Casual Fridayby totallynotabronyChaptersMondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFridaySaturdayMondayBefore I was born, a couple of ponies decided to start their own respective governments and have a war about it. This made a lot of ponies, myself included fifty years later, very unhappy. What was previously one nation of Koltrea split into north and south halves before an uneasy truce was called. A lot of countries from around the world had backed either side. Today, Equestria still has troops stationed in South Koltrea, just in case the North Koltreans try anything. They’ve been trying lots of little things for a while. They’re now into the third generation of leadership and current North Koltrean President, Butterball the Third, doesn't show any signs of either giving up or having the balls to declare full-scale war again If President Butterball chokes on a cake or something and dies, I can go home. My luck isn’t good enough for that to happen anytime soon. “Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?” “Huh?” I blink and sit up in my chair, bringing my attention back to the in-progress teleconference. “I’ll take that as a no,” says the meeting lead’s voice through the teleconference screen. I feel like I should be embarrassed, but that feeling passed a long time ago. Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea does nothing and has nothing to say, and neither do I as EACK’s representative at this teleconference.. Nopony will remember my slip tomorrow, and they never even knew my name. It’s Lightning Dust, by the way. Right now, I’m in hell. Not only did some idiot think it was a good idea to send pilots to desk jobs occasionally to expand their horizons, but I got stuck at a particularly pointless and boring duty. There are no windows in the office. Everything is beige. Some of the computers actually work. Those that do are filled with slide shows. It’s a remarkably non-military, military job. EACK is supposed to be a hub of paperwork processing and oversight serving Equestrian military forces stationed in Koltrea. Yeah, I can feel my eyes glazing over just thinking about it. Fortunately, at some point in the past everypony else decided it was easier to just bypass us. Unfortunately, until the trudge of bureaucracy catches up and closes the place down, I’m literally pushing paper when I could be flying a jet. Worse, I’m in the Navy but stationed at an Army base. Due to security concerns, no pegasi are allowed to fly on base. That’s not to mention all the other rules, regulations, and strange company I have to deal with. This is a bigger deal than it sounds. For instance, if I were to turn and say, “Hey boss,” an Army Major would answer, and then berate me for not using proper titles. My unit is a combined command, so while there are less than a dozen of us in the EACK office, we represent three countries and five branches of the military. Most of our conversations have to be translated, even if we’re speaking the same language. But it doesn’t matter, because like I said, we don’t actually do anything here. Well, maybe drink coffee. Since the teleconference is over now, I get up and head for the coffee pot. Getting up from the chair, the security badge on a lanyard hanging from my neck swings around. It’s a piece of plastic with my picture on it that shows I belong in this building. Nopony outside the building cares. Everypony inside the building knows who I am. It’s just one of those rules. The floor creaks as I walk. It’s a false subfloor made of tiles elevated above the real floor. Apparently network cables or whatever get routed underneath. Mostly, it’s just noisy to walk on. I get over to the coffee pot. It’s empty. A Marine Private is walking away, holding the last cup. Wretched Heart is camouflage-colored, just like his Marine uniform. He’s also impossibly dumb, just like a Marine. “Hey!” I call. “You kill the joe, you make some mo’.” “Oh, um,” he fumbles the cup in his hooves and shoots me with puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Thickheaded he might be, but he’s also incredibly cute. I’m not even into guys and I can see why he’s constantly screwing other ponies’ marefriends completely by accident, as if his special talent is unknowingly breaking up relationships, which it just might be. I turn back to the pot. There is no good coffee to be found in Koltrea. But bad coffee is better than none at all. I reach for the bag of grounds, but the door suddenly slams open. Colonel Tweak storms in and demands, “What happened to my reserved parking sign!?” I’m closest and he glares at me. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I hear somepony’s hooves on the subfloor coming up behind me. Major Winchester appears at my shoulder. “Sir, the sappers are putting up new signs. You’ll have yours back by the end of the day.” “Who authorized that?” Tweak demands. “The base commander, sir,” says Winchester. “Is there a problem with the parking?” “Nopony was parked in my space this morning, but the sign was gone. It had better be back this afternoon.” Tweak turns and leaves as dramatically as he had entered. To me, Winchester quietly asks, “Lieutenant, did you see the all-staff emails about changing the signs?” “All three of them, sir.” Winchester nods. He doesn’t have to say anything else. I don’t know how Colonel Tweak got to his position. I’m guessing because nopony would dare put him in charge of anything important. What I can’t figure out is why he’s in charge of anything at all. A good thing I didn’t say that out loud, too. Tweak storms back in and thrusts a piece of paper into Winchester’s hooves. “You’re going to Neighpon for a week.” Winchester glances at the page. “A security conference, sir? It has your name on it.” “You’re going,” Tweak repeats. He storms back out. Winchester’s eyes go back to the page and pop wide open. “The plane leaves in four hours.” “Oh,” I say, partly surprised, partly sympathetic. On a hunch, I ask, “When was the invitation sent to Colonel Tweak?” “Last month.” Winchester grits his teeth. “Okay, I need to go back to my place, grab a suitcase, and get to the airport. I’ll email you once I get there, if I can get access to a computer.” “Me, sir?” Winchester pointedly looks around the office. “You’re next in line in seniority. You’re running the place while I’m gone.” Buck me. I say, “Yes sir.” He turns back to me. “Not that we do anything here that you can’t handle, but if the email works let me know if there’s some way I can help while I’m gone.” “What if the email doesn’t work, sir?” “I’ll try to call.” He shrugs. “It’s a security conference. Who knows what they’ll let us do. You might end up on your own.” I think about being subjected directly to Colonel Tweak without Major Winchester running interference. I think about stepping into Winchester’s horseshoes and being the barrier for the rest of the office. Winchester calls a meeting. It only takes a “Listen up!” announcement. It’s a small office. “I’m going to Neighpon for a week. I’m leaving today,” said Winchester. “Lieutenant Dust is the officer in charge until I’m back.” Everypony else accepts it without a word of protest. Oh buck, they actually think I’m qualified. WInchester is gone without another word. Everypony looks at me. Private Wretched Heart is the biggest. Ensign Rhyme of the Coast Guard looks like a filly next to him. Sergeant Drill Bit, Army, is at his desk with paperwork neatly stacked in front of him. Flight Lieutenant Skyray, Caneighdian Air Force, lounges at his own desk. Our secretary and interpreter, Line Scribe, is next to First Lieutenant Kimchi, of the South Koltrean Army, where the two of them had been practicing language. Air Force First Lieutenant Clear Code is looking impatient to return to her computer. The group is rounded out by my fellow sailor Chief Iceberg. He’s a SEAL, and also a seal. For whatever reason, we have a lot more officers than enlisted ponies in the unit. Little wonder why we don’t get anything done around here. “Well,” I say, “this was unexpected, but we’ll make the best of it.” The door slams open again. Colonel Tweak seems like he’s about to say something, but looks around. “What are you all doing?” A long moment passes. Oh, that’s my cue. “Sir, we were having a meeting regarding Major Winchester’s sudden departure.” “Why aren’t you working?” Because we’re having a meeting. Also, because we don’t have anything to work on. I open my mouth to report a version of that, but Tweak interrupts. “This is the kind of unprofessionalism I keep seeing. You all need to get back to proper military conduct. No more Casual Friday.” Slam. He’s gone. I’m not exactly the model of a professional military officer, but I’m honestly starting to wonder if Colonel Tweak isn’t actually incompetent and unpleasant but rather a massive troll. I turn back to my audience. “This sucks,” says Wretched Heart. I see Sergeant Drill Bit shoot him a reproachful look for the comment, but I agree. It does suck. Casual Friday was perhaps the single shining light at the end of each dragging week. I glance down at my pressed khaki uniform. It’s uncomfortable. I look forward to wearing my old flight suit once a week. Or I had. I turn away. The meeting’s over. Chief waddles over to me. He’s the skinniest seal I’ve ever seen, which is probably why he can walk on land so well. With his qualifications, I don’t know why he’s not off shooting terrorists in the face right now, but maybe he got stuck here just like I did. “Ma’am,” he says. “Did Major Winchester mention to you before he left about the vacation I applied for?” “Yeah, he did.” “Well ma’am, standard timelines had me hoping to have the paperwork signed and returned to me last week. I hope it’s not stuck in the Colonel’s outbox.” Chief doesn’t like talking to me this way. SEALs buck a lot of formality in the interest of getting the job done. I certainly don’t enjoy being in the position of a senior, either. The forced politeness annoys me, and I still feel a little, I don’t know, embarrassed maybe when somepony calls me ma’am. I just fly planes, I didn’t want this. I hold back a sigh at what I’m about to do. “I’ll go check Colonel Tweak’s office for your paperwork.” “Thank you, ma’am.” I bet he does. I steel myself to walk into Tweak’s office. I feel like it would go smoother if I have an excuse, though. I spot the papers on Sergeant Drill Bit’s desk and walk over. “Is the daily report ready?” “Yes ma’am,” he says. I don’t know if Sergeant Bit knows how ridiculous he looks. He’s vomit green and due to his previous assignment as a boot camp drill sergeant, his mane is shaved and only a tiny little poof of a tail is left. “I was going to go to Colonel Tweak’s office. I can take the report,” I say. Sergeant Bit is usually pretty stoic, more DS mentality, but an honest look of relief passes across his face. “Thank you, ma’am.” “Need help?” asks Skyray. He looks a lot like me, though he’s a shade darker in his blue coat and orange mane. He’s also technically equal rank, but as a Caneighdian, he’s only here on observer status. “Thanks, but I’m hoping this will be just a quick in-and-out,” I say. I take a deep breath and head for the door, carrying the paper. The daily report is another formality from a bygone era. It reports what we do each day. We don’t do anything. Colonel Tweak’s office is directly next to our office. I pause, grit my teeth, and knock. Nothing happens. I count to ten and knock again. Again no response. Is he gone? Is he sleeping? Is he trolling me? I cautiously open the door. The lights are on, but nopony’s home. Fitting metaphor it might have been, but in this case it’s literal. I take advantage and scamper over to his in/out box. I slip the daily report in and dig through everything else. Sure enough, Chief’s paperwork is there. It’s not signed by Tweak. I also discover an invitation to a conference up near the border. It’s taking place tomorrow. I hadn’t heard anything about this. Tweak’s calendar is on his desk, and it has things scribbled all over it, but tomorrow doesn’t seem to have anything about traveling. I hear hooves approaching. Quick as my name, I back away from the desk and turn around. Tweak comes in, a sandwich in his mouth. “Whaf ur oo oing ere?” he demands. Angry mixed with a full mouth comes out more hilarious than it should be. I remember that he’s my boss and not in a joking mood and manage to keep my composure by looking at the floor. “Sir, I came to drop off the daily report.” “En ged out.” “One more thing, sir. I wanted to ask about Chief Iceberg’s vacation paperwork. I, uh, think it might be in your box there. All it would take is one signature from you.” Tweak mumbles something I can’t interpret. My hoof is already in motion, pulling the page out of the box. There’s a pen on the desk and I grab that, too. Tweak stares at me and then spits the sandwich out on the floor. “You’re really going to ruin my lunch, Captain? Really?” “It’s Lieutenant, sir. I’m in the Navy. I know the rank insignia looks similar to Captain in the other services.” And he should know it, too. I’ve only told him this exact thing at least five times before. Tweak grabs the pen in his mouth and scrawls what might be a signature across the paper. “Thank you, sir.” I can’t wait to get out the door, but even I’m not fast enough. Tweak calls me back. “Wait.” I freeze and suppress a cringe. “Yes sir?” Tweak pulls a piece of paper out of his box and practically throws it at me. “Deal with this.” I glance at it. It’s the conference invitation. “What would you like me to do, sir?” “You think you’re smart. Figure it out. Now get out of my office.” I do. I glance back as I close the door, seeing him glowering at his sandwich on the floor. I mean, I understand the limitations of earth ponies, but he could have used a hoof to hold it, or spit it out on his desk or something. But that’s no longer my problem, if it ever was. I have emerged from the lion’s den victorious. Okay, maybe not a lion. More like a senile timberwolf, but whatever. Chief thanks me for the paperwork. I go back to my desk and take a look at the invitation. It’s called a bilateral conference of understanding. I think “bilateral” means it’s two countries - us and the South Koltreans? - having the conference. It sounds boring. It sounds like they want important ponies to attend. It sounds like Tweak isn’t interested. It sounds like an opportunity to get out of the office. I stand up and announce, “I’m going on a business trip tomorrow.” Gesturing to the mare beside me, I add, “First Lieutenant Clear Code will be in charge in the meantime.” “Thanks,” Clear Code mutters. