the pilots circled us over the city, before looping out over the harbor and back around to line up for the airport. In doing so, outside my window, the magnificent sight that was Naval Station Manehattan passed roughly three-thousand feet below.

From above, in between low-lying clouds that hung over the area, I mentally pointed out a singular carrier, two amphibious assault ships, five or six destroyers, as well as a few frigates and cruisers in the mix. Even with the ships present, there were still plenty of empty docks that belonged to a carrier strike currently group out on deployment.

In the time between losing sight of base and wheels down, I daydreamed myself boarding one of those ships. It had been brought to my knowledge by Chief Stygius that, on completion of 'A' School, we receive our orders. It was more of a 50/50 chance between getting slapped with shore duty and being put on a ship, and that part did have me somewhat on edge.

Along with me on this flight were six or seven others from my training division or the other two. The rest from our groups jetted off to duty stations across the country, potentially also including East Harbor—the little base back home, outside of Gander Cove. However, of them all, the one here in Manehattan was the largest, and first impressions from the air made it clear why it retained that title.

Some ten minutes of taxiing after touchdown later, myself and the other graduates were greeted in the terminal by a trio of petty officer third and second classes, sent to supervise our arrival and ensure nopony winds up lost. From there, we collected our seabags from baggage claim and headed up an escalator to the first floor entrance, where a collection of taxi carriages awaited.

Definitely a different welcoming party than the one heading to boot camp, and a new mode of transportation, as well. While trains did service Manehattan International, just like Chicoltgo and had the station suspended above the ground, it was made clear that no extension had been made to bring a stop at the naval base, much to our shock.

From the airport to base was another thirty minute journey, followed by another ten minute wait to process everypony in, no thanks to the clueless master-at-arms in the guardbox.

Afterwards, the adventure wasn't over yet. We still had to meet with our new superiors to confirm our arrival, enrollment in 'A' School, and get our lodging squared away. And by lodging, I meant a rack on the ship, as it turns out most graduates don't have their own barrack dorm until they make E-3, or Seapony.

By this time, I was exhausted as all hell. Being the dead of winter, it was already getting dark at this hour. Were it up to me, and damning the cold altogether, I'd have crashed on the nearest bench and called it a night.

It wasn't until almost 2100 when all of the paperwork was complete, and we were individually shown to our temporary ships. Mine was the EQS Northesk, one of the newest destroyers of its class. Because I won't officially be assigned to a ship until after the completion of ET 'A' School, I had to curb my excitement here. This would simply be my home for the next few months to a year. Hell, after 'A' School, they could send me elsewhere based on the fleet's demands.

The racks weren't anything special, as to be expected. In fact, about three inches on the length and width had been shaved off in order to conserve space aboard the ship whilst retaining a comfortable sleeping space. Personally, I had no issue with what was given.

Although, sharing the compartment with only one other sailor who had a whole three months of being here on me, and the fact that he simply was not talkative would grow on to bug me at some point.

But that didn't matter now. In fact, the peace and quiet was perfect, and within two minutes of laying down I was out like a light.

⚓

At the crack of dawn the next morning, I rose to the familiar tune of morning reveille blasting through the ship's 1MC. At least, that's what it felt like, having been in such a deep sleep seconds prior, and arguably the best slumber I've had in months.

Today was the first day of 'A' School for Electronic Technicians, based here in Manehattan. Needless to say, it left worry in my mind to think about what I should expect. With no experience in that field, I questioned whether I'd made a mistake or not.

At the same time, I assured myself that everything would work out. It was even the recruiter's word that ponies gain the experience they need through these classes, but that could have been one of his lies that I overlooked.

Showering and getting dressed took no longer than ten minutes altogether, and after grabbing a quick bite in the galley, the Navy's version of a mess hall, I headed to the school, on the south end of base in the sector nicknamed 'Rate Row', because this is where every pony whose rate bases their school here must go for their classes.

In all, the campus consisted of five rectangular buildings made out of brick, glass, and steel, some interconnected by sky bridges and labeled by letter and position, surrounding a marble statue fountain in the center of the plaza.

Though confusing at first, some signs pointed in the right direction based on type of rate. Mine situated on the second floor of School Hall B, the southernmost structure of Rate Row, standing between School Hall A South, and School Hall C South.

Campus didn't appear to be too terribly busy, though it could be that I arrived at just the right time between the start of class. Then again, it was brought to my knowledge that some particular classes are scheduled later in the day, or even overnight in some rare cases.

I stopped myself a hundred feet before the building's entrance as a few others walked past to head in. My light blue irides raised to study the exterior, up to the shingles that consisted of the sloped roof. I wanted to move forward, but something prevented me, as if my hooves were frozen in ice. Just to make sure I wasn't actually, my gaze fell to the ground to find nothing holding me back.

Was it anxiety? Probably. It would have explained the butterflies in my churning, twisting stomach. I'd made it through boot camp just fine, so why on earth am I held up here?

Just then, my left ear swiveled to the tone of a voice from behind. "Hey there! We've met before, haven't we?"

The voice I recognized almost instantly, and I gave a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm whether it was who I remembered it belonging to. It was that recruit, from swim call back at North Shores, in a canter to catch up with small saddlebags of class necessities at his sides. He definitely came prepared.

I almost couldn't believe it at first, until recalling how he had also chosen ET for his rate. Unless somepony in his division resembled me down to the hairs on my back, questioning my familiarity felt more like a joking remark to see me again.

"Of course. Gallant, was it?" I checked.

He nodded. "Glad to see you made it!"

I returned the nod, lips curling upward. "I can't thank you enough for helpin' me in swim call, man. You really saved my flank."

The tangerine stallion smiled warmly. "Hey, don't mention it. I help out where I can. So, ET, huh?"

Once more, I nodded. "That's right. First day, first... anxious impression," I said, words shuddering at the end. Instantaneously I regretted admitting that out loud.

Gallant's hoof came up to rest on my shoulder cordially. "I heard it's just orientation. But this isn't even 'A' School yet, it's technical training. I wouldn't fret about it too much. Besides, we're in this together again."

That made me smile. He really was an optimistic pony, wasn't he? It felt reassuring enough to break the chains of fear, to have somepony familiar by my side. That's when we started walking toward the door.

"After class, depending on our orders, want to maybe hit up the rec hall for some games to wind down? If you're into that, of course," he offered politely.

I blinked some. This called back to my time at Camp Wallop, the good times, before everything went south. "I'd be down to learn. What are you into?"

Gallant kicked his hoof to knock a pebble forward. "The usual, like pool and air hockey. But ping pong is my favorite."

Yep. Now it was all coming full circle. This time, however, I had the ins and outs of the game.

"Really?" I furrowed an eyebrow, grinning cockily. "Think you can beat me in a one-on-one?"

His ears perked attentively, looking over at me and returning his own smirk. "Do I smell a challenge?"

I chuckled at that, pulling the door open for him. "You bet it is."

Gallant paused, baring his teeth in that ear-to-ear smirk across his muzzle. It was more of a knowing glance than anything, as not another word on the matter was said on entrance to the school hall.

⚓

The first week of the supposed six of pre-'A' School Apprentice Technical Training course went by rather quickly. Of course, the first couple of classes kicked off at a pace where everypony was on the same beat as each other. That's sure to change, but at least I don't feel lost.

As the second week passed, and even the third, Gallant and I found the difficulty increasing. They had us work with basic electronics and circuitry, and moved on suddenly to digital theory and fiber optics.

But just like grade school, there was homework. Always homework. Except it wasn't your average booklet that you take home and spend an hour or two on, no—they gave us real tools to work on real electronic parts, with our knowledge based on instructor demonstrations and educational videos played on wall projectors.

My performance wasn't bad, either. In fact, for the time being, I was up with the top of my class. Now came the part where I repay my debt to Gallant for his help at boot camp. It became blatantly evident in our second week that he was struggling, and so after class each day I offered my own help, even if it meant sacrificing what little free time we had each day.

It boosted his confidence in the course, and over the passage of time throughout week three, I noticed an increase in our instructor's satisfaction over his work. For all he was aware, Gallant had simply taken extra time to sharpen his skill to catch up with the rest of us. No one needed to know he was seeking help from somepony.

The only downside was the weekends. Because ET classes ran only on weekdays, and since we weren't nearly official electronic technicians yet, we get slapped with some of the low-end work around base. This ranged anywhere from night watch, to basic grunt tasks, such as moving heavy shit around with or without the aid of tools designed specifically for that purpose, to helping out in the galley kitchen.

On the Saturday preceding week four, the first weekend of February, I had been tasked with perhaps the lowest of the low: cleaning the passageways and half of the compartments of the EQS Galliot, another destroyer based here in Manehattan.

The difference between it and the ship I slept on was apparent; floors were heavily worn down but still fairly intact, hatch locks and the doors themselves moved looser from use, and even computers in some compartments were outdated, too. While belonging to the same class of destroyer as the Northesk, it was clear this ship was among the oldest built. Perhaps it would do me good to learn its age and other little details about it.

Everywhere I went, bouncing across passageways left and right, back and forth, I toted along a wheeled yellow water bucket with a built-in wringer, and a mop slung over my shoulder like the rifle they trained us with for watch.

The work itself was tedious, yet it didn't fail to make me break a sweat. Whoever was in charge of monitoring the ship's interior temperature must have had the heat cranked, and these ships most definitely trapped heat. I could only imagine what it's like in the summer, particularly when sailing in hotter regions such as Saddle Arabia. That must be like standing inside a floating oven.

As I moved about the ship, for some odd reason, the hatch leading into the galley from this side was locked. Worse yet, it was locked from the inside. From my current position on the ship, it meant I had to backtrack and reenter through someplace else on the weather deck and loop back around to where I needed to work.

While topside, dragging with me my mop and mobile bucket, I turned my gaze skywards. There were few breaks in the clouds with thin rays of sunlight punching through to the surface, with a beautiful blue peeking from the other side of this otherwise gloomy blanket.

However, in the corner of my eye, something else roped my attention.

My sights drifted to the right, fixating on the mast, and a somewhat silhouetted figure stood atop it. There is a little platform at the top of every destroyer's mast, called the crow's nest, designed for sailors on watch.

But this figure was much higher than the crow's nest sat, propped up only by his forehooves looped around the very top, where the mast reduced itself to nothing more than the width of a small communication antenna. From that height, assuming he or she's not a pegasus (nor did they appear to be from my position), or a sailor whose purpose is to work on such tall fixtures, a fall would be almost certainly fatal.

A part of me, despite being pegasus all around, felt anxious for them being up that high with no rope and harness to keep them from tumbling to certain death should they slip up. But as I pondered on it more, my adrenaline spiked.

Oh my god. That's exactly what they want to do.

My mind raced through my options here. The last thing I wanted was to startle him or her and accidentally result in them falling earlier than what they had planned. At that height though, it's possible they already see me, hoping I don't notice them.

Shit, how do I approach this?

The best thing to do under any circumstance is call for help. But I had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn't be the best action in this case. I had to do this myself, and hope somepony stumbles upon it by chance.

Nothing else flashed in my head as the correct course of action. But I had to start somewhere.

"Er... hey, you!" I called out, doing so at a collected level of volume so as to just let them hear me.

From where I stood on the weather deck, I noticed their head turn downward, towards me, as if acknowledging my presence.

"Can I help you?" he returned passive-aggressively. He had a deep voice, one that reflected authority in a way.

"What are you doin' up there?" It was a dumb question that I already knew the answer to. But I hoped it would start a conversation to distract him.

There was the faintest of sighs, mainly due to distance, and a short silence before a response. "Doing what I should have a long time ago, Sailor."

Definitely not a good sign. This went deeper than many cases of military suicides I've heard of. "And just what might that be? Don't you think it's worth talking about first?"

"Just get away. You don't need to see this." He stubbornly replied.

"Come on, just—talk to me. Tell me what's buggin' you. It's just me here, I'll listen."

"No you won't! Yo-you just don't want to watch me die! You don't actually give a shit about the why, just the how!"

That angered me. "The hell I don't! You ever think what goes through the mind of a foal, especially a young colt far away from his family, only to learn the father they loved dearly took their own life?! I'm not talkin' petty shit, either, I'm talkin' real... deep... dark, but preventable reasons."

Again came a lengthy silence. Perhaps that was something that got through to him.

"Please?" I begged. "Will you please just... at least give me an idea of why you're doin' this?"

The wind stopped just enough to hear the shallow sigh escape his lips. "My wife left me... a-and, she took my foals with her, too! We're in a custody battle, have been for the last two months... I was winning. No-now I learn in a court statement that she will assume full custody next week."

We jumped right into it, but this is a start. "What happened? Why did that change?"

"She came up with some bullshit last-resort story that I hit all three of them at one point out of anger when I swear that I didn't, and so the judge decided I have no right even calling to talk to my foals again."

"Was there any proof provided of this? Surely if you did, and I believe you didn't, there would be some evidence somewhere?"

"No, of course not! They didn't even question the details! Just... that I lost my temper one night, hit her hard enough to leave a welt, then took out the rest of my anger on our son and daughter in the same manner."

My brow furrowed. "So they just... believed her word?"

"Of course!" he cried. "Isn't that how all mares get away with this shit?! They didn't even bother with a polygraph, for either of us!"

All of this was just... awful. How could somepony put somebody else through this? I knew there were horrible ponies out there, but I couldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Not in my lifetime.

And sure, ponies also make up wild stories to gain the sympathy of others, although everything about this sailor's pain seemed too genuine.

"Look... I know it's tough. I know what it's like. This persisting feeling of... hopelessness, and despair. But, think about this... how will endin' your life make anything better?"

The sailor choked on his words softly as he responded. "I-it'll put my foals at ease, kn-knowing their abusive father won't be a problem for them anymore..."

Damn it, he's reached that stage where the mind just rolls with anything. "But they don't think that! If you never hit them, what on earth would possibly compel them to believe otherwise?!"

"Who else?!" he shouted in vain. "Their deceptive, conniving, selfish mother! It would be in her best self interest to brainwash them into thinking that, just like everything else she's force fed into their minds!"

"And you're just... going to let that happen? To your foals?" I queried, attempting to spark a change in his head that way. "You'd give anythin' to see them again. Your life should not be one of those things. If I were you, I'd go out there and fight for your right to see your foals again. How old are they?"

"M-my son... he's almost eight. Daughter, five." He closed his eyes. "Their mother has an active restraining order on me, so why bother? It's a mare's world we live in. Even if we're right, we're wrong. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked."

He wasn't wrong there. But that's not to mean there isn't hope anywhere. "That's why I'm sayin' to prove your innocence! From what I've gathered from you so far, you just gave up before the fight was over! You shouldn't let her word to a judge dictate your right to defend yourself in court."

The sailor went silent for a few moments, much to my perturbation. When he spoke again, his voice was cracking under the weight of his emotion.