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the computer screen in front of her. I sit back down and ask conversationally, “What are you working on?” Her eyes behind her thick glasses still don’t look my way. If she wasn’t practically albino, I’d think her eyes were red from too much computer time. She also might be the blindest pegasus I’ve ever met. Yes, that counts Derpy Hooves. “There are things afoot on the secret internet,” she says. Ah yes, the secret internet, domain of intel nerds like Clear Code, with secret pictures of cats, and occasionally secret intel about things going on in the world. “What kind of things?” I ask. “I’ll tell you when I figure it out.” At no point did she even glance my way or call me ma’am. As an Air Force First Lieutenant, despite being similar to my title of Navy Lieutenant, she’s one equivalent paygrade below me. I decide it’s not worth arguing. I don’t mind anyway. I get up and walk over to Line Scribe and Kimchi. Both of the unicorns are still speaking Koltrean to each other.. Line Scribe is a civilian that is technically employed by the State Department or something, but is assigned to hang out with us for reasons that are unclear. He’s fit for a civilian. His brown mane has frosted tips and along with his constant polo shirt makes him seem like a fratboy. But he’s good at language and smart enough to navigate bureaucracy. Kimchi is pale purple with dark eyes and mane. She could be a model, and maybe she was before joining the South Koltrean Army for the mandatory service her country requires. Not gonna lie, I once had the hots for her, but she’s straight and I don’t like her cooking. “I need one of you to go with me tomorrow to the bilateral meeting, in case of translating,” I say. “My kid has a school play tomorrow,” says Line Scribe. Kimchi nods. “I will go.” Great. With that settled, I have nothing to do for the rest of the day. I go back to my desk. Well, this is the most eventful week I can remember since being assigned to EACK. And it’s only Monday. When I first moved to Koltrea, I was told to enjoy the sights that couldn’t be found in Equestria. Staring at a can of foreign beer in a foreign bar counts, right? Skyray is next to me. We’re similarly colored, so it’s easier to claim we’re related. That’s our angle when out trolling for mares, that we’re brother and sister. The Koltreans don’t notice his Caneighdian accent. “Nine o’clock,” Skyray says out of the corner of his mouth. “Blue.” I turn my eyes in that direction, spotting the pony in question. “Looks more like cerulean to me.” “It’s times like this that I wish you were actually less of a girl. Blue is blue. She’s hot either way.” “I wouldn’t throw her off the fantail for being too salty.” Skyray frowns at me. “You have to stop with the nautical slang. I’m pretty sure ladies don’t find that attractive.” “If there are any ladies here.” He nods. “Fair enough.” “Is it your turn or mine?” “Mine,” he says. He takes another sip of his beer and goes to talk to her. She shoots him down almost immediately. To his credit, I do hear him say, “Well, my sister’s here if you’d rather.” The mare doesn’t go for that, either. Skyray comes back and sits down. “Well, Monday night was never good for this kind of thing.” He’s right. But being single in a foreign country is rough. I’m not above dating coworkers, but options at EACK are slim. I’d rather not chance my prospects on an Army base anyway. We conclude the night without results. I go back to my apartment. It’s within a couple blocks of base. It’s small and simple. Have I mentioned I’m painfully single? As I put the key in the lock, the next door neighbor opens their door. It’s Rhyme, Coast Guard sailor and fellow EACK member. I was really displeased when she moved in right next to me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s tidy and responsible, but so annoying. “Hey!” she says, sing-song. Everything she says is sing-song. “Hey,” I reply. “So where are you going on this trip tomorrow?” She doesn’t call me ma’am. Coast Guard thing. Not that I mind “It’s up near the border. Kimchi is going with me.” “Sounds fun!” “I sure hope so.” I go into my apartment. I wonder if I can get away with a different uniform at the conference. I hate the idiot blue camouflage the Navy uses as a utility uniform, but it’s more comfortable than khakis. But no, I probably can’t wear that to an important meeting. Is it an important meeting? I shake my head. I’m too young, irresponsible, and low-ranking to be thinking about conferences between countries. How did I get into this situation? Well, at least I don’t think they want me to wear the white uniform. It’s not the right season for the dress blue uniform, which despite its name is actually black. Trust me, I know my colors. I don’t know why the Navy has three “business” uniforms when no other service has more than one or two. At least I’m not a senior enough officer to be required to buy the dinner dress uniform that makes you look like a matador. I could use a ceremonial sword, though. Wait, why don’t I have a sword? Probably because the exchange store on an Army base doesn’t have anything for the Navy. I collapse in my bed. I am so done with this job. TuesdayThis morning, I stop at the office briefly to rendezvous with Kimchi. We leave before I even see Colonel Tweak, which means I’m already in a good mood. I make sure to take off my security badge once we leave the office. Again, one of those rules. I guess if somepony outside the building saw it, they could duplicate it and fake entry to our building...where they would then be faced with a lot of ponies who would know they don’t belong. Kimchi and I go over to the motor pool, which is what the Army calls the place where you can check out official cars. Kimchi, like a lot of Koltreans, doesn’t like driving in Koltrea. I’m a fighter pilot. I like driving. In a crowded city with narrow streets, it’s like making a trench run. Kimchi doesn’t appreciate this. After a couple hours, we get to the place. I frown as I pull into the parking lot, seeing the North Koltrean flag in the distance. “Exactly how close are we to the border?” “Very,” says Kimchi. I show the invitation to a guard who points me to a little building against a wall. The top of the wall has a crackling field of anti-pegasus energy on top. We walk into the building. It seems to be just one room and it’s longer than I expect. The carpet abruptly changes color at the halfway point of the room and there’s a table in the center. A couple of allied generals and colonels are on the side of the table closest to me. A couple of North Koltrean generals and colonels are on the other side. I instantly realize that I’m not only in over my head, but I can’t even see which way to swim. “Who are you?” asks an Equestrian Army General. “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Dust, from Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea.” “Never heard of it.” Great! “I’ll just be going, then, sir.” “Just a moment,” says a General from Prance in accented tones. “Who is that South Koltrean soldier with you?” “F-first Lieutenant Kimchi,” she squeaks. “Can you translate?” Kimchi swallows hard. “Yes.” The general gestures her over and then turns to the North Koltreans. “Now we can begin.” The Nork who seems to be in charge leads off, translated through Kimchi. “For the honor of President Butterball, we demand you stop what you’re doing.” “No,” replies the Equestrian General. “But for the sake of argument, what specifically did you mean?” “Everything.” “No.” “Some things?” “What did you have in mind?” The Norks list off three dozen things that the coalition does that angers their great leader. “No.” “A few things?” And another round. Honestly, once I’ve gotten over the fact that I’m incredibly junior and inexperienced to even be in the room and the fact that I’m the only sailor present, who accidentally wandered into a high level diplomatic exchange, it’s mildly interesting to see the hayburgers of international diplomacy being made. I can’t see why anypony from EACK would have been invited in the first place, though. Maybe another formality that hasn’t been expunged from procedure yet. After five or ten minutes, however, the dry discussion gets boring. Kimchi’s still engaged, but only because she has to. I sit in a chair at the back and try to stay awake. My attention span must be incredibly minimal to be bored already. Fighter pilot. I can’t help it. I eventually nod myself into a nap. From time to time, I find myself in completely ridiculous situations. Once, my wingpony and I faked mechanical trouble and deliberately landed at an airport in a war zone to buy some booze to smuggle back to the aircraft carrier in order to infiltrate a speakeasy and bring it down. That’s another story, but the point is, my whole career sort of lands me in one unprecedented situation after another. I’d almost think I was used to it by now, but that’s the thing about the unexpected. Like when a shouting match startles me awake. Somehow, in the span of - I check my watch - five minutes, the conversation went so bad that the Norks started screaming threats about nuclear war. That’s what little I understand. The allied ponies are also shouting, and about as coherently. Kimchi is trying in vain to translate quickly enough. I feel like I should do something. Ha, screw that. No way am I getting involved in a spat between flag officers. The Nork soldiers guarding the door at their end of the room seem restless. I glance back. So do the South Koltreans behind me. The hair on my neck stands up when I hear safeties being clicked off. The 50-year cold standoff is about to turn hot right in front of my eyes and I’m not going to live long enough to even get credit in the history book for being there when it happened. I stand up, adrenalin starting to flow. I wish I was in my jet. I wish I had a weapon. I wish I had body armor. I wish that I wasn’t going to die in an office uniform. Kimchi glances at me, eyes wide. She sees the warning signs, too. Suddenly, a moment of clarity comes to me. I take a few rapid steps across the room, wrap my hooves around her, and plant my best impression of a romantic kiss on her lips. It takes two or three seconds, but all arguments cease. I open one eye and see every pony in the room staring at us. I disengage from Kimchi and wink at the audience. “Sorry boys, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” I then take Kimchi by the hoof and pull her out of the building. Outside, she promptly slaps me. “You had no right to do that!” “I’m sorry.” I rub my cheek. “But you have to admit, it totally worked.” She glares at me. “Jeeze.” Well excuse me for averting an international incident, princess. I turn away. I wonder if I can put “saved the world, and it was totally hot” down on my record when I apply for promotion? I doubt it would work, though. Colonel Tweak wouldn’t believe me, and the only corroborating witness thinks I’m a rapist. It’s a long drive back to base. Tuesday afternoons are designated workout time. We don’t get to leave early, in fact we have to stay on base an extra hour at the gym. Colonel Tweak said so. I wonder why he never comes to work out with us. Probably because he’s a dirtbag. I get changed into my yellow Navy workout t-shirt. The Army and Air Force both wear different shades of grey for their workout uniforms, but they have to wear a fluorescent safety belt with it. There are precious few times that I actually think my service’s uniforms have an advantage. Chief Iceberg wears a desert tan shirt. It says Navy on it, so that’s good enough for me. It’s not like anypony else on this base knows the difference. That’s probably why Skyray doesn’t even bother to wear his official RCAF outfit. Line Scribe isn’t there. He doesn’t have to be. I know he works out elsewhere, though. So do I, one workout a week doesn’t keep you in shape. I just wish I didn’t have to do this workout each week. With an hour to kill, I take my time warming up and then head for the multifunction court. On the way, I pass Rhyme on the treadmill, headphones on. She spares a nod and a smile. Clear Code is on a stationary bike, reading a book. I see Kimchi in the middle of a pose through the window of the yoga studio and look away, heading through the weight room. Drill Bit is on a resistance machine. Wretched Heart is nearby, curling freeweights. The gym’s multifunction court has a high ceiling. With the stupid no-fly rules, it’s about the only place on base where a pegasus can work their wings. There are already a couple in there, while ground-bound ponies play basketball down below. I stretch out my wings and go up to say hello. I can see them all giving me looks because of my shirt. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I want to stand out. I am the best flier on base, after all. Shame I don’t get to prove it more often. The gym is big enough to fly in, but only barely. Trying for any kind of speed makes it feel cramped in a hurry. I settle for acrobatics. Skyray joins me. Without trading any words, we spontaneously engage in fighter maneuvers. I beat him, but not easily. I wish Rainbow Dash was around. She‘s a little more agile than me, but we’re evenly matched enough that I can make her pay for any mistakes. It’s challenging and fun to fly with her. Well, that, and she’s bi. I almost daydream my way into a wall. Maybe it’s time to changeup my workout. Chief is in the boxing ring. As I walk up, he throws a musclebound stallion in an Army t-shirt out of it. You wouldn’t think somepony with flippers could do that. I give him a nod. He looks around but other challengers are reluctant. I part the ropes and step into the ring. “You want to go, ma’am?” he says. “Rules?” “Try not to hurt me to much.” I take a stance. He nods and smiles. To be fair, he doesn’t, or at least not much compared to what he could do. I’m fast enough to keep out of his reach, but when he does get ahold of me, I end up on the mat. I can’t even really fight back. I mean, he’s a seal. His body is cylindrical and there’s nothing to grab. After the fourth or fifth time I end up on my back, I pause for a breather. The clock on the wall shows our mandatory gym time is up. Iceberg sees it too and give me help up. “I appreciate it, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t be getting very good training out of it if barely anypony can challenge you.” Chief shrugs. “You’re here and you tried, ma’am.” Is that all it takes? I mean, that alone I guess puts me ahead of Colonel Tweak. Maybe this leadership thing isn’t so difficult after all. Oh buck me, that’s right. I have to do this leadership thing. WednesdayWhen I arrive at work Wednesday morning, there’s a package sitting on my desk. There’s no return address. My name and office is barely legible. Clear Code is already there that morning, working on the secret internet and muttering quietly under her breath. I walk over. “Do you know where this package came from?” “I’m guessing North Koltrea.” I frown at the package. “Why would any of them send me something? How did they get my address?” “They’ve been doing a lot of weird things lately,” she says, gesturing at the computer. I have a look. It’s green numbers slowly falling down a black screen. I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me. Clear Code doesn’t have many jokes, but smug superiority is one of them. I humor her. “What’s it say?” “They’re rolling armored units to the border and stockpiling supplies. They might be bringing more nuclear weapons online.” Trying to sound smart, I ask, “Is there a historical precedent for that kind of thing?” “Well, they threaten a lot of things. I’m a little concerned because they haven’t threatened much this time but are moving quite a lot.” “What if they’re just training?” Clear Code shrugs. “Then they’ll go home in a few days and won’t invade.” “You’re just a bundle of Celestia’s sunshine.” “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She may not have intended it that way, but I laugh. Turning around, I head for my desk, but Rhyme intercepts me as she comes into the office. “Hey, I saw some weird guys hanging around our apartment building this morning. They must have just missed you.” “What do you mean weird?” I ask. “They were all in trenchcoats, sunglasses, and trilbys.” “What’s a trilby?” “Not a hat pony, huh? Broadly, they’re the cheap felt hats you can get at discount stores that are often confused for fedoras.” I think about that for a moment and realize the point of the conversation has gotten lost in the clutter. I steer back to the prime topic. “So what was so suspicious about these suspicious ponies?” “They came up to me and asked me if I knew you, when they could expect you to be home, where I worked, where you worked, and if I had some base guest passes.” Definitely suspicious. Surprisingly blatant. I ask, “Did you talk to them?” “Buck no. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go report them to CID.” It takes half a second for me to remember that CID is the Army version of NCIS. “I’ll go with you,” I say. “Some weird things have been happening to me, too.” The CID pony is surprised to see us walk into his office. Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me too much. I’m kind of used to wading through a constant stream of surprised faces around base. Sailors are about as common as alicorns around here. Me and a Coastie showing up at the same time must be like seeing an analogy so rare that I couldn’t even come up with it. Rhyme tells the CID guy about the mysterious questioners and I tell him about my mysterious package. He asks me the obvious question, “Why were you specifically targeted? Where did they get your name?” I think about it for a moment and then facehoof. “Yesterday, I went to a meeting up on the border. A general asked my name and I told him. In front of the North Koltreans.” “That’ll do it,” he said. “They don’t really have the internet up there, but they sure can use the phone book.” Great. This was worse than telemarketers getting ahold of my contact information. Having done our duty of reporting suspicious things, we head back to the office. When we get there, everypony is watching the news. The news ponies are talking about a super-secret plan that the allied coalition made to stop the North Koltreans from crossing the border. I’ve seen this plan. It’s classified super-secret. Somehow, the news got ahold of it. So now the Norks know our super-secret plan. “Who leaked it?” I ask. “Most likely my government,” says Kimchi. “They do that.” “What?” I ask, flabbergasted. “Why? You guys helped write that plan, same as us.” “What good is the plan as a deterrent if the North Koltreans don’t know it exists?” says Kimchi. “Now that they know we have a plan to stop them from crossing the border, they won’t try to cross the border.” “But they know what the plan is,” I point out. “At least they didn’t leak the one plan to feed President Butterball until he’s too fat to move,” Rhyme says, upbeat. “That’s barely secret,” I say. This morning has been more unusual than usual. Norks at the border, possible Norks here in town, leaking plans, suspicious packages. I pause. The package is gone from my desk. “Hey, has anypony seen my package?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I decide if I meant to say it that way or not. Fortunately, Clear Code is the first to respond. “Colonel Tweak took it.” “I guess I don’t mind, because it was probably from the North Koltreans, but...isn’t taking somepony else’s mail illegal?” “Yeah,” confirms Clear Code. I think about it for a moment, but then decide that I don’t want to know. I sit down at my desk. The daily videoteleconference takes place. Other units on the VTC talk about what they have going on. A couple of them note the worrying developments north of the border. It comes time for our report. “Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?” “No.” Maybe I should say something about the suspicious things happening. Would anypony care? EACK never does anything worthwhile. Nothing happens for a couple of hours. I surf the internet. The news agencies are still talking about the leak, but now a couple of them have picked up on North Koltrean movements. I take a sip of my coffee and think about it. Are we really heading towards war? I don’t believe it. Maybe because I don’t want to, or maybe because I can’t. I feel extraordinarily calm, which weirds me out. “Anypony want to go to lunch?” Line Scribe asks. I raise my hoof immediately. The two of us leave work and walk out the front gate. I live out in town, but Line Scribe has the hookup for everything and knows all the good places. Speaking the language helps. We get seats at one of the little restaurants that have a grill built into the table. The waitress brings over a platter of things to cook. It’s a good thing that Koltreans don’t expect tipping at restaurants, what with making us make our own food. “So, tell me again what happened yesterday,” says Line Scribe, stringing together a kebab. I give him an overview of how Kimchi and I stumbled into a top-level meeting and may have prevented a war right there. “That sounds like one of the meetings General Park Avenue coordinates between the coalition, the South, and the North,” he says. “I got to know Park Avenue a couple years ago. He always seems to have things under control. Good guy.” “I’ll take your work for it,” I say. “The meeting yesterday definitely wasn’t under control.” Line Scribe shakes his head. “The Northerners and Southerners hate each other. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just looking for an excuse to have another war.” “Sounds a lot like Ponbekistan,” I reply. “When I deployed over there, I couldn’t keep straight who wanted what or why and for how many cookies. Of course, flying off the ship it didn’t really matter, I just dropped the bombs.” “Did it ever bother you to be stuck on an aircraft carrier and not making friends among the locals?” he asks. I blink. “My wingpony was Rainbow Dash, of the Elements of Harmony fame. If she didn’t seem to care, I don’t think it’s a big deal. You must be special.” No sarcasm, by the way. Line Scribe was good at what he did, which was interfacing with locals, apparently. He shrugs in response to my comment. “You just have to find a group. I got to know Park Avenue at the golf course. You may have nothing in common, but once you have a group, you’re good.” “I think the hard part is finding the group in the first place.” “Yeah,” he concedes. No idea where I was supposed to find a group. The closest thing I had was coworkers. We sure had nothing in common. After lunch, we walk back. Even being in Koltrea, there are all the usual shops that appear as you get close to the front gate of a military base: clothing stores, tattoo parlors, military surplus. I practically give myself whiplash spotting a sword in the front window of a junk shop. Line Scribe hears my hooves practically screech to a halt. “See something you like?” “Uh huh.” I walk closer. It’s a Navy Officer’s Sword, with a thin, elegant blade and a brass hoof guard. It’s not new, but the patina only gives it character. I have no way of knowing if it’s quality, and I’m completely confused how it came to be here, but I want it. The price is a problem. That’s beer money for at least a month. On the other hoof, if war broke out tomorrow, I’d feel better about treating myself, and having any weapon - even a blunt show blade - would be better than the government-issued desk pens. Though, I don’t think a naval sword has been used in combat for at least a century. Line Scribe helps me negotiate with the shopkeeper and I walk out carrying my prize. I can’t wait to show...who am I going to show? I am exactly the only pony on base who would care. I don’t think that’s the same as buyer’s remorse, but I’m still feeling it that afternoon. So much so that Sergeant Drill Bit actually asks me if something is wrong when I come to get the daily report. “I bought a sword earlier today,” I say. “A proper Navy Officer’s Saber.” His lips purse and he nods. “Not bad.” Well, that’s one vote of confidence. I have that happy thought to balance out the impending dread of walking into Colonel Tweak’s office. As I approach the door, I can hear voices from inside. I’m putting my penis in you now. Oh yeah, baby, give it to me. That gives me about five seconds of pause. It seems really weird to narrate sex. Is he in there watching porn? Even for porn, it seems weird to verbalize step by step. I tentatively knock on the door. Tweak swears. “Come in!” I open the door, eyes already averted. “Sir, here’s the daily report.” There’s a ham radio sitting on his desk. The package addressed to me is open and discarded on the floor. The Norks tried to send me a radio? And now Tweak’s using it for...radio sex? I put the paper in his inbox, on top of yesterday’s report that is still sitting there, and scoot for the door. He calls me back, though. “Hey!” I swear under my breath and turn. “Yes sir?” “Is this yours?” he says, pointing at the radio. “Never seen it before, sir.” “Then why was it in a box with your name on it?” I shrug. “I didn’t order it. It just showed up. I don’t know who sent it.” “Sir,” he corrects for me. “Yes sir.” “I don’t believe you,” he says. “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the truth.” I continue on before I can stop myself. “But if it was my radio, which you think it is because you don’t believe me saying it’s not, then why do you have it, sir?” Have you ever been really bored and decided to siphon a jug of jet fuel out of a plane and then toss in signal flare? Yeah, okay, bad analogy, but you get the idea. That’s how Tweak’s face looks. “I’m going to write you a demerit for that comment!” he bellows. “No, actually, you’re going to write it, because I don’t have time to look up the Navy permanent record format. I want it on my desk tomorrow.” He pauses for breath and then demands “Where’s your security badge?” I’d forgotten to put it back on when entering the building following lunch. I pull it out of a pocket and put the lanyard on around my neck. “And another demerit for that,” he says. I have to hold my teeth shut before I can finally get out, “Yes sir,” without screaming something else. Back in the office, I can tell by their faces that the others heard the outburst, though perhaps not the actual words. I sit down at my desk. Skyray slides over. “What happened?” “He ordered me to write myself a demerit for having the gall to receive an unsolicited package,” I summarize. “What was inside?” “A radio. Which he was using for tele-sex.” Skyray does a poor job of hiding a laugh. “Really?” “That’s horseapples,” says Clear Code. She was right there, so she couldn’t help but overhear. “Major Winchester was the horseapple filter,” I say. “He had more patience, and the advantage that Tweak seemed to like him. Or at least like him more than the rest of us. Unfortunately, he hasn’t contacted me since getting to his meeting, so I don’t think he’ll be able to help.” I sigh and turn to my computer. I’d better get started. Writing the demerits takes most of an hour. Granted, I’m taking it slow to kill time, but a lot of the work is just looking up examples online and following the Navy administrative manual. I’ve never been good at writing about myself, usually letting adoring fans take care of it. Not many of those around here, though. Trying to tell the story of what happened fairly while still making myself look as innocent as possible is another challenge. I print it off and head for Tweak’s office. He said he wanted the document in the morning and he’s just the type of guy to get angry at me for being too early. What’s he going to do, make me give myself another demerit? I frown. Maybe. I knock on his door. There’s no sound. I hesitate, but then abruptly open it. Tweak’s not there. The radio is still on the center of the desk. I put my demerit in his inbox, on top of everything that’s already there. I look around. His hat is gone. His computer is logged out. I guess he’s gone for the day. My eyes go back to the radio. It looks like a small shortwave rig. A label on the side has a callsign, K7J4VZ. I look around again and then turn on the radio. A gentle hum of static comes out of the speaker. I key the mic and say, “This is Kilo Seven Juliet Four Victor Zulu, over.” On a whim, I throw my voice deeper, trying to sound like Tweak. Apparently it works. An accented female voice purrs, “Ah, Colonel, you have come back to me.” My mouth hangs open for a few seconds before I spontaneously say, “Please identify and observe proper communication standards, over.” She sounds hurt. “This is X-ray Three Delta One Charlie Mike...over.” I spot a pad of sticky notes and write down X3D1CM. “Thank you. So what would you like to talk about, over?” “Well, after speaking to you earlier, I just couldn’t wait to hear more stories about your bravery, over,” she gushes. What is going on here? I try to think of a way to continue the conversation. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went for a joyride in a tank?” I blurt. “Over.” “Oh, what kind of tank, over?” “It was one of the, uh, new M63A7’s, over.” I think that’s a real tank. I’m not in the Army. “Is that the model with the electronic gyro stabilization and hyper-crypto secure communications, over?” “Oh, I’m afraid that’s classified, over.” “You’re such a tease,” she giggles. “I’ll give you my encrypted codes if you give me yours.” I’m tempted to keep talking. I’m also tempted to go straight to CID. Yeah, probably better do that instead. I grab another sticky note and start crinkling it. “Okay, are you ready to copy the codes, over?” “What? I can’t quite hear you.” “Are you breaking up, over?” “What?” I turn the radio off. Dear Celestia, Colonel Tweak is giving away secrets to the North Koltreans in exchange for radio sex. I look at the sticky note with the radio callsign and walk back into the office. I go right over to Clear Code and say, “I need to find out where this radio is located.” “Is this the radio that came in the package?” she asks. “No, it’s the radio that one connects to.” She frowns, but turns to her computer and punches buttons for a few minutes. “It’s registered to the North Koltrean Intelligence Service.” “Buck,” I mutter. “What’s going on?” she asks. I hesitate, but there’s no way I can keep this secret. And why would I want to? “I think Colonel Tweak was talking to them,” I say. “Maybe unwittingly, but still.” Her eyes widen. “We have to report this.” “I know.” I turn and call, “Rhyme.” She comes over. “What’s up?” “We think that radio that came in the mail is spy equipment and Colonel Tweak may have used it. Lieutenant Clear Code and I are going to talk to the investigators. You’re in charge until we get back.” Rhyme’s face goes more serious than I’ve ever seen it before. I can’t blame her. Aside from the situation, I know what she’s feeling. I felt it too when Major Winchester left. Surprise responsibility! Clear Code and I head to CID. When we arrive, however, the investigator pony is packing up his desk. “You again?” he asks, spotting me. “You’ll have to come back when my replacement arrives.” “What are you talking about?” “I was unexpectedly relieved and reassigned,” he explains. “Like...today?” He nods. “By your boss, in fact. He has the authority, which surprised me. I just can’t figure out why.” “So who are we supposed to talk to about suspicious activity?” I ask. He shrugs. “Sorry. I’ve been ordered elsewhere. I could get in a lot of trouble for doing things off-duty. Hopefully my replacement gets here soon. Maybe next week.” That isn’t going to be soon enough. ThursdayI really, really don’t want to go to work today. At the same time, I’m a little curious about how things are going. Are the Norks still doing troubling things? What’s Tweak doing? How’s the sexy voice at radio station X3D1CM? I wonder how I got in this position. All I want to do is fly a jet and have no responsibility, but here I am, a sailor away from the sea, somehow taking care of a ragtag unit that might be the only ones who know a war is about to start. “Uuuuuugggghhhh.” I’ve got to go to work. But I don’t want to. I get up and put on my uniform. My apartment is close and I head to base. A set of train tracks enters the base, apparently to bring in supplies and heavy equipment. I instead go through the smaller, pony-sized gate beside the train gate. The guard frowns at my Navy ID card, as they always do, but eventually lets me through. At work, the first cup of office coffee doesn’t make me feel any better, but at least it gives me something to concentrate on that isn’t my responsibility. I haven’t seen Tweak yet today. I once again mull over the problem we’ve found ourselves in. “Any updates?” I ask Clear Code. “More of the same,” she replies. “North Koltreans posturing on the border. More of them than the day before.” “Great. I can only imagine what an actual shooting war would be like.” I sigh. “I guess we’d better batten down the hatches and hope it doesn’t come to that.” “Have you ever noticed just how much Navy slang you throw around?” she says. “Not really, no.” “It’s true,” says Skyray. “The other day you were talking about holy stones or somesuch.” “You use a holy stone to scrub the deck with sand to clean it,” I say. “See?” He gestures. “That’s the kind of thing you basically have to translate. Same language, different branch of the military.” It’s true. While I was still flying, the Air Force had on more than one occasion come up with something I needed translated. I sit down in front of the VTC screen. The meeting begins. The briefer starts reading off the news and inviting comments. Tweak storms in. He looks around and spots me, stomping over, hooves loud on the subfloor. “What have you been telling Soju!?” I fumble for the mute button on the VTC. “Say again, sir?” “Get up when I’m talking to you!” I stand. “Sir, do you mean Soju like the liquor?” “My girlfriend,” he hisses. I stand there with my mouth open for several seconds. “Oh! On the radio? Sir, she’s a North Koltrean trying to get secrets out of you.” “How dare you!” Tweak roars. “You think you can just steal my girl? You dirty rotten maremunching filly-fooler!” I mean, I am. I don’t exactly hide that fact. It’s not illegal. But it is illegal to discriminate against somepony on that basis. Tweak leans in close, his breath smelling like something threw up and then died in his mouth. “I’m going to get you kicked out of the military. You’re the worst soldier I’ve ever seen.” “I’m not a soldier, sir.” As it turns out, that’s exactly what I need to say to escalate the situation further. I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. His eyes nearly bulge out of his face. He raises a hoof. It comes at my face as if in slow motion. I should get out of the way. But he’s not really going to hit me, is he? Yes. It’s more of a slap, but it stings. Mostly, I’m shocked that he did it at all. I hear movement behind me. Tweak glances to my right and to my left. He huffs and turns around, stomping out of the office. I turn. Chief Iceberg and Flight Lieutenant Skyray are right behind me. The others in the office are standing, attention on me. “Uh...Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, is everything all right there?” Chief turns off the VTC. I take a breath and look around the room. “I think it’s clear that things have gotten out of hoof here. I’m about ready to beat my head on the bulkhead.” “Wow, no kidding,” says Rhyme. Chief nods. “Can somepony translate that for us non-nautical folks?” says Skyray. “Beat my head on the wall.” “Colonel Tweak is the worst leader I’ve ever seen or heard of,” says Drill Bit. “This is my first unit since getting out of boot camp and even I know he’s the worst,” says Wretched Heart. “We can’t just let this keep getting worse,” I say. I pause. “We need to do something.” Clear Code indicates her computer monitor. “We have a legal basis for charging Colonel Tweak with at least espionage and assault. I could probably put together quite a bit more with some time.” “I’m not exactly on the same ground as all of you,” says Line Scribe. He points to our uniforms and his polo shirt. “Tweak can’t exactly give me orders, so I can’t exactly revolt against them.” He smiles. “But I’ll help you with the paperwork for the charges.” Every face is still looking at me. They’ve all confirmed their support. I’m in charge. I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “We’d need to get somepony with the authority to pull this off. Somepony a lot higher in rank who has our back. Scribe, do you remember that General’s name at the border?” He replies, “General Park Avenue.” “Right. See if you can get in contact with him. Get Kimchi to help. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help, um, us.” Kimchi gives me a look, but nods. “We’re going to have to do this as hard and fast as we can,” I say. “Everything needs to come down on Tweak at once, or I’m sure he’ll find some way to wiggle out. We need to freeze him colder than a brass monkey.” “Nautical slang,” Skyray mutters. “So, we’re doing this,” says Clear Code. “Just to be crystal clear, we are going to stage mutiny against our tyrannical commanding officer?” Everypony looks at me again. I’m in charge. I nod. “We’re doing this. Colonel Tweak is going down. We’re making a stand. Casual Friday is back on. Let’s hoist the black flag and start slitting throats.” I don’t have to translate that piece of slang. Looking around the room, they’re all nodding. FridayFriday morning, I get up and put on my flight suit. I stand in front of the mirror for a moment. Maybe I’m narcissistic, or maybe I’m just a pilot. I smile. It’s as comfortable as pajamas and I know it’ll draw stares, especially here at an Army base where they’ve only just learned what I look like in khaki. Then, reality comes crashing down. Today, I’m putting my boss in jail. I shrug. As long as it’s Tweak, I’m down. I pick up my sword. Not that I need it, but since I’m already breaking uniform regulations. It’s just then that I realize that I don’t have a belt for it. The flight suit doesn’t have a belt to hang it on. I frown at the problem for a moment, but then just tuck the scabbard under my wing. The coffee maker is running when I step into the office. I’m a little early, but not the first one there. Drill Bit and Iceberg are there, both wearing camo. We drink coffee as the rest arrive. Skyray has his own flight suit. I don’t know where Clear Code got one, but she does too. Kimchi is in her camo, and so is Wretched Heart. Rhyme wears her Coast Guard utilities, which are like camo but blue. Line Scribe doesn’t wear anything besides his usual polo shirt, but he looks at the rest of us, grins, and pops his collar. I glance at the clock. “I wonder when Tweak will get here.” “Do you think he’s still at home?” says Skyray. “Nah, his wife left him a couple of weeks ago,” says Wretched Heart. “She took all the stuff, so he probably doesn’t want to be there any more than he has to.” I give him a suspicious look. Wretched Heart amends, “And it actually wasn’t my fault. He’s just that much of a dick.” “We have to find him before we can remove him from office,” says Clear Code. “We could call him,” suggests Rhyme. “Tell him there’s some super important reason he has to be here. At this point, if we’re sacking our CO, I think we can get away with a minor distruth.” “Look at you,” I say. “Pretty soon you’ll be running with the pirates instead of busting them.” The VTC starts up. The briefer says, “Before we begin, uh, Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, are things okay with you?” “Yeah,” I say. “We can’t stay for the meeting, though. We’re having a change of command today. You’ll probably hear about it.” I turn off the VTC. Just then, Tweak walks in. He stares at the group of us, in our casual uniforms. We stare back. Oh, that’s my cue. I step forward. “Colonel Tweak, as second in command, I have convened a board to determine your fitness to lead. Due to facilitating enemy espionage, assault, and incompetence, I hereby relieve you.” He laughs. “You think you can-” Iceberg, Wretched Heart, and Drill Bit loom over him. “Okay, first of all,” says Tweak, raising a hoof, “I love my country. I would never be a spy.” “You’ve been giving information to that voice on the radio,” I point out. “That’s my girlfriend! She’s not a spy! She’s real and I’ll prove it to you. She’s coming here today.” That gives me pause. “How?” “On the train. I gave her the gate code so she can come right onto base. She said she’d bring some friends and we could have a party.” Clear Code begins rapidly typing on her computer. Tweak starts to say something else, but just then the door opens and General Park Avenue walks in, flanked by two soldiers. Line Scribe steps forward and the two of them shake. I see the General’s eyes go to me and Kimchi. Line Scribe steers the conversation to the topic in front of us. “This is Colonel Tweak.” “Wait, you were serious about kicking me out?” says Tweak. “And you had to get some pretty boy General to do your dirty work for you? I bet he doesn’t even have the balls.” “Yes I do,” General Park Avenue says flatly. He jerks his head at his soldiers and one of them cuffs Tweak. The three of them lead him out of the office. “You haven’t seen the last of meeeee…!” And then, he’s gone. I let out a breath. I’m in charge. I frown. “Uh, we have a problem,” says Clear Code. “This morning, a train and a company of North Koltrean soldiers went missing. I checked the train schedule and we have one arriving here on base in one hour - origin unknown.” A silence settles over the room as each of us get that through our heads. An infiltration force? Combined with all the other activity we’ve been seeing, could this be the first attack of a new war? A world war, what with all the countries that will be involved on either side? I remember that I’m in charge. Oh buck! “We need to mobilize the base,” I say. “The reason we had to bring in Park Avenue was because nopony else would listen, or had the authority,” Clear Code reminds me. Yeah, I can just see it now. A junior officer in the Navy, part of a unit known for being unimportant, shouting about an imminent attack. A few ponies would probably side with us, to be safe, but that won’t be good enough with… “How many soldiers are in a company?” “Two hundred,” says Drill Bit. We could maybe get that many of our own soldiers ready to fight in an hour. Maybe, I don’t know. This is waaay out of my league. At the very least, we can have somepony ready to meet them. To surprise the surprise attack. I grit my teeth. Any attack still basically guaranteed loss of life, and despite my misgivings about leadership, that probably bothered me more. “Okay,” I say. “We need to get the word out. “Everpony scatter. Start knocking on doors. Make phone calls to whoever you know. Clear Code, keep working the intel. Kimchi, see if you can bring your army in. Skyray, same for you.” Suddenly, I realize that if we do our job right and succeeded in warning the base, then everypony will be suspicious of outsiders, for example, us because of our Casual Friday outfits. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Much as I was tempted to yank my security badge off because we didn’t need any stinking badges, it might be the only thing that marked me as belonging here. Plus I had a sweet sword and what kind of Nork would try to sneak attack with that? Orders given, everypony went their separate ways. Maybe General Park Avenue was still on base? I went to find him, only to come up short, in the distance spotting a VIP helicopter flying away. For half a second, I think about flying after the helo, but abandon the idea. I’m fast enough to catch it, but I also don’t like getting sucked into turbine intakes or diced by rotors. Instead, I head for the closest building. A young Army Private is sitting at the front desk as I walk in. “We have intelligence that the North Koltreans are about to attack,” I say. “You need to alert everypony.” “Um, who are you?” she asks. “Is this some kind of test?” “I’m Lieutenant Lightning Dust from EACK. It’s not a test. Call your boss.” “Um, Sergeant Major Lawn Order isn’t really the kind of pony to do things outside of regulations. Just a friendly piece of advice. He won’t appreciate this.” “If you’re concerned about consequences to you, then dial the phone and give it to me,” I say, gesturing. The Private hesitantly does. I put the phone to my ear. “This is Sergeant Major Lawn Order. How may I assist you?” “This is Lieutenant Dust. I’m with EACK. We’ve been told that the North Koltreans are about to attack the base. I need you to mobilize your troops.” “First or Second Lieutenant, ma’am? Full name?” Really? Really? “Just Lieutenant. I’m in the Navy. My name is Lightning Dust. Now Sergeant Major, I need you-” “Ma’am, I must recommend you stop right there. If this is a matter of security, it’s likely classified and shouldn’t be discussed over this phone. You can come down to my office and we can talk about it there. Is there anything else?” I pause, but then slam the phone down. To the Private, I ask, “Where’s his office?” She points down the hallway and I practically run down it. Finding the right door, I give it two knocks and then throw it open. Lawn Order looks surprised. Good. He gets up from his desk as I come in. Before he can speak, I say, “We need to mobilize the base to defend from an attack. How many soldiers do you have?” He looks at my uniform. “Respectfully, ma’am, isn’t Colonel Tweak the commanding officer of EACK? Orders should be issued from him.” “He was arrested this morning on espionage charges. Second in command, Major Winchester, is elsewhere. I’m acting commander.” “Ma’am, Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea is not authorized to give orders troops working in this office,” says Lawn Order. I lean forward across the desk, pointing a hoof under his chin like a knife, my voice hissing through my teeth. Dear Celestia, am I turning into my boot camp drill instructor? “Listen, Sergeant Major, hear me when I say that a company of North Koltrean soldiers will arrive on a train in less than an hour and it would be advisable to meet them with as many armed ponies of our own as possible. If you aren’t going to treat this like a lawful order than treat it like piece of advice. I don’t care that I’m not in charge of you, I don’t care how you get it done, as long as it gets done.” I really can’t press the message any harder that that. I spin around and leave his office, and the building. Outside, I see the others working the street. Drill Bit seems to have a small contingent following him, but half a dozen ponies aren’t going to be enough. I think about who I can call. Where’s the nearest aircraft carrier? Not nearly close enough. I could call my old friend Rainbow Dash, but by the time she shakes something out of her current unit, the Norks will already be here. Plus, she’s on the other side of the world right now and would be kind of bitchy about being woken up in the middle of the night. I decide to check in with Clear Code. Maybe she can give me some good news. Nope. “They’re still coming,” is all she says. I turn to go, but she calls me back. “Keep your mobile handy. Call if you need anything.” She gestures to the empty office. “I’ll keep command here until you get back. Ma’am.” That was almost touching. Maybe I could appreciate it more if we weren’t about to be invaded. I go back outside. I wonder if somepony has told the gate guards yet? Maybe they wouldn’t let the train onto base. I frown. But then we’d have Norks running loose in the civilian populace. Plus, maybe the fences of the base could keep them contained a little better. There isn’t really much time left. My ears perk as I hear a train whistle in the distance. Screw altitude restrictions, I need to be in position. It’s a little difficult to hang onto my sword as I zoom across the base. I come in for a skidding landing at the train siding. Chief Iceberg is there. He has a dozen guards with guns, looking somewhat terrified. I don’t know what he said or did to convince them, but it worked. Wretched Heart shows up next. He has three female soldiers with him. Drill Bit then arrives with maybe three dozen ponies. They’re carrying rifles with fixed bayonets, though I don’t see any ammo. “These two platoons were in the middle of bayonet practice,” he says. “As close quarters as this might turn out to be, it’s better than nothing.” The train whistle comes again, louder. Faintly over the whistle, I hear jet engines. Looking up, I can just make out a pair of fighters from Prance circling the area. Skyray appears beside me. He gestures up. “Like ‘em?” “Not bad,” I say. Not great for a close-up face-to-face train intercept, but air support makes anypony more confident. I hear clanking and see a tank rolling down the street towards us. Coming from the other direction is a platoon of infantry. Line Scribe stands in the middle. The tank and the troops stop on either side of him. “Vat is zis?” asks a Germane pony appearing from the top of the tank. “Vere did you vant us to drive next?” “Hopefully someplace out of our way, mate,” replies the Scoltish infantry leader. “We can’t go anywhere with that bloody tank in front of us.” “Just hold on,” says Line Scribe to both groups. “Take a break for a few minutes here.” He glances at me. I nod. Kimchi comes marching up just then with a trail of South Koltrean soldiers behind her. Probably not even a hundred, but more than any other forces we’ve been able to dig up so far. I take a quick headcount. We’re still outnumbered, but not by a lot. Also, a tank and fighters make up the difference. Rhyme appears just then, lugging a sturdy box. She pops it open to reveal a dozen sidearms packed in foam. She drops one into a holster strapped to her leg and tosses the next to Chief, who checks the chamber and stuffs it in his belt. Wretched Heart, Drill Bit, Skyray, and Kimchi each get a gun. The others are claimed by the nearest unarmed ponies. I think about it, but what am I going to do with a sword and a pistol? Not that I’m going to be particularly combat effective either way. I’m just a pilot out of my league. “Where did you get those?” I ask. Rhyme smiles and doesn’t reply. I could wonder if the weapons were confiscated in law enforcement raids, if they were borrowed from an on-base stash, or if Rhyme is a psychopath, but I don’t have time. The base gates are opening. The train rolls in. It’s pulling a short string of boxcars. Yeah, there could be two hundred ponies hiding inside, especially skinny Norks. The brakes squeal and the train stops in front of us. “Chief, on me,” I order. “Got you, ma’am,” he says quietly, standing behind my shoulder with his pistol low but ready. I grab the handle of the nearest boxcar door and yank it open. The car is absolutely stuffed with North Koltrean soldiers. One mare in particular catches my eye. She’s actually got makeup on and is quite a bit more voluptuous than any North Koltrean has any right to be. And she’s got an assault rifle. “Sexy voice?” I blurt. There’s a pause, as if everypony on the train was about to charge out guns blazing only to be stopped by a non sequitur. “X-ray Three Delta One Charlie Mike?” I ask. “Was that you on the radio?” “O-oh. Yes!” she says in recognition, and smiles. I raise my sword and point it at her face. Her smile instantly vanishes and her eyes cross, looking at the tip of the sword. “You and your friends are now prisoners. Come out quietly and we’ll make sure you’re treated fairly.” Her expression hardens. “You stinking pigs are all puppets of the illegitimate southern regime!” “My boss has called me worse things.” The Norks in the other train cars are apparently waiting for her signal and are taken by complete surprise as our ad hoc armed greeting force sweeps the train, opening car by car and taking prisoners. I take a step back and call Clear Code. “We got them.” “Thank Celestia. The North Koltreans piled up on the border looked like they were waiting for these infiltrators to kick off the war. It seems like they’re getting antsy and maybe starting to go home, realizing the surprise attack failed.” “Make sure you inform whoever needs to know about this.” “Will do, ma’am.” A staff car pulls up and a Colonel gets out. It’s the base commander, if I remember correctly. He looks around for a moment, seemingly bewildered. “Who’s in charge here?” I’m in charge! I raise my hoof. “Me, sir.” He glances again at the Norks being pulled off the train and the array of friendly forces that have come together to do it. “So I guess you’ll be doing all the paperwork for this?” I’m in charge... SaturdayI slump at my desk in front of the VTC screen. I’m still wearing the same clothes from the day before. I’ve been at work all night doing paperwork and coordinating prisoner logistics. EACK has finally found a purpose, though mostly because nopony else wants to do it. Rainbow Dash says “You did what!?” I stare at her image on the screen. “My team and I overthrew our boss and in the process accidentally stumbled into being the only ones who could stop a war before it could start.” “That’s awesome!” she says. Despite the aftermath, the prisoners, the endless requisitioning, authorizations, and signature endorsements, I have to admit, it is pretty cool. EACK might have stopped a world war. “What’s next?” Rainbow asks. “Are you planning to sleep? What time is it there?” “Saturday morning.” “You look beat.” “Yeah, probably. The coffee helps. Please though, I’m begging you, mail some Derpyroast. I haven’t had good coffee since I’ve been here.” “No problem. So you have like two hundred prisoners? What are you doing with them?” “We’ll probably trade them back to the Norks or something. North Koltrea comes off looking even worse than they already did in front of the world. More importantly, we didn’t have to go to full-scale conflict.” Rainbow snickers. “Look at you, acting like you’re ready to go up another rank, maybe two.” “Bite me. We did it because nopony else could.” “Oh, and ‘we.’ The leadership skills!” She keeps laughing. I sit back and sigh. I haven’t had a shower in too long. My coffee cup is empty. My eyes hurt from staring at a computer all night and my eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep. At least I’m comfortable. It sure is good to wear a casual uniform again. Author's Note My gratitude is due to the following people for helping me develop characters: Tweak - Jake The Army Guy Winchester - Keairan Iceberg - Spectral Wretched Heart - Tyrannosaurus_Tux Drill Bit - Dafaddah Clear Code - Mitch H Rhyme - Azreal DuCain1 Skyray - Lt Rainbow Slash and arcanelexicon Thanks for reading.
MondayBefore I was born, a couple of ponies decided to start their own respective governments and have a war about it. This made a lot of ponies, myself included fifty years later, very unhappy. What was previously one nation of Koltrea split into north and south halves before an uneasy truce was called. A lot of countries from around the world had backed either side. Today, Equestria still has troops stationed in South Koltrea, just in case the North Koltreans try anything. They’ve been trying lots of little things for a while. They’re now into the third generation of leadership and current North Koltrean President, Butterball the Third, doesn't show any signs of either giving up or having the balls to declare full-scale war again If President Butterball chokes on a cake or something and dies, I can go home. My luck isn’t good enough for that to happen anytime soon. “Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?” “Huh?” I blink and sit up in my chair, bringing my attention back to the in-progress teleconference. “I’ll take that as a no,” says the meeting lead’s voice through the teleconference screen. I feel like I should be embarrassed, but that feeling passed a long time ago. Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea does nothing and has nothing to say, and neither do I as EACK’s representative at this teleconference.. Nopony will remember my slip tomorrow, and they never even knew my name. It’s Lightning Dust, by the way. Right now, I’m in hell. Not only did some idiot think it was a good idea to send pilots to desk jobs occasionally to expand their horizons, but I got stuck at a particularly pointless and boring duty. There are no windows in the office. Everything is beige. Some of the computers actually work. Those that do are filled with slide shows. It’s a remarkably non-military, military job. EACK is supposed to be a hub of paperwork processing and oversight serving Equestrian military forces stationed in Koltrea. Yeah, I can feel my eyes glazing over just thinking about it. Fortunately, at some point in the past everypony else decided it was easier to just bypass us. Unfortunately, until the trudge of bureaucracy catches up and closes the place down, I’m literally pushing paper when I could be flying a jet. Worse, I’m in the Navy but stationed at an Army base. Due to security concerns, no pegasi are allowed to fly on base. That’s not to mention all the other rules, regulations, and strange company I have to deal with. This is a bigger deal than it sounds. For instance, if I were to turn and say, “Hey boss,” an Army Major would answer, and then berate me for not using proper titles. My unit is a combined command, so while there are less than a dozen of us in the EACK office, we represent three countries and five branches of the military. Most of our conversations have to be translated, even if we’re speaking the same language. But it doesn’t matter, because like I said, we don’t actually do anything here. Well, maybe drink coffee. Since the teleconference is over now, I get up and head for the coffee pot. Getting up from the chair, the security badge on a lanyard hanging from my neck swings around. It’s a piece of plastic with my picture on it that shows I belong in this building. Nopony outside the building cares. Everypony inside the building knows who I am. It’s just one of those rules. The floor creaks as I walk. It’s a false subfloor made of tiles elevated above the real floor. Apparently network cables or whatever get routed underneath. Mostly, it’s just noisy to walk on. I get over to the coffee pot. It’s empty. A Marine Private is walking away, holding the last cup. Wretched Heart is camouflage-colored, just like his Marine uniform. He’s also impossibly dumb, just like a Marine. “Hey!” I call. “You kill the joe, you make some mo’.” “Oh, um,” he fumbles the cup in his hooves and shoots me with puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Thickheaded he might be, but he’s also incredibly cute. I’m not even into guys and I can see why he’s constantly screwing other ponies’ marefriends completely by accident, as if his special talent is unknowingly breaking up relationships, which it just might be. I turn back to the pot. There is no good coffee to be found in Koltrea. But bad coffee is better than none at all. I reach for the bag of grounds, but the door suddenly slams open. Colonel Tweak storms in and demands, “What happened to my reserved parking sign!?” I’m closest and he glares at me. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I hear somepony’s hooves on the subfloor coming up behind me. Major Winchester appears at my shoulder. “Sir, the sappers are putting up new signs. You’ll have yours back by the end of the day.” “Who authorized that?” Tweak demands. “The base commander, sir,” says Winchester. “Is there a problem with the parking?” “Nopony was parked in my space this morning, but the sign was gone. It had better be back this afternoon.” Tweak turns and leaves as dramatically as he had entered. To me, Winchester quietly asks, “Lieutenant, did you see the all-staff emails about changing the signs?” “All three of them, sir.” Winchester nods. He doesn’t have to say anything else. I don’t know how Colonel Tweak got to his position. I’m guessing because nopony would dare put him in charge of anything important. What I can’t figure out is why he’s in charge of anything at all. A good thing I didn’t say that out loud, too. Tweak storms back in and thrusts a piece of paper into Winchester’s hooves. “You’re going to Neighpon for a week.” Winchester glances at the page. “A security conference, sir? It has your name on it.” “You’re going,” Tweak repeats. He storms back out. Winchester’s eyes go back to the page and pop wide open. “The plane leaves in four hours.” “Oh,” I say, partly surprised, partly sympathetic. On a hunch, I ask, “When was the invitation sent to Colonel Tweak?” “Last month.” Winchester grits his teeth. “Okay, I need to go back to my place, grab a suitcase, and get to the airport. I’ll email you once I get there, if I can get access to a computer.” “Me, sir?” Winchester pointedly looks around the office. “You’re next in line in seniority. You’re running the place while I’m gone.” Buck me. I say, “Yes sir.” He turns back to me. “Not that we do anything here that you can’t handle, but if the email works let me know if there’s some way I can help while I’m gone.” “What if the email doesn’t work, sir?” “I’ll try to call.” He shrugs. “It’s a security conference. Who knows what they’ll let us do. You might end up on your own.” I think about being subjected directly to Colonel Tweak without Major Winchester running interference. I think about stepping into Winchester’s horseshoes and being the barrier for the rest of the office. Winchester calls a meeting. It only takes a “Listen up!” announcement. It’s a small office. “I’m going to Neighpon for a week. I’m leaving today,” said Winchester. “Lieutenant Dust is the officer in charge until I’m back.” Everypony else accepts it without a word of protest. Oh buck, they actually think I’m qualified. WInchester is gone without another word. Everypony looks at me. Private Wretched Heart is the biggest. Ensign Rhyme of the Coast Guard looks like a filly next to him. Sergeant Drill Bit, Army, is at his desk with paperwork neatly stacked in front of him. Flight Lieutenant Skyray, Caneighdian Air Force, lounges at his own desk. Our secretary and interpreter, Line Scribe, is next to First Lieutenant Kimchi, of the South Koltrean Army, where the two of them had been practicing language. Air Force First Lieutenant Clear Code is looking impatient to return to her computer. The group is rounded out by my fellow sailor Chief Iceberg. He’s a SEAL, and also a seal. For whatever reason, we have a lot more officers than enlisted ponies in the unit. Little wonder why we don’t get anything done around here. “Well,” I say, “this was unexpected, but we’ll make the best of it.” The door slams open again. Colonel Tweak seems like he’s about to say something, but looks around. “What are you all doing?” A long moment passes. Oh, that’s my cue. “Sir, we were having a meeting regarding Major Winchester’s sudden departure.” “Why aren’t you working?” Because we’re having a meeting. Also, because we don’t have anything to work on. I open my mouth to report a version of that, but Tweak interrupts. “This is the kind of unprofessionalism I keep seeing. You all need to get back to proper military conduct. No more Casual Friday.” Slam. He’s gone. I’m not exactly the model of a professional military officer, but I’m honestly starting to wonder if Colonel Tweak isn’t actually incompetent and unpleasant but rather a massive troll. I turn back to my audience. “This sucks,” says Wretched Heart. I see Sergeant Drill Bit shoot him a reproachful look for the comment, but I agree. It does suck. Casual Friday was perhaps the single shining light at the end of each dragging week. I glance down at my pressed khaki uniform. It’s uncomfortable. I look forward to wearing my old flight suit once a week. Or I had. I turn away. The meeting’s over. Chief waddles over to me. He’s the skinniest seal I’ve ever seen, which is probably why he can walk on land so well. With his qualifications, I don’t know why he’s not off shooting terrorists in the face right now, but maybe he got stuck here just like I did. “Ma’am,” he says. “Did Major Winchester mention to you before he left about the vacation I applied for?” “Yeah, he did.” “Well ma’am, standard timelines had me hoping to have the paperwork signed and returned to me last week. I hope it’s not stuck in the Colonel’s outbox.” Chief doesn’t like talking to me this way. SEALs buck a lot of formality in the interest of getting the job done. I certainly don’t enjoy being in the position of a senior, either. The forced politeness annoys me, and I still feel a little, I don’t know, embarrassed maybe when somepony calls me ma’am. I just fly planes, I didn’t want this. I hold back a sigh at what I’m about to do. “I’ll go check Colonel Tweak’s office for your paperwork.” “Thank you, ma’am.” I bet he does. I steel myself to walk into Tweak’s office. I feel like it would go smoother if I have an excuse, though. I spot the papers on Sergeant Drill Bit’s desk and walk over. “Is the daily report ready?” “Yes ma’am,” he says. I don’t know if Sergeant Bit knows how ridiculous he looks. He’s vomit green and due to his previous assignment as a boot camp drill sergeant, his mane is shaved and only a tiny little poof of a tail is left. “I was going to go to Colonel Tweak’s office. I can take the report,” I say. Sergeant Bit is usually pretty stoic, more DS mentality, but an honest look of relief passes across his face. “Thank you, ma’am.” “Need help?” asks Skyray. He looks a lot like me, though he’s a shade darker in his blue coat and orange mane. He’s also technically equal rank, but as a Caneighdian, he’s only here on observer status. “Thanks, but I’m hoping this will be just a quick in-and-out,” I say. I take a deep breath and head for the door, carrying the paper. The daily report is another formality from a bygone era. It reports what we do each day. We don’t do anything. Colonel Tweak’s office is directly next to our office. I pause, grit my teeth, and knock. Nothing happens. I count to ten and knock again. Again no response. Is he gone? Is he sleeping? Is he trolling me? I cautiously open the door. The lights are on, but nopony’s home. Fitting metaphor it might have been, but in this case it’s literal. I take advantage and scamper over to his in/out box. I slip the daily report in and dig through everything else. Sure enough, Chief’s paperwork is there. It’s not signed by Tweak. I also discover an invitation to a conference up near the border. It’s taking place tomorrow. I hadn’t heard anything about this. Tweak’s calendar is on his desk, and it has things scribbled all over it, but tomorrow doesn’t seem to have anything about traveling. I hear hooves approaching. Quick as my name, I back away from the desk and turn around. Tweak comes in, a sandwich in his mouth. “Whaf ur oo oing ere?” he demands. Angry mixed with a full mouth comes out more hilarious than it should be. I remember that he’s my boss and not in a joking mood and manage to keep my composure by looking at the floor. “Sir, I came to drop off the daily report.” “En ged out.” “One more thing, sir. I wanted to ask about Chief Iceberg’s vacation paperwork. I, uh, think it might be in your box there. All it would take is one signature from you.” Tweak mumbles something I can’t interpret. My hoof is already in motion, pulling the page out of the box. There’s a pen on the desk and I grab that, too. Tweak stares at me and then spits the sandwich out on the floor. “You’re really going to ruin my lunch, Captain? Really?” “It’s Lieutenant, sir. I’m in the Navy. I know the rank insignia looks similar to Captain in the other services.” And he should know it, too. I’ve only told him this exact thing at least five times before. Tweak grabs the pen in his mouth and scrawls what might be a signature across the paper. “Thank you, sir.” I can’t wait to get out the door, but even I’m not fast enough. Tweak calls me back. “Wait.” I freeze and suppress a cringe. “Yes sir?” Tweak pulls a piece of paper out of his box and practically throws it at me. “Deal with this.” I glance at it. It’s the conference invitation. “What would you like me to do, sir?” “You think you’re smart. Figure it out. Now get out of my office.” I do. I glance back as I close the door, seeing him glowering at his sandwich on the floor. I mean, I understand the limitations of earth ponies, but he could have used a hoof to hold it, or spit it out on his desk or something. But that’s no longer my problem, if it ever was. I have emerged from the lion’s den victorious. Okay, maybe not a lion. More like a senile timberwolf, but whatever. Chief thanks me for the paperwork. I go back to my desk and take a look at the invitation. It’s called a bilateral conference of understanding. I think “bilateral” means it’s two countries - us and the South Koltreans? - having the conference. It sounds boring. It sounds like they want important ponies to attend. It sounds like Tweak isn’t interested. It sounds like an opportunity to get out of the office. I stand up and announce, “I’m going on a business trip tomorrow.” Gesturing to the mare beside me, I add, “First Lieutenant Clear Code will be in charge in the meantime.” “Thanks,” Clear Code mutters. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the computer screen in front of her. I sit back down and ask conversationally, “What are you working on?” Her eyes behind her thick glasses still don’t look my way. If she wasn’t practically albino, I’d think her eyes were red from too much computer time. She also might be the blindest pegasus I’ve ever met. Yes, that counts Derpy Hooves. “There are things afoot on the secret internet,” she says. Ah yes, the secret internet, domain of intel nerds like Clear Code, with secret pictures of cats, and occasionally secret intel about things going on in the world. “What kind of things?” I ask. “I’ll tell you when I figure it out.” At no point did she even glance my way or call me ma’am. As an Air Force First Lieutenant, despite being similar to my title of Navy Lieutenant, she’s one equivalent paygrade below me. I decide it’s not worth arguing. I don’t mind anyway. I get up and walk over to Line Scribe and Kimchi. Both of the unicorns are still speaking Koltrean to each other.. Line Scribe is a civilian that is technically employed by the State Department or something, but is assigned to hang out with us for reasons that are unclear. He’s fit for a civilian. His brown mane has frosted tips and along with his constant polo shirt makes him seem like a fratboy. But he’s good at language and smart enough to navigate bureaucracy. Kimchi is pale purple with dark eyes and mane. She could be a model, and maybe she was before joining the South Koltrean Army for the mandatory service her country requires. Not gonna lie, I once had the hots for her, but she’s straight and I don’t like her cooking. “I need one of you to go with me tomorrow to the bilateral meeting, in case of translating,” I say. “My kid has a school play tomorrow,” says Line Scribe. Kimchi nods. “I will go.” Great. With that settled, I have nothing to do for the rest of the day. I go back to my desk. Well, this is the most eventful week I can remember since being assigned to EACK. And it’s only Monday. When I first moved to Koltrea, I was told to enjoy the sights that couldn’t be found in Equestria. Staring at a can of foreign beer in a foreign bar counts, right? Skyray is next to me. We’re similarly colored, so it’s easier to claim we’re related. That’s our angle when out trolling for mares, that we’re brother and sister. The Koltreans don’t notice his Caneighdian accent. “Nine o’clock,” Skyray says out of the corner of his mouth. “Blue.” I turn my eyes in that direction, spotting the pony in question. “Looks more like cerulean to me.” “It’s times like this that I wish you were actually less of a girl. Blue is blue. She’s hot either way.” “I wouldn’t throw her off the fantail for being too salty.” Skyray frowns at me. “You have to stop with the nautical slang. I’m pretty sure ladies don’t find that attractive.” “If there are any ladies here.” He nods. “Fair enough.” “Is it your turn or mine?” “Mine,” he says. He takes another sip of his beer and goes to talk to her. She shoots him down almost immediately. To his credit, I do hear him say, “Well, my sister’s here if you’d rather.” The mare doesn’t go for that, either. Skyray comes back and sits down. “Well, Monday night was never good for this kind of thing.” He’s right. But being single in a foreign country is rough. I’m not above dating coworkers, but options at EACK are slim. I’d rather not chance my prospects on an Army base anyway. We conclude the night without results. I go back to my apartment. It’s within a couple blocks of base. It’s small and simple. Have I mentioned I’m painfully single? As I put the key in the lock, the next door neighbor opens their door. It’s Rhyme, Coast Guard sailor and fellow EACK member. I was really displeased when she moved in right next to me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s tidy and responsible, but so annoying. “Hey!” she says, sing-song. Everything she says is sing-song. “Hey,” I reply. “So where are you going on this trip tomorrow?” She doesn’t call me ma’am. Coast Guard thing. Not that I mind “It’s up near the border. Kimchi is going with me.” “Sounds fun!” “I sure hope so.” I go into my apartment. I wonder if I can get away with a different uniform at the conference. I hate the idiot blue camouflage the Navy uses as a utility uniform, but it’s more comfortable than khakis. But no, I probably can’t wear that to an important meeting. Is it an important meeting? I shake my head. I’m too young, irresponsible, and low-ranking to be thinking about conferences between countries. How did I get into this situation? Well, at least I don’t think they want me to wear the white uniform. It’s not the right season for the dress blue uniform, which despite its name is actually black. Trust me, I know my colors. I don’t know why the Navy has three “business” uniforms when no other service has more than one or two. At least I’m not a senior enough officer to be required to buy the dinner dress uniform that makes you look like a matador. I could use a ceremonial sword, though. Wait, why don’t I have a sword? Probably because the exchange store on an Army base doesn’t have anything for the Navy. I collapse in my bed. I am so done with this job.