"Wh-where do I even start?"

My ears folded back part way. Out of the corner of my eye, I acknowledged the appearance of a master-at-arms and a chief petty officer watching from a few feet away in silence, letting it play out. Little was I aware a small crowd had formed on the dock over the course of the event.

"Start by coming down from there, nice and slowly, and let us help you. No punishment here."

There was another silence as he stared down at us three, as if in a contemplative muse. It signified in my mind that I'd gotten through to him, and he was reconsidering his intentions.

Steadily his gaze lifted to face forward, where he met with the river, the Manehattan Bridge, and grey skies.

It wasn't until almost two minutes later when he replied, announcing he was coming down safely, and immediately washing me with a tidal wave of intense relief.

Some anxiety lingered, scrutinizing his careful effort off of the mast. First he worked himself down to the crow's nest, then gradually down to the deck via ladder. There, we met up with him for when his hooves landed on safe ground.

His eyes were red and puffy with fatigue, and the fur on his cheeks matted down from tears. He swallowed heavily, looking me dead in the eye.

"Thank you..." he paused, flicking a glance down at my nametag. "...Anchorage."

I bobbed my head once in a nod. "I know exactly where you—"

Right there, I stopped myself. I recalled, back in boot camp, we were given a moment of truth. In that moment, we were asked to stand up and admit any faults in our past, ranging from depression to undocumented crimes, and anything in between that one would not be proud of.

But I also knew this—speaking up meant you go home, no questions asked. This felt like a rehash of those uneasy sixty seconds in that small, dark room. Saying all that I had in mind, even if to sympathize with this poor soul, would surely have its repercussions soon after.

"I couldn't bear to watch darkness claim another life." I said, much differently than originally planned. It still got my point across without hinting too much at my own past feelings.

I watched the tears glass over his cores, and in his deep purple irides I read the pain in his essence like a book. He hurt badly, and it was clear he acknowledged he needed help.

"I-I have one final court hearing next month. I'll..." he swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'll give them my story again, in full detail. It's worth a shot. For the sake of my foals, I won't miss it."

That brought a smile to my face. "It gets better from here, man. Trust me, it does."

With that, he gave a single, small nod, offering a thin smile in return, before both the master-at-arms and chief petty officer escorted him away, hopefully to get him some psychiatric help.

As I watched the three go under, all I could do was stand there, unsure of what to think. My mind raced through too many thoughts to focus on one in particular.

I hadn't even found out his rank until he was right in front of me—a Senior Chief Petty Officer, a whole seven ranks above me. It struck harder to learn this after the ordeal ended, but solidified the notion that dark thoughts and depression spare no rank, starting with my father two years ago.

When I did come back to my senses, some five and a half minutes later, my first instinct was to get back to the cleaning work I was doing. However, at the same time, I questioned how exactly I would stay focused on that task for the remaining three hours of my shift, against all that just transpired.

It then hit me hours later that had I not glanced up at the sky when I did, in whatever instinct compelled me to do so at that exact moment in time, I wouldn't have caught that stallion on the mast. It was almost as if my father was whispering into my ear with regret, telling me to help him—like I was given a second chance to prevent his mistake from carrying on to the next troubled soul.

All I knew then, was that I'd most likely just saved a life. His battle wasn't over, sure, but it could very well have been prematurely. And it wasn't exactly my business to, nor my obligation, but I'd make an effort to check on his well-being when possible.

For right now though, I could rest easy knowing two foals won't lose their father today.

Author's Note

One more chapter.

17. A Sailor's Dream

One day, I woke up, expecting the same routine as every day before it. Get cleaned up, get dressed, head out for class.

But something wasn’t right.

My first steps off the ship this particular morning were most definitely the strangest I can recall. No alarms had been raised. But it was clear as to why that was the case. Everypony stood around, staring up at the sky in their own kind of horrified shock.

I knew exactly what time it was. Every day for the last four months, I started off to class on the dot. So why is it still midnight?

Hurrying off the Northesk and the dock it was moored to, trying to get some kind of answer out of somepony, somewhere, I was ultimately met with building concern as just about everyone here had the exact same question on their mind.

My next instinct once it was clear no one would have the answers I sought out, was to get a hold of Mom. Whether or not she is awake at this time, it's best to check on her, just in case.

By now, many ponies were just getting their hooves on that new smartphone model that supposedly revolutionizes cellular devices. All I had was one of the newer flip phones with the number pads, a rather necessary impulse purchase shortly after my arrival in Manehattan to keep in close contact with Mom, and occasionally Misty when she isn't busy, too.

Despite a significantly more important and potentially detrimental event taking place, I moved someplace more secluded to make the call. The sun might be missing, but that won't stop some superior from getting on my ass about being on the phone.

First time around, it went straight to voicemail, indicating she was already on the line with somepony else. Perhaps trying to get a hold of me.

Second try, it rang... and rang... then static. In fact, the distortion was so loud I had to move the speaker away from my ear until it stopped. Even ten seconds later, it kept going, ultimately resulting in me having to hang up and try again.

For five more attempts, I was met with the busy tone of beeping, and eventually an automated message that cell towers were overloaded. Probably from all of the ponies trying to get a hold of family and friends, or emergency services which, in this case, were powerless to do anything.

I broke down into a fit of worry. No one around here knew anything, and free-use services on base were shut down as a precautionary measure. We were essentially cut off from the outside world, although no one really confirmed whether we were allowed to venture off base or not, but the basic assumption was the latter.

Finally, twenty minutes after my first attempt, my phone buzzed from the concealment of my blouse pocket. I didn't even stop to read the name on its tiny back screen before answering. I just knew who it was.

"Mom? Are you okay?" I asked through a somewhat heavy breath.

"I-I'm fine, Anchor... are—are you alright, sweetie? What's going on there?" She responded, notably worried to death in her tone.

I wish I knew the answer to that. Even if I did, and it wasn't yet public, I'd have to uphold its secrecy for both our sakes. "Yeah, I-I'm doin' as well as I can. No one's sayin' a word because we're all clueless right now."

"Oh my god, Anchorage, everypony's freaking out. All the neighbors are outside, there's sailors walking up and down the streets with rifles, telling them to go inside and..." she began to sob, her voice pitching higher because of it. "I-I'm scared. I wish you were home."

It broke my heart to hear her like this. Being hundreds of miles from her made it worse, as well. "I wish I was, too, Mom. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise you that."

Fact is, I wasn't sure if I could live up to that promise. I couldn't be confident that everything would turn out just fine.

Despite all helplessness in this situation, to sit here hundreds of miles from home and reassure my terrified mother over the phone felt somewhat empowering, like I had swapped roles with her.

It was then when I called back to my young colt days, before leaving Winneighpeg for Dad's new duty station, when summer storms rolled through and rendered me a shaking, whimpering mess.

It didn't take much for her to guess where I might be in the middle of the night when lightning crackled in the sky right above our house and shook it with frightening crashes of thunder. Depending on the severity of the storm, it never failed that I'd vanish completely beneath the covers of my bed, or hunker down under the frame itself like bombs were falling.

On those nights, sometimes one, two, even three in the morning, all it took was a singular boom or the heavy roar of torrential rain on our roof to get her out of bed and check on me.

Some instances I strictly refused to leave the safety of my "shelter" under the bed until the storm passes. But that didn't stop her from spending time she otherwise could have used to sleep, staying close by to keep me company and tell stories, or ask random questions to try and distract me.

Over time I think she came to enjoy moments like those. But as I grew up, of course, this quickly wound down. Eventually I outgrew my fear of storms, and it showed in brief seconds of disappointment she expressed when told I wasn't afraid. To her, it was a sign of the inevitable.

Now, the tables have turned. Difference is, this wasn't a storm. It was far bigger than that.

As the “day” progressed, word spread like the plague that on the opposite side of the globe, the sun remained high in the sky. Places such as the Griffish Isles, Prance, Ajerstan, and everywhere across the Antlertic were experiencing the same terrifying phenomenon, albeit the bright of mid afternoon.

But the worst news of all came to meet the figurative light of day at around ten that morning: Princess Celestia was missing.

There had also been rumors of other unexplained occurrences of the magical variety in and around the town of Ponyville, where this year’s Summer Sun Celebration was due to take place, and our beloved Goddess of the Sun was supposed to bring forth the first day of summer.

Of course, this brought on fears of a potential foreign attack involving her highness, and that she was being held hostage somewhere. So, naturally, every base in Equestria was put on high alert. All classes were cancelled, too, as everypony rushed to their stations in preparation while we all tried to figure out what to do.

Beyond the borders of this naval station, severe loss of order took hold as riots erupted in clusters city-wide. Manehattan Police struggled to control the main riot in downtown, and the smaller points of chaos scattered throughout the boroughs were essentially left unsupervised, leaving ponies to fend for themselves against looters and violent crimes.

Some divisions of sailors were even mobilizing to head out and help local authorities douse the metaphorical and literal flames that exploded across Bronclyn.

It wasn't just Manehattan, either. Other large cities across the country and beyond saw similar acts of disorder breaking out as ponies believed it to be the start of something much more sinister.

All I knew was, as tensions rose, my stomach curdled. Any food I gave multiple attempts at holding down found its way back up sooner or later. I couldn't focus on anything, not even my own mind.

Through eight weeks of gut-spilling, break-me-down-and-build-me-back-up training, and it took this to send me into a total breakdown. By now my screaming conscience could no longer hold it together following prolonged time spent telling myself the problem will resolve itself before I know it.

This soon transformed into me repeatedly smacking myself across the cheek, hoping this was just some bad nightmare.

It wasn't.

It was all real.

And yet I hadn't the slightest of inklings as to what I should do. The world as we knew it was coming apart at the seams, and no one knew for sure if something worse wasn't on its way.

But then, in the blink of an eye, it was over. The faintest of light began to brighten the sky. Gradually, the sun crested the east horizon, shimmering over the city of Manehattan and a fear struck nation.

It was the fastest sunrise I’d ever seen. With it came an intense breeze, and the motion feeling that the earth itself was pulling out from underneath us. Within minutes of this, the river levels dropped off significantly, offering some indication of what the hell just happened.

And so, thousands of puzzled sailors gazed skywards, at our neighboring celestial body that now sat in its rightful position of this time of the day, as if it had not been missing for the past four and a half hours.

The confusion was short lived, however. It wasn't more than a few seconds later when the first cries of joy broke out, and quickly grew into a deafening roar of glee as everypony celebrated the return of day, better late than never.

I so wanted to pass out from the relief as it washed over. In fact, I nearly did. It began as a sense of lightheadedness, perhaps some strange side effect of powerful magic fixing our planet's steady rotation on its axis to restore the balance of the day and night cycle.

Because of the event, morning colors were missed entirely; most definitely a one-off incident that is sure to spark controversy sooner or later. However, the routine was that the national ensign is to be hoisted shortly after the anticipated start of sunrise. When that didn't happen, all focus turned elsewhere, and it was abandoned entirely.

Stood beneath the tallest flagpole on base were hundreds, perhaps thousands of sailors, gazes fixated on the flagless pole.

"Attention!" sounded a firm voice, booming through speakers on light poles surrounding the base centerpoint.

The loudest, most collective shuffling of hooves I have ever heard rang out across the courtyard as every pony present shifted their stances.

Shortly afterwards, the national anthem of Equestria played on a singular bugle from a nearby watch post.

I watched from some hundred feet back as the purple flag with the two sisters raised gradually above the heads of the sailors in front of me. Including myself, those donning their covers threw up firm salutes, making up for the grand majority of all ponies observing late morning colors.

A breeze grazed over my soul with much needed consolation, knowing the world wasn't ending after all, and that everything would soon return to normal.

Or so I thought.

⚓

Today marked the start of a new era of Equestria's armed forces. As of this morning, I was no longer a proud member of the Equestrian Navy. In fact, that was the branch's former name.

Some two and a half months after Princess Luna's return from her millennia-long banishment, which caused that strange period of delayed daylight on the first day of summer, many notable changes came to the entire country—but the main focus of it all was the military.

Through unanimous vote amongst the Canterlot Royalty and the Council, it was determined that she would hereby oversee the operations of both the Navy and the Marine Core alike, with Princess Celestia retaining respective control over the Army and Air Force.

Despite commanding their own branches, both held equal power over the entire military as a whole. To somepony with little to no knowledge on how the defense sector functions, and even a scattered few currently serving, the transition makes little sense, if any period.

On the contrary, many saw it as a chance to reform our country's forces and make them stronger, to better ready every mare and stallion when the next conflict rolls around.

Princess Luna also addressed this change as a 'do-over', to make up for her troubled past, which still to this day remained one of the largest mysteries, even with all knowledge on that era.

In the days leading up to her banishment, she revolted against her elder sister as a terrible evil begun to eat away at her soul. This led to a total breakdown of the kingdom's government, and a growing divide between sides showing loyalty to their princesses.

Fueled by her followers' undying support, the younger of the siblings founded the Lunar Republic; an organized militaristic government seeking to take the throne and bring on eternal night to the land.

War ensued as the Lunar Republic and the Protective Pony Platoons of Equestria clashed in the greatest conflict known to ponykind. It was in the final hours of this battle that determined the fate of the world, when Celestia fought face to face with a wicked being once her dearest sister and closest friend turned foe; Nightmare Moon.

Immediately after her banishment to the moon, the Lunar Republic crumbled, devastated by the loss of their leader. Some resistances continued for a few months after that, but peace soon fell upon Equestria until the next, somewhat related conflict two centuries later.

In its place today, now intended as a symbol of peace with a mission to protect and serve Equestria, the New Lunar Republic brings with it my beloved branch's new title—the Lunar Navy.

It wasn't just that, though. Soon, many ships bore new names; particularly ones members of the now Lunar Fleet, a Carrier Strike Group commanded by its flagship, the L.R.S. Eclipse.

The most notable element of this change was that most ships stationed here now attained moon-themed names, such as Gibbous, Aphelion, Lacus, and so forth. They even received new paint jobs from hull to mast, of course to match a new standard put in place by the N.L.R.

However, one disappointing factor came the day it was settled that Naval Station Manehattan would soon be changing its sign preceding the entrance gate, all due to a swift rearranging of commands resulting in the need for a Marine presence in the northeast.

Of the potential cities to set roots down in, ours was the most suitable candidate due to already housing the largest naval installation on the East Coast.

I accepted the fact that very soon I and my fellow sailors would share this base with another branch. What I wasn't willingly prepared for was all the change of rules that followed.

It was within days that Marines became a more frequent sight around base as they and all of their equipment moved in to their new home.

Apart from an increased presence, the biggest discernible change with the Marines was their uniforms. From the few I've seen around before this wild change, I recall a sort of dark green digital pattern with some browns and blacks in the mix.

Now, in order to fit the new 'standard' for colors of the New Lunar Republic, Marines were issued what was referred to as the Lunar Working and Combat Pattern, or LWCP for short.

The pattern retained its digital design, but included many similarities to the Army's unused Urban Camouflage Pattern as far as color palette went.

The LWCP's dominant color was black, with blocky splotches of alternating light and dark grey shades.

In respects to the Department of the Navy's cover regulations, as well, the LWCP adapted the eight-point cover.

Thankfully, us sailors were not in store for a fresh appearance, due to the blues of our current uniform already being within the New Lunar Republic's 'dark color' standards.

Based on some first impressions, Marines' reception to their new look was mixed all around. Some dug the shadowy camouflage, others preferred the MARPAT (Marine Pattern) they previously wore. However, it appeared some middle ground would be achieved, as an updated variant of their desert pattern would be rolled out to be utilized in such environments.

What I was most grateful about was that our uniforms differentiated just enough to where the average civilian might not confuse us for the other. At one point in time, there were several bills passed along that would force every branch of the military to wear one uniform with their respective patches; each of which falling through without nearly enough support.

All in all, things were starting to get interesting. Between ponies of the Navy and Marines not exactly getting along at first, I can only wonder how this will continue to play out.

Even when the fallout settled, there was still very much a divide on base. Of course, not much can be done about it if you are literally forced to work alongside a Marine, but in any other case, both sides purposefully tried to ignore each others' presence.

I'd acknowledged it was there, but not until one afternoon after the day's classes had concluded when I witnessed it first-hoof.

A small group of Marines stood around a closed carriage among many parked around it, offloading items ranging from crates of ammunition, gear to replenish the exchange store, and even guns fresh off the assembly line.

Because of designated parking, each Marine hauling stuff had quite a ways to walk. The last of the bunch emerged slowly from the carriage, easing himself down the lowered ramp to ground level, and immediately stumbled on the gravel below.

He was a moss green earth pony, standing roughly my height or a couple inches taller, with a fit build within Marine Core regulations. Considering how drastic a change my body went through in boot camp, the Navy’s fitness tests paled in comparison to the Marines; granted, they also fit an on-the-ground combat role more than sailors, barring a few corpsponies here and there that were attached to Marine units on some missions.

Yet, even with his muscle that discernibly had me beat, he still struggled under the weight of that hefty .50 caliber straddled over his back. Considering the distance he had to cover, he was likely to drop it at one point or another and risk damaging the gun. All of this while numerous sailors strolling past simply threw looks of disgust his direction and carried on, even as he silently begged for help.

Some part of me warned going out of my way to help would result in administrative action. But would it? One of the biggest things in boot camp was learning to work together, no matter how much we might dislike the other. That's just how it worked, and how it should work.

Without hesitating, I strode over to the Marine, noting of the buildup of sweat on his forehead the closer I came.

"Hey there, need a back?" I extended.

He stopped in his tracks, lifting his gaze to meet mine, seemingly caught off guard by my offer. Without saying a word, he nodded, and I slid up to his side, shifting the gun to balance equal weight across our backs.

It was as heavy as it looked, that's for sure. But now any worry of damage caused by accidental drop had erased itself as we cautiously hauled it along the path, allowing the Marine to take a step's lead to show the way.

"Nnngh... hnngh..." he grunted some, glancing back to catch my nametag. "Th-thank you, Anchorage."

"Anytime," I responded through a breath as we advanced with care.

"N-name's Ashfall, by the way," he added. "You're the second sailor to say a word to me, let alone help."

"Well, if we're gonna share a base, might as well work as a team, aye?" I smiled.

"Right," he chuckled briefly after that.

After a good five minute walk, we dropped the .50 cal off at the supply center for the logistics specialists to check in and store away in the armory. Basically they handled all of the paperwork while the grunts moved stuff for them, a perfect system if you will.

I remained with the Marine until we were almost back to the carriage. Along the way, he made an attempt at conversation.

"Say, you know any good places to eat around here? Thinking about getting some grub after my work is done, and chow hall food doesn't sound all that appealing to me."

I glanced over to him briefly. "I couldn't tell ya, quite honestly. Haven't been off base all too much, don't have much reason to. But, there is a good lil' Manehattan-style pizza joint a couple blocks that way out the gate," I replied, pointing right in the direction of central Bronclyn.

"Hey, I'll check that out. Thanks," he nodded with a small smile. "Would you maybe want to tag along later? I uh... I'm not exactly a fan of crowds."

"What, the big bad Marine they beat you into the dirt to be is afraid of the busy city life?" I remarked teasingly. Something about him silently flashed country colt, but not sure which kind. He lacked the accent, so likely not a farmer. "That sounds good. Mind if I bring a friend along, too?"

"As long as he won't spit on me for being new," Ash said with another chuckle, albeit one that reflected the pain of having to adjust into this new, cold environment.

"If he does, I'll chew his ass out for it," was my stern response, one that seemingly struck a little fear in the slightly larger stallion's soul.

As Dad once said, Friend today, Foe tomorrow. It runs both ways. This I had to live by, although it appeared my job at establishing some dominance here was done. Not that it was entirely necessary, the colt looked beat enough by fellow sailors.

"Anyways, what time works for you? I've got work of my own to catch up on, but I should be free after four."

⚓

It was the middle of August, no more than a week after my final class of 'A' School wrapped up, and myself along with Gallant and the others in our class received the insignia for ET in the form of small patches below the ranks on our dress whites, officially declaring us Electronics Technicians of the Lunar Navy.

Almost immediately, we'd received our orders. It made Gallant and I nervous in the anticipation of being separated; however, soon come to find out, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Word reached me shortly before he did, in the form of my chief informing me that I am to stay put in Manehattan, and will be assigned to an ET division aboard the L.R.S. Eclipse, a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier and the guiding light of the Lunar Fleet.

No, really, that is the ship's motto: The Lunar Fleet's Guiding Light.

After that, Gallant excitedly broke the news that he too would be joining the Eclipse's crew in my same division. Were we old enough, we'd have celebrated at one of the watering holes off-base. So, we had to improvise.

And by improvise, I mean bribe a Third Class who is of age to go out and buy booze for us to drink until we pass out.

In all reality, neither of us passed out until almost two hours after all the puking stopped, and even then the intense stomach aches persisted. So much for a celebration.

Then the hangover next morning, hoo boy. Thank Celestia it was our off-day to recover on.

But it wasn't long after this that we also learned, as well as the other two-thousand, five-hundred sailors stationed on the Eclipse that we would soon be deploying out east for a few weeks.

All of this occurred within maybe eleven days of graduating 'A' School, the painfully slow passing of time in eager anticipation to be finally going out to sea, and eventually, the big day.

Unfortunately it was also one of those instances that I had nopony to say goodbye to. Those close to me at work were along for the ride, but what family and friends I had back home simply could not arrange the necessities to come and bid farewell.

While it would have been nice to say goodbye to Mom, or even Misty, it wasn't the worst feeling in the world. After all, in about a week we would make port in Marelaysia, followed by Saddle Arabia, then back home. With how long Dad was away back when he deployed, this paled in comparison.

The process of getting friends and family on base to give their sailors one last hug took about two hours tops. After that, boarding began, and was completed in an additional thirty minutes.

But beyond that? Everything seemed to take an eternity. Two-thousand, five-hundred ponies trying to find their way to their racks, plus very narrow passageways that barely fit two side-by-side at a time, were a horrible combination. In fact, most of the journey to my designated berthing was spent standing around, gaining one or two steps every couple of minutes, packed tightly in a hot, stuffy P-way just trying to drop my damn seabag off.

Once that was done, however, everything after that breezed on by, because of course it would.

It wasn't until around 1100 when a pair of Navy-owned tugboats tied themselves to the ship's starboard side and began slowly drifting it out of its dock into the middle of the massive river resting between Manehattan Island and mainland Equestria.

Still, it never ceased to amaze me how such little vessels could move a ship of this magnitude under their own power. Consider it the power of pony ingenuity.

Traditionally, when leaving port, sailors line up along the edges of their ship's deck, standing at parade rest for the duration of departure to render honors. The same goes for coming home, too, but that was well off in the future. This was called manning the rail, and this dated back to the early centuries of sailing. It is also a gesture used to prove no hostile intent when arriving in foreign ports.

The wind of the approaching sea grazed through my feathers, and up the back of my mane. Yet, the cap atop my crown remained perfectly still, as if it magnetized to my head. Perhaps this is something ponies unknowingly master when they become sailors, where anything they wear is unaffected by the breeze of the mighty sea.

As silly as it sounds, it could be true.

⚓

"Good afternoon, Eclipse, and welcome aboard. As I'm sure every sailor on this ship is aware, this is our first tour under a new name, so I want it to leave a lasting impression on everypony. It's cleaning day, and there's nothing better than a spotless ship. So scrub the floors, scrub the bulkheads. Do it 'til you see your reflection. You know the drill."

So, as it turns out, some of the negatives to ship live happen the same day you leave port.

And so, every sailor apart from crucial personnel took part in a ship-wide exercise to clean every inch of the thing. Hell, even the topside crew were power washing the flight deck!

In my case, I was given a yellow sponge and a bucket filled with soapy water, and a thick roll of paper towels, and was tasked with scrubbing the metal frames of doors. This included ones that led into compartments in the sector I was assigned to, and those in passageways designed to partition off the ship in sections to mitigate the effects of taking on water.

I couldn't complain about it too much, though. After all, a clean ship helps prevent illness. And sure, I was far from the biggest clean-freak out there, but having cleanliness and organization in a living space was a big plus.

Because today would be utilized primarily to clean the ship from top to bottom, there were little orders to be given outside of the current objective. First thing tomorrow morning, however, my group would gather at Quarters to meet with our Division Chief and Division Officer for the day's tasks; something to expect every single morning throughout this three-and-a-half week journey.

From the moment my orders to the Eclipse came, to even now, my heart pumped nonstop with excitement.

I'm finally on a ship.

On the floor.

Scrubbing a doorway with a wet sponge.

But on a ship nonetheless.

As I got down to get to work on another frame, my ear swiveled to the clicking of hooves moving down the P-way behind me.

Because of how narrow these walkways were, no matter your size, ponies have to use extra care slipping past so as to not step on your tail or something, even if you compact yourself as much as physically possible against the bulkhead or in a corner, depending on where you are.

Which is exactly what I'd done most of the morning into the afternoon to allow fellow sailors through.

Even after moving aside for the approaching hoofsteps, allotting plenty of space to continue, they still stopped short of me.

And they just stood there in silence, until they cleared their throat.

I briefly flicked a glance over my shoulder to acknowledge them, too quick to read their rank and address them properly if necessary and a large mistake, first of all.

"You ain't buggin' me, you can go through," I said while scrubbing deeply along the left corner of this particular door frame.

"Seapony Anchorage." They said firmly, in the most-Chief tone as one could imagine.

Of course, that is exactly who they were. I stopped immediately what I was doing and turned to face them while standing up, sponge still in hoof and dripping into the bucket beside me. Now my heart had a reason to be pounding as hard as it was.

"Chief," I responded neutrally upon noticing his collar devices, stiffening my stance to be more attentive but not exactly at attention. He wasn't my chief, so to speak, but he belonged to the same occupation as I, and the discipline in the presence of such rank was all the same.

To my relief, he paid no mind to my slip-up moments ago. "If I may draw you from your duties for a moment, I have a proposal."

I blinked twice at that, but then nodded once. "Yes, Chief?"

"As you might not be previously aware, the 3M tech in another division recently reached the end of his contract and decided not to re-up. Because of that, we are one pony short."

"What's 3M?" I queried. I'd heard the term thrown around a couple of times in 'A' School, but never have I come to learn its meaning.

"Advanced classes for your rating. Maintenance at the level of circuit components like resistors and capacitors. You showed some exceptional work and effort in ATT and 'A' School, so we could use somepony with heart like you to fill his horseshoes."

I further delved into deeper questions of the occupation, which he answered to the best of his ability. It was one of those offers that few sailors receive due to sudden change of demand, this case being in need of a replacement.

Of course, after learning all there is to know about it, I graciously accepted the offer, and would be set to continue the schooling necessary to meet their requirements as soon as we make port back in Manehattan in a few weeks.

In the meantime, I would resume my usual duties as expected for ETs, and was told at some point that the paperwork to get the ball rolling will come my way in the form of me dropping by my division chief's quarters to gloss over and fill out where needed.

After perhaps ten minutes of discussing 3M, the Chief dismissed me back to cleaning, and carried on the direction he was headed.

It met me with honor to know I was the first considered for such a position. And sure, it might give me something to brag about one of these days; maybe once I make E-7 and have my own sailors to pester with such information. That's years off from now, but my next big goal all the same.

⚓

Once my part of the cleaning was finished, and after the approval of many to have passed through on their way elsewhere on the ship, I was relieved to a break by my division officer, and finally giving myself the chance to do what I've dreamed of for years.

A length of narrow catwalks extended around the entire edge of the ship, situated mostly below the level of the flight deck and lined with safety railing to prevent ponies from falling overboard.

Here, some of the shouting from the flight deck could be picked up, but for the most part was drowned out by other dominating sounds.

I looked down through the grated metal floor under my hooves, at the water's surface as the carrier's angled bow sliced through it effortlessly like butter.

My ears perked to the mighty roar of sea being displaced as the unconstrained cool saltwater wind whipped against my body.

The sun beat down on the open ocean, creating a bright, glimmering streak on the rippled surface that stretched to the horizon's edge. What few clouds that dotted the late afternoon sky were insignificant and thus posed no threat of consolidating and forming into a freak thunderstorm.

I closed my eyes to take it all in, cherishing every second of it.

Time and time again, I've been told...

You'll never be who you want to be.

You will never be a sailor.

You are not worth their time.

A pegasus doesn't belong on a boat.

Yet here I am, stood along the southward-facing port catwalk, overlooking the blue horizon that carried on forever every which way one looks, smiling at the contemplation of what the future beholds.

I proved them wrong. I do belong out here.

My name is Anchorage, and I am an Equestrian Sailor.

Author's Note

Almost three years later, I bring you the final chapter of this rather short but hopefully satisfactory story. It has been a ride to reach this milestone, and I can't thank those of you who stuck around until the very end enough.

15. The Finest of Days

This was it. All of my hard work is finally going to pay off, and I couldn't be more excited for it. Battlestations had just wrapped up, and after disembarking the EQS Lombard, an enormous floating replica of a destroyer specifically designed for the purpose of battlestations, we proudly stood in line beneath its shadow, under the few small spotlights that illuminated its form in the pool it sat stationary in.

Being up for 48 hours straight to partake in the exercise was beginning to take a toll on all 22 of us, and the other two full divisions brought in to simultaneously try our combined steel; but the worst was now over. We passed our final test, even without the two additional recruits we started out with eight weeks ago.

My body jittered with exhilaration, more so as Chief Stygius moved down our line with a neat pile of black ball caps that read 'NAVY' in gold lettering, handing one to each recruit he stopped in front of and shook their hoof respectfully. I myself was on the verge of bursting into joyful tears, only blocked by the fact that my own lethargy brought on an unrelenting dryness to my eyes.

I almost wanted to raise a hoof and slap myself across the cheek, questioning the reality of this very moment. For all I knew, it could have been one long fever dream induced by a coma of sorts.

At the same time, acknowledging that this is, in fact, real, muses sprung in my conscience with the largest query of them all orbiting my mind—what now?

Boot camp was simply the tip of the iceberg, preceding the slippery slope that was the Navy. Sure, it readied us for the fleet, our minds and our bodies alike, and sharpened our senses to be the sailors we were soon to become.

But the 'what now?' led itself someplace else: why?

Of all the paths I could have chosen, I resided with the notion of following my father's hoofsteps. Not so much the commanding officer route, although that could most certainly come later should I find enough enjoyment in my time enlisted.

Nevertheless, my mind delved deeper into the question. What if this wasn't the right choice for me? After all, the entire idea of enlisting revolved around Dad's service and how much I wanted to experience the same joy he met with serving his country. There was a whole lot more to it than pleasure, that's for damned sure.

The biggest concern on my mind was the ultimate question of whether I'd gotten in over my head or not. The Navy definitely wasn't for everypony, the lesson learned by the two recruits who were sent home a few weeks ago, and the dozens of others coming here over the passage of time that discovered similarly.

Either way, I accepted that it was much too late to turn back, if that is what my mind is now trying to convey. I've already settled on my decision and stuck with it, and that was that.

When my turn came, I looked the chief dead in the eye and politely took the ball cap in one hoof, and firmly shook his extended arm with the other. He offered a warm smile, inching in closer to utter, "You made it. Congratulations, Sailor."

The words as they left his mouth sent chills racing under my skin, standing the hairs under my uniform. I couldn't say anything; not a word. All I did was nod and smile back. How could I vocally respond whilst maintaining militaristic composure?

Once the chief handed out the last ball cap, he stood back alongside two other sailors and glanced out over our combined divisions with a proud, stern smile.

"Don those caps, you're all sailors now," he uttered loud and clear.

In almost perfect unison, all 66 of us raised our newly-acquired Navy ball caps to our crowns and placed them straight and proper, only lowering our hooves adjusting the back while holding our right hoof to the bill, until we were instructed to bring that one down, too.

"Hooyah, Navy!" shouted Stygius.

"HOOYAH, NAVY!" we cried back, our unified voice echoing throughout the hangar. In that instance, I felt like a brand new pony from top to bottom.

⚓

Immediately after Battlestations, our division was kind of left on its own, with strict rules as one might expect. All activities were to remain within a close proximity of our 'ship' and are to be primarily recreational; no seeking out and hanging around other divisions that were graduated or not, and absolutely no wandering off base, of course. After all we've been through collectively, these were simple instructions to follow for two days.

Admittedly, I carried on like training wasn't over. Both mornings of our 'free days', I found myself up bright and early and immediately out working on my push-ups, pull-ups—you name it, I was probably doing it.

One thing I did notice was that my activities seemed to inspire a few of the others to follow a similar routine over those forty-eight hours preceding the graduation ceremony. No one said a word, but I knew it was me that sparked it in them.

Later that afternoon, heading into the early evening hours, we were gathered up by Chief Stygius for one last errand: to collect our dress whites. After all, the ceremony was first thing tomorrow morning.

Our division, plus one of the others that we teamed up with for Battlestations, packed into the fitter's room as tight as a concert crowd. However, despite the chaos, we made it work as our RDCs would have wanted us to.

Although, being crammed in a room with over forty other stallions and mares with nowhere else to breathe but on each other, it quickly became hot and stuffy in addition to the fact that the building's furnace was cranked to combat the roughly 17 degrees that was the outside air. Frankly put, I'd much rather stand outside and let the chill run through my feathers than this awful shit.

I will say though; two graduating training divisions had more responsibility and order than the numb nuts that ran the fitter's. A total of three staff operating the place, and you're telling me only one of them is standing here calling out names while another is collecting the uniforms one by one from the back? Where the hell is the third?

Another little detail that bugged me over the last half hour of us having no choice but to stand around and patiently wait for our name to ring out; what if our uniforms don't fit? What if there is a defect that was overlooked?

Those overseeing the functionality of this entire training center seemed to hold a lot of confidence in the ponies in charge of tailoring dozens of uniforms and only distributing them mere hours before they are expected to hold up.

Surely even the smallest but noticeable of mishaps to one graduate's dress whites would take most of that time to correct, what about more? Would we be the ones punished by having to wear them out and hope they hold up for the three hours that is the ceremony, or would we instead resort to our training coveralls?

It was too much to think about all at once. It wasn't my fault either way should any of that happen to me, but I couldn't help but stress over it, up until my attention was grabbed.

"Anchorage?" the monotonously-voiced tailor called out.

Gently and politely I pushed my way through the crowd of recruits until I reached the counter to claim my 'prize'. Both pieces of the uniform, held together by a removable hook for the purpose of transport, were wrapped in a thick, semi-transparent plastic.

I took it by the hanger and draped it over my back as careful as can be, turning to head to the back of the room to wait for the process to complete.

"Wait! One more thing," the tailor said, halting me in my tracks two steps from the counter.

I'd turned around just in time to catch a fastball headed my way; the cup hat that completed the uniform, folded flat in a thin plastic wrapper in a manner that was sure to leave it with discernible creases on two sides. Wow, I hate this place.

⚓

Come next morning, we'd actually surprised our RDCs by already being awake when it came time for them to turn on the lights and speak to the overnight watch.

It was about 0530 when Stygius entered the compartment. The actual ceremony did not begin until 0900, and we were required to be in our dress whites by 0745 and ready for that final proud march to the Decatur, a massive ceremonial hall constructed like the hangar of an aircraft carrier, where the event was due to take place.

For much of the free time I had, up until roughly a quarter past seven, I continued with my routine of a brisk five-lap jog under the coming light of dawn. After that, a session of fifty-five push-ups with no break in between.

Only two others ventured out to join me, and about halfway through their turns, I was finished. On rising to my hooves to head back, I stopped to observe a fresh training division—having arrived only a couple weeks ago—march past in drill, with the AROC (Assistant Recruit Chief Petty Officer) leading cadence.

A few pairs of eyes drifted toward me further in the back as I watched them pass. Most were shivering from the bitter cold, probably wondering how I stood here in just a sweatshirt like it's the middle of autumn.

But while I watched the division march away, likely en route to some facility for the next stage of their training, I couldn't help but think back on the last eight weeks. It was almost as if I stared in a mirror, which reflected my past, and that I was looking at myself marching with the others, scared but electrified for what comes next. I hoped in my mind that those recruits felt the same, and their drive for success pushes them to the finish line.

On returning to our ship, a quick, refreshing shower was in order. Breakfast was an option, too, but by now there simply was not enough time to eat and prepare, meaning I would have to deal with running on empty for a few hours at the very least.

Pulling the plastic-wrapped pieces from the secure storage of my rack locker, I moved into the bathroom and began carefully slipping into the pants initially, then the blouse. First impression had me in some shock at just how comfortably everything fit to my form.

The outfit consisted of an immaculate dress uniform whiter than snow, collar neatly tied around my neck in a point-ended knot by a black tie, top tucked beneath a white and gold belt to securely fasten a matching pair of white pants that reached down to my fetlocks, and a white cupped hat rested straight on top of my crown.

Staring at myself in a mirror was like viewing a whole new pony. I didn't recognize myself as me at first, or for a good few minutes after that. What I did see was my father's reflection; his neutral, officer-like mien, as if somepony had taken a pair of scissors and cut my face out of the portrait and glued on his uniform from his enlisted sailor days.

Really, this was the first chance in a long time where I've taken time to look at myself and the progress I've made. The most notable feature of my change was that I'd grown physically, proving how eight weeks of intense physical activity can add up. I almost couldn't believe it. I am a sailor now.

A quarter 'til eight, every one of us was lined up by our racks for brief inspection. Any ticks on our attire, how we wore it, and how it should appear would be corrected as quickly as possible before 0800.

At that time, we filed into formation and were led out of the barracks. Ahead of me marched the division AROC, and two ponies that carried separate flags; a mare and a stallion each. Together, we joined in for one last cadence as a training group: We Are The Navy.

Upon arrival to the Decatur, fifteen minutes later, it was evident how perfect everything had to be. We entered through an opposite doorway, made to keep recruits out of sight of visiting family and friends, who were presently lined up to sit down inside the graduation hall.

For another forty minutes, we stood in a wide corridor, remaining in formation the entire time behind another graduating division in front, with another filing in behind us. These were the ponies we participated in Battlestations with.

Then, at 0855, the first sailors strode out to a wave of screams and cheers. We followed a mere minute after, strutting toward yet another division coming in from an entryway opposite ours, and meant not three, but six divisions were graduating today. No wonder they said over a thousand ponies would be watching from the stands.

All according to plan, we turned and paraded up beside the division ahead of us and halted, following suit in the manner of marching while otherwise standing perfectly still, until an instruction was given for us to stand at attention.

A singular small podium stood in center of the floor. Behind it, along the center bulkhead at our backs, an enormous projector screen for those in the nosebleeds to watch, or otherwise are unable to see what is going on below.

Like the glistening of reflective glitter, or even sun mirroring off the ripples of water on a cloudless day, hundreds of camera flashes illuminated from the crowds as dozens of pictures were taken that were sure to go into many photo albums in homes across the country.

At 0900 sharp, the crowds died down as a small group of superior officers approached the podium, all forming a rectangular shape around a stout unicorn dressed in the finest whites one could imagine. He was no ordinary officer—he was an admiral. Specifically, the Admiral of the Navy.

On extremely rare occasions did the stallion in charge of the whole of the Navy himself speak at graduation ceremonies, considering how many there were per year. It would surely make one hell of a story to tell, to say I stood and listened to the admiral's speech.

"These magnificent mares and gentlecolts are among the many who shall proudly take the reins of the Navy's legacy, and bring much honor and distinction to the fleet, and as Admiral of the Equestrian Navy, it humbles me greatly to stand among the sailors who will lead our country into the future."

"To all of my now-fellow shipmates standing sentry around me right this very second, I thank you for your dedication to country, and to the Navy. The watch is now yours. Guard it. Stand by it. Protect it with your life. It shall only be removed from your sight in your departure from our ranks."

"Now, let me share a small bit of wisdom, which I can only hope you will find motivational at some point in your life; whether that be right this very second, or two years from now. Every task you now take responsibility for, will change the world forever, no matter how mundane or difficult the task may be. And no matter the task at hoof, whether it was one you enjoyed or not, let it remind you that you accomplished it."

"And here you all are. You, standing here in your white blouses and black neckties, means you passed the ultimate test. To all of the proud parents here, eagerly waiting to see your sailors, rest assured that some of the finest—those being every mare and stallion on this deck—shall soon seek adventure out on the fleet of the greatest navy to ever sail the seas."

Tears welled in the ducts of my eyes. Not enough to blur my vision, or streak down my cheek, but enough to merely be a nuisance. Thankfully it was the one movement we had every right to make, and that was to wipe our eyes. If I had a bit for every instance I ran a hoof over my eyes, I could probably afford a bag of groceries.

Needless to say, I trembled. Quaked, even. The former colt in me wanted to burst out crying on the spot. However, it was the stallion in my soul that quelled the colt.

All I knew now, and it had been made clear at the end of battlestations, was that I made it.

⚓

By 1100, we were relieved out of formation, right as those in the stands could come down to the main deck to seek out loved ones.

Through the crowds I searched. And searched. How they expected us to easily find our families in this mess they called being reunited was beyond me. And I knew she was here; the letters written back and forth every week confirmed she would be, and twice did I have to revise the times of graduation so she knew when to be in town.

Finally, I stopped. My ears faltered, tuning out the mass clamor that was joyful cries of proud parents holding their foals, who had ultimately grown up in the span of two months. The one thing we didn't plan for was where to find each other; neither of us even knew the layout of the place, so how would we?

At the same time, horrible thoughts weaseled their way from the darkest depths of my mind. What if she just didn't come?

I treated her so... poorly. I was an awful son. I know I didn't take her for granted, though it sure felt like I had. My mind had been twisted in various directions since Dad left us behind, and even in her own wrong moments, I didn't take time to appreciate her for what she is.

No, she came. She had to have, I said mentally. A mother's love is unconditional enough to forgive pasts... right?

I looked around slowly, scanning every pony that surrounded me. Only when that inspection turned up negative, I took a few steps forward and did it again. And again. And again. One way or another, sooner or later, I'd find her.

Then, at long last, I did.

Standing in a small opening in the crowd was a petite earth mare, sporting a grey flannel coat with large buttons up the center, and a spruce brown wool scarf looped around her neck. Her sights browsed elsewhere in search of me.

"Mom!" I called out at the top of my lungs, and still I was much too quiet against the roar of the masses around us.

I began walking her way, hoping she would catch me in the act before then. And she did; our eyes met, and I halted in my tracks, frozen by... something. It can't have been fear, no. It was something words can't describe.

She smiled at me. I smiled back. This moment alone collectively brought tears to our eyes, as if we were emotionally connected.

This time, she ran towards me. I caught her in my arms, just like she used to do to me. Her impact into my chest nearly knocked the hat off my crown, which I stopped in swift reflex.

Her hooves wrapped themselves tightly around my neck, squeezing with the strength of a starving boa having caught its prey. Before boot camp, this might have knocked the wind out of me. But now? I could still breathe—at least, somewhat.

The last I can vividly recall embracing my mother this tight was that day. Our worlds were upside down then; I didn't want to remember that as the firmest we have ever held each other. This had to be it, and so it was.

"L-look at you!" she gasped, covering her mouth as she drew back from the hug to look over me and the uniform I'd earned. "My gosh..."

It was evident she was at a loss for words. I was, too, for the most part.

"You are just like your father, Anchorage. Just like him." She beamed through tear-filled eyes, constantly wiping at them to get a good look at me still. "He would be so proud of you right now."

At that, my ears drooped a little. Only a tiny bit. Still, I retained a small smile. "He is, Mom. I can feel it." It ached in my chest, knowing he could not be here for this. It almost made me wish I'd been older around the time of his departure, then perhaps he might have.

Regardless, I felt the warmth of his love from the place he looked down on me from, and his proud smile shining down like the sun. It was then, I knew, it was my turn.

Author's Note

Fairly short chapter, but a start to Anchorage's new life. Only two more chapters left.