TuesdayThis morning, I stop at the office briefly to rendezvous with Kimchi. We leave before I even see Colonel Tweak, which means I’m already in a good mood. I make sure to take off my security badge once we leave the office. Again, one of those rules. I guess if somepony outside the building saw it, they could duplicate it and fake entry to our building...where they would then be faced with a lot of ponies who would know they don’t belong. Kimchi and I go over to the motor pool, which is what the Army calls the place where you can check out official cars. Kimchi, like a lot of Koltreans, doesn’t like driving in Koltrea. I’m a fighter pilot. I like driving. In a crowded city with narrow streets, it’s like making a trench run. Kimchi doesn’t appreciate this. After a couple hours, we get to the place. I frown as I pull into the parking lot, seeing the North Koltrean flag in the distance. “Exactly how close are we to the border?” “Very,” says Kimchi. I show the invitation to a guard who points me to a little building against a wall. The top of the wall has a crackling field of anti-pegasus energy on top. We walk into the building. It seems to be just one room and it’s longer than I expect. The carpet abruptly changes color at the halfway point of the room and there’s a table in the center. A couple of allied generals and colonels are on the side of the table closest to me. A couple of North Koltrean generals and colonels are on the other side. I instantly realize that I’m not only in over my head, but I can’t even see which way to swim. “Who are you?” asks an Equestrian Army General. “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Dust, from Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea.” “Never heard of it.” Great! “I’ll just be going, then, sir.” “Just a moment,” says a General from Prance in accented tones. “Who is that South Koltrean soldier with you?” “F-first Lieutenant Kimchi,” she squeaks. “Can you translate?” Kimchi swallows hard. “Yes.” The general gestures her over and then turns to the North Koltreans. “Now we can begin.” The Nork who seems to be in charge leads off, translated through Kimchi. “For the honor of President Butterball, we demand you stop what you’re doing.” “No,” replies the Equestrian General. “But for the sake of argument, what specifically did you mean?” “Everything.” “No.” “Some things?” “What did you have in mind?” The Norks list off three dozen things that the coalition does that angers their great leader. “No.” “A few things?” And another round. Honestly, once I’ve gotten over the fact that I’m incredibly junior and inexperienced to even be in the room and the fact that I’m the only sailor present, who accidentally wandered into a high level diplomatic exchange, it’s mildly interesting to see the hayburgers of international diplomacy being made. I can’t see why anypony from EACK would have been invited in the first place, though. Maybe another formality that hasn’t been expunged from procedure yet. After five or ten minutes, however, the dry discussion gets boring. Kimchi’s still engaged, but only because she has to. I sit in a chair at the back and try to stay awake. My attention span must be incredibly minimal to be bored already. Fighter pilot. I can’t help it. I eventually nod myself into a nap. From time to time, I find myself in completely ridiculous situations. Once, my wingpony and I faked mechanical trouble and deliberately landed at an airport in a war zone to buy some booze to smuggle back to the aircraft carrier in order to infiltrate a speakeasy and bring it down. That’s another story, but the point is, my whole career sort of lands me in one unprecedented situation after another. I’d almost think I was used to it by now, but that’s the thing about the unexpected. Like when a shouting match startles me awake. Somehow, in the span of - I check my watch - five minutes, the conversation went so bad that the Norks started screaming threats about nuclear war. That’s what little I understand. The allied ponies are also shouting, and about as coherently. Kimchi is trying in vain to translate quickly enough. I feel like I should do something. Ha, screw that. No way am I getting involved in a spat between flag officers. The Nork soldiers guarding the door at their end of the room seem restless. I glance back. So do the South Koltreans behind me. The hair on my neck stands up when I hear safeties being clicked off. The 50-year cold standoff is about to turn hot right in front of my eyes and I’m not going to live long enough to even get credit in the history book for being there when it happened. I stand up, adrenalin starting to flow. I wish I was in my jet. I wish I had a weapon. I wish I had body armor. I wish that I wasn’t going to die in an office uniform. Kimchi glances at me, eyes wide. She sees the warning signs, too. Suddenly, a moment of clarity comes to me. I take a few rapid steps across the room, wrap my hooves around her, and plant my best impression of a romantic kiss on her lips. It takes two or three seconds, but all arguments cease. I open one eye and see every pony in the room staring at us. I disengage from Kimchi and wink at the audience. “Sorry boys, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” I then take Kimchi by the hoof and pull her out of the building. Outside, she promptly slaps me. “You had no right to do that!” “I’m sorry.” I rub my cheek. “But you have to admit, it totally worked.” She glares at me. “Jeeze.” Well excuse me for averting an international incident, princess. I turn away. I wonder if I can put “saved the world, and it was totally hot” down on my record when I apply for promotion? I doubt it would work, though. Colonel Tweak wouldn’t believe me, and the only corroborating witness thinks I’m a rapist. It’s a long drive back to base. Tuesday afternoons are designated workout time. We don’t get to leave early, in fact we have to stay on base an extra hour at the gym. Colonel Tweak said so. I wonder why he never comes to work out with us. Probably because he’s a dirtbag. I get changed into my yellow Navy workout t-shirt. The Army and Air Force both wear different shades of grey for their workout uniforms, but they have to wear a fluorescent safety belt with it. There are precious few times that I actually think my service’s uniforms have an advantage. Chief Iceberg wears a desert tan shirt. It says Navy on it, so that’s good enough for me. It’s not like anypony else on this base knows the difference. That’s probably why Skyray doesn’t even bother to wear his official RCAF outfit. Line Scribe isn’t there. He doesn’t have to be. I know he works out elsewhere, though. So do I, one workout a week doesn’t keep you in shape. I just wish I didn’t have to do this workout each week. With an hour to kill, I take my time warming up and then head for the multifunction court. On the way, I pass Rhyme on the treadmill, headphones on. She spares a nod and a smile. Clear Code is on a stationary bike, reading a book. I see Kimchi in the middle of a pose through the window of the yoga studio and look away, heading through the weight room. Drill Bit is on a resistance machine. Wretched Heart is nearby, curling freeweights. The gym’s multifunction court has a high ceiling. With the stupid no-fly rules, it’s about the only place on base where a pegasus can work their wings. There are already a couple in there, while ground-bound ponies play basketball down below. I stretch out my wings and go up to say hello. I can see them all giving me looks because of my shirt. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I want to stand out. I am the best flier on base, after all. Shame I don’t get to prove it more often. The gym is big enough to fly in, but only barely. Trying for any kind of speed makes it feel cramped in a hurry. I settle for acrobatics. Skyray joins me. Without trading any words, we spontaneously engage in fighter maneuvers. I beat him, but not easily. I wish Rainbow Dash was around. She‘s a little more agile than me, but we’re evenly matched enough that I can make her pay for any mistakes. It’s challenging and fun to fly with her. Well, that, and she’s bi. I almost daydream my way into a wall. Maybe it’s time to changeup my workout. Chief is in the boxing ring. As I walk up, he throws a musclebound stallion in an Army t-shirt out of it. You wouldn’t think somepony with flippers could do that. I give him a nod. He looks around but other challengers are reluctant. I part the ropes and step into the ring. “You want to go, ma’am?” he says. “Rules?” “Try not to hurt me to much.” I take a stance. He nods and smiles. To be fair, he doesn’t, or at least not much compared to what he could do. I’m fast enough to keep out of his reach, but when he does get ahold of me, I end up on the mat. I can’t even really fight back. I mean, he’s a seal. His body is cylindrical and there’s nothing to grab. After the fourth or fifth time I end up on my back, I pause for a breather. The clock on the wall shows our mandatory gym time is up. Iceberg sees it too and give me help up. “I appreciate it, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t be getting very good training out of it if barely anypony can challenge you.” Chief shrugs. “You’re here and you tried, ma’am.” Is that all it takes? I mean, that alone I guess puts me ahead of Colonel Tweak. Maybe this leadership thing isn’t so difficult after all. Oh buck me, that’s right. I have to do this leadership thing.
WednesdayWhen I arrive at work Wednesday morning, there’s a package sitting on my desk. There’s no return address. My name and office is barely legible. Clear Code is already there that morning, working on the secret internet and muttering quietly under her breath. I walk over. “Do you know where this package came from?” “I’m guessing North Koltrea.” I frown at the package. “Why would any of them send me something? How did they get my address?” “They’ve been doing a lot of weird things lately,” she says, gesturing at the computer. I have a look. It’s green numbers slowly falling down a black screen. I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me. Clear Code doesn’t have many jokes, but smug superiority is one of them. I humor her. “What’s it say?” “They’re rolling armored units to the border and stockpiling supplies. They might be bringing more nuclear weapons online.” Trying to sound smart, I ask, “Is there a historical precedent for that kind of thing?” “Well, they threaten a lot of things. I’m a little concerned because they haven’t threatened much this time but are moving quite a lot.” “What if they’re just training?” Clear Code shrugs. “Then they’ll go home in a few days and won’t invade.” “You’re just a bundle of Celestia’s sunshine.” “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She may not have intended it that way, but I laugh. Turning around, I head for my desk, but Rhyme intercepts me as she comes into the office. “Hey, I saw some weird guys hanging around our apartment building this morning. They must have just missed you.” “What do you mean weird?” I ask. “They were all in trenchcoats, sunglasses, and trilbys.” “What’s a trilby?” “Not a hat pony, huh? Broadly, they’re the cheap felt hats you can get at discount stores that are often confused for fedoras.” I think about that for a moment and realize the point of the conversation has gotten lost in the clutter. I steer back to the prime topic. “So what was so suspicious about these suspicious ponies?” “They came up to me and asked me if I knew you, when they could expect you to be home, where I worked, where you worked, and if I had some base guest passes.” Definitely suspicious. Surprisingly blatant. I ask, “Did you talk to them?” “Buck no. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go report them to CID.” It takes half a second for me to remember that CID is the Army version of NCIS. “I’ll go with you,” I say. “Some weird things have been happening to me, too.” The CID pony is surprised to see us walk into his office. Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me too much. I’m kind of used to wading through a constant stream of surprised faces around base. Sailors are about as common as alicorns around here. Me and a Coastie showing up at the same time must be like seeing an analogy so rare that I couldn’t even come up with it. Rhyme tells the CID guy about the mysterious questioners and I tell him about my mysterious package. He asks me the obvious question, “Why were you specifically targeted? Where did they get your name?” I think about it for a moment and then facehoof. “Yesterday, I went to a meeting up on the border. A general asked my name and I told him. In front of the North Koltreans.” “That’ll do it,” he said. “They don’t really have the internet up there, but they sure can use the phone book.” Great. This was worse than telemarketers getting ahold of my contact information. Having done our duty of reporting suspicious things, we head back to the office. When we get there, everypony is watching the news. The news ponies are talking about a super-secret plan that the allied coalition made to stop the North Koltreans from crossing the border. I’ve seen this plan. It’s classified super-secret. Somehow, the news got ahold of it. So now the Norks know our super-secret plan. “Who leaked it?” I ask. “Most likely my government,” says Kimchi. “They do that.” “What?” I ask, flabbergasted. “Why? You guys helped write that plan, same as us.” “What good is the plan as a deterrent if the North Koltreans don’t know it exists?” says Kimchi. “Now that they know we have a plan to stop them from crossing the border, they won’t try to cross the border.” “But they know what the plan is,” I point out. “At least they didn’t leak the one plan to feed President Butterball until he’s too fat to move,” Rhyme says, upbeat. “That’s barely secret,” I say. This morning has been more unusual than usual. Norks at the border, possible Norks here in town, leaking plans, suspicious packages. I pause. The package is gone from my desk. “Hey, has anypony seen my package?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I decide if I meant to say it that way or not. Fortunately, Clear Code is the first to respond. “Colonel Tweak took it.” “I guess I don’t mind, because it was probably from the North Koltreans, but...isn’t taking somepony else’s mail illegal?” “Yeah,” confirms Clear Code. I think about it for a moment, but then decide that I don’t want to know. I sit down at my desk. The daily videoteleconference takes place. Other units on the VTC talk about what they have going on. A couple of them note the worrying developments north of the border. It comes time for our report. “Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?” “No.” Maybe I should say something about the suspicious things happening. Would anypony care? EACK never does anything worthwhile. Nothing happens for a couple of hours. I surf the internet. The news agencies are still talking about the leak, but now a couple of them have picked up on North Koltrean movements. I take a sip of my coffee and think about it. Are we really heading towards war? I don’t believe it. Maybe because I don’t want to, or maybe because I can’t. I feel extraordinarily calm, which weirds me out. “Anypony want to go to lunch?” Line Scribe asks. I raise my hoof immediately. The two of us leave work and walk out the front gate. I live out in town, but Line Scribe has the hookup for everything and knows all the good places. Speaking the language helps. We get seats at one of the little restaurants that have a grill built into the table. The waitress brings over a platter of things to cook. It’s a good thing that Koltreans don’t expect tipping at restaurants, what with making us make our own food. “So, tell me again what happened yesterday,” says Line Scribe, stringing together a kebab. I give him an overview of how Kimchi and I stumbled into a top-level meeting and may have prevented a war right there. “That sounds like one of the meetings General Park Avenue coordinates between the coalition, the South, and the North,” he says. “I got to know Park Avenue a couple years ago. He always seems to have things under control. Good guy.” “I’ll take your work for it,” I say. “The meeting yesterday definitely wasn’t under control.” Line Scribe shakes his head. “The Northerners and Southerners hate each other. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just looking for an excuse to have another war.” “Sounds a lot like Ponbekistan,” I reply. “When I deployed over there, I couldn’t keep straight who wanted what or why and for how many cookies. Of course, flying off the ship it didn’t really matter, I just dropped the bombs.” “Did it ever bother you to be stuck on an aircraft carrier and not making friends among the locals?” he asks. I blink. “My wingpony was Rainbow Dash, of the Elements of Harmony fame. If she didn’t seem to care, I don’t think it’s a big deal. You must be special.” No sarcasm, by the way. Line Scribe was good at what he did, which was interfacing with locals, apparently. He shrugs in response to my comment. “You just have to find a group. I got to know Park Avenue at the golf course. You may have nothing in common, but once you have a group, you’re good.” “I think the hard part is finding the group in the first place.” “Yeah,” he concedes. No idea where I was supposed to find a group. The closest thing I had was coworkers. We sure had nothing in common. After lunch, we walk back. Even being in Koltrea, there are all the usual shops that appear as you get close to the front gate of a military base: clothing stores, tattoo parlors, military surplus. I practically give myself whiplash spotting a sword in the front window of a junk shop. Line Scribe hears my hooves practically screech to a halt. “See something you like?” “Uh huh.” I walk closer. It’s a Navy Officer’s Sword, with a thin, elegant blade and a brass hoof guard. It’s not new, but the patina only gives it character. I have no way of knowing if it’s quality, and I’m completely confused how it came to be here, but I want it. The price is a problem. That’s beer money for at least a month. On the other hoof, if war broke out tomorrow, I’d feel better about treating myself, and having any weapon - even a blunt show blade - would be better than the government-issued desk pens. Though, I don’t think a naval sword has been used in combat for at least a century. Line Scribe helps me negotiate with the shopkeeper and I walk out carrying my prize. I can’t wait to show...who am I going to show? I am exactly the only pony on base who would care. I don’t think that’s the same as buyer’s remorse, but I’m still feeling it that afternoon. So much so that Sergeant Drill Bit actually asks me if something is wrong when I come to get the daily report. “I bought a sword earlier today,” I say. “A proper Navy Officer’s Saber.” His lips purse and he nods. “Not bad.” Well, that’s one vote of confidence. I have that happy thought to balance out the impending dread of walking into Colonel Tweak’s office. As I approach the door, I can hear voices from inside. I’m putting my penis in you now. Oh yeah, baby, give it to me. That gives me about five seconds of pause. It seems really weird to narrate sex. Is he in there watching porn? Even for porn, it seems weird to verbalize step by step. I tentatively knock on the door. Tweak swears. “Come in!” I open the door, eyes already averted. “Sir, here’s the daily report.” There’s a ham radio sitting on his desk. The package addressed to me is open and discarded on the floor. The Norks tried to send me a radio? And now Tweak’s using it for...radio sex? I put the paper in his inbox, on top of yesterday’s report that is still sitting there, and scoot for the door. He calls me back, though. “Hey!” I swear under my breath and turn. “Yes sir?” “Is this yours?” he says, pointing at the radio. “Never seen it before, sir.” “Then why was it in a box with your name on it?” I shrug. “I didn’t order it. It just showed up. I don’t know who sent it.” “Sir,” he corrects for me. “Yes sir.” “I don’t believe you,” he says. “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the truth.” I continue on before I can stop myself. “But if it was my radio, which you think it is because you don’t believe me saying it’s not, then why do you have it, sir?” Have you ever been really bored and decided to siphon a jug of jet fuel out of a plane and then toss in signal flare? Yeah, okay, bad analogy, but you get the idea. That’s how Tweak’s face looks. “I’m going to write you a demerit for that comment!” he bellows. “No, actually, you’re going to write it, because I don’t have time to look up the Navy permanent record format. I want it on my desk tomorrow.” He pauses for breath and then demands “Where’s your security badge?” I’d forgotten to put it back on when entering the building following lunch. I pull it out of a pocket and put the lanyard on around my neck. “And another demerit for that,” he says. I have to hold my teeth shut before I can finally get out, “Yes sir,” without screaming something else. Back in the office, I can tell by their faces that the others heard the outburst, though perhaps not the actual words. I sit down at my desk. Skyray slides over. “What happened?” “He ordered me to write myself a demerit for having the gall to receive an unsolicited package,” I summarize. “What was inside?” “A radio. Which he was using for tele-sex.” Skyray does a poor job of hiding a laugh. “Really?” “That’s horseapples,” says Clear Code. She was right there, so she couldn’t help but overhear. “Major Winchester was the horseapple filter,” I say. “He had more patience, and the advantage that Tweak seemed to like him. Or at least like him more than the rest of us. Unfortunately, he hasn’t contacted me since getting to his meeting, so I don’t think he’ll be able to help.” I sigh and turn to my computer. I’d better get started. Writing the demerits takes most of an hour. Granted, I’m taking it slow to kill time, but a lot of the work is just looking up examples online and following the Navy administrative manual. I’ve never been good at writing about myself, usually letting adoring fans take care of it. Not many of those around here, though. Trying to tell the story of what happened fairly while still making myself look as innocent as possible is another challenge. I print it off and head for Tweak’s office. He said he wanted the document in the morning and he’s just the type of guy to get angry at me for being too early. What’s he going to do, make me give myself another demerit? I frown. Maybe. I knock on his door. There’s no sound. I hesitate, but then abruptly open it. Tweak’s not there. The radio is still on the center of the desk. I put my demerit in his inbox, on top of everything that’s already there. I look around. His hat is gone. His computer is logged out. I guess he’s gone for the day. My eyes go back to the radio. It looks like a small shortwave rig. A label on the side has a callsign, K7J4VZ. I look around again and then turn on the radio. A gentle hum of static comes out of the speaker. I key the mic and say, “This is Kilo Seven Juliet Four Victor Zulu, over.” On a whim, I throw my voice deeper, trying to sound like Tweak. Apparently it works. An accented female voice purrs, “Ah, Colonel, you have come back to me.” My mouth hangs open for a few seconds before I spontaneously say, “Please identify and observe proper communication standards, over.” She sounds hurt. “This is X-ray Three Delta One Charlie Mike...over.” I spot a pad of sticky notes and write down X3D1CM. “Thank you. So what would you like to talk about, over?” “Well, after speaking to you earlier, I just couldn’t wait to hear more stories about your bravery, over,” she gushes. What is going on here? I try to think of a way to continue the conversation. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went for a joyride in a tank?” I blurt. “Over.” “Oh, what kind of tank, over?” “It was one of the, uh, new M63A7’s, over.” I think that’s a real tank. I’m not in the Army. “Is that the model with the electronic gyro stabilization and hyper-crypto secure communications, over?” “Oh, I’m afraid that’s classified, over.” “You’re such a tease,” she giggles. “I’ll give you my encrypted codes if you give me yours.” I’m tempted to keep talking. I’m also tempted to go straight to CID. Yeah, probably better do that instead. I grab another sticky note and start crinkling it. “Okay, are you ready to copy the codes, over?” “What? I can’t quite hear you.” “Are you breaking up, over?” “What?” I turn the radio off. Dear Celestia, Colonel Tweak is giving away secrets to the North Koltreans in exchange for radio sex. I look at the sticky note with the radio callsign and walk back into the office. I go right over to Clear Code and say, “I need to find out where this radio is located.” “Is this the radio that came in the package?” she asks. “No, it’s the radio that one connects to.” She frowns, but turns to her computer and punches buttons for a few minutes. “It’s registered to the North Koltrean Intelligence Service.” “Buck,” I mutter. “What’s going on?” she asks. I hesitate, but there’s no way I can keep this secret. And why would I want to? “I think Colonel Tweak was talking to them,” I say. “Maybe unwittingly, but still.” Her eyes widen. “We have to report this.” “I know.” I turn and call, “Rhyme.” She comes over. “What’s up?” “We think that radio that came in the mail is spy equipment and Colonel Tweak may have used it. Lieutenant Clear Code and I are going to talk to the investigators. You’re in charge until we get back.” Rhyme’s face goes more serious than I’ve ever seen it before. I can’t blame her. Aside from the situation, I know what she’s feeling. I felt it too when Major Winchester left. Surprise responsibility! Clear Code and I head to CID. When we arrive, however, the investigator pony is packing up his desk. “You again?” he asks, spotting me. “You’ll have to come back when my replacement arrives.” “What are you talking about?” “I was unexpectedly relieved and reassigned,” he explains. “Like...today?” He nods. “By your boss, in fact. He has the authority, which surprised me. I just can’t figure out why.” “So who are we supposed to talk to about suspicious activity?” I ask. He shrugs. “Sorry. I’ve been ordered elsewhere. I could get in a lot of trouble for doing things off-duty. Hopefully my replacement gets here soon. Maybe next week.” That isn’t going to be soon enough.
ThursdayI really, really don’t want to go to work today. At the same time, I’m a little curious about how things are going. Are the Norks still doing troubling things? What’s Tweak doing? How’s the sexy voice at radio station X3D1CM? I wonder how I got in this position. All I want to do is fly a jet and have no responsibility, but here I am, a sailor away from the sea, somehow taking care of a ragtag unit that might be the only ones who know a war is about to start. “Uuuuuugggghhhh.” I’ve got to go to work. But I don’t want to. I get up and put on my uniform. My apartment is close and I head to base. A set of train tracks enters the base, apparently to bring in supplies and heavy equipment. I instead go through the smaller, pony-sized gate beside the train gate. The guard frowns at my Navy ID card, as they always do, but eventually lets me through. At work, the first cup of office coffee doesn’t make me feel any better, but at least it gives me something to concentrate on that isn’t my responsibility. I haven’t seen Tweak yet today. I once again mull over the problem we’ve found ourselves in. “Any updates?” I ask Clear Code. “More of the same,” she replies. “North Koltreans posturing on the border. More of them than the day before.” “Great. I can only imagine what an actual shooting war would be like.” I sigh. “I guess we’d better batten down the hatches and hope it doesn’t come to that.” “Have you ever noticed just how much Navy slang you throw around?” she says. “Not really, no.” “It’s true,” says Skyray. “The other day you were talking about holy stones or somesuch.” “You use a holy stone to scrub the deck with sand to clean it,” I say. “See?” He gestures. “That’s the kind of thing you basically have to translate. Same language, different branch of the military.” It’s true. While I was still flying, the Air Force had on more than one occasion come up with something I needed translated. I sit down in front of the VTC screen. The meeting begins. The briefer starts reading off the news and inviting comments. Tweak storms in. He looks around and spots me, stomping over, hooves loud on the subfloor. “What have you been telling Soju!?” I fumble for the mute button on the VTC. “Say again, sir?” “Get up when I’m talking to you!” I stand. “Sir, do you mean Soju like the liquor?” “My girlfriend,” he hisses. I stand there with my mouth open for several seconds. “Oh! On the radio? Sir, she’s a North Koltrean trying to get secrets out of you.” “How dare you!” Tweak roars. “You think you can just steal my girl? You dirty rotten maremunching filly-fooler!” I mean, I am. I don’t exactly hide that fact. It’s not illegal. But it is illegal to discriminate against somepony on that basis. Tweak leans in close, his breath smelling like something threw up and then died in his mouth. “I’m going to get you kicked out of the military. You’re the worst soldier I’ve ever seen.” “I’m not a soldier, sir.” As it turns out, that’s exactly what I need to say to escalate the situation further. I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. His eyes nearly bulge out of his face. He raises a hoof. It comes at my face as if in slow motion. I should get out of the way. But he’s not really going to hit me, is he? Yes. It’s more of a slap, but it stings. Mostly, I’m shocked that he did it at all. I hear movement behind me. Tweak glances to my right and to my left. He huffs and turns around, stomping out of the office. I turn. Chief Iceberg and Flight Lieutenant Skyray are right behind me. The others in the office are standing, attention on me. “Uh...Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, is everything all right there?” Chief turns off the VTC. I take a breath and look around the room. “I think it’s clear that things have gotten out of hoof here. I’m about ready to beat my head on the bulkhead.” “Wow, no kidding,” says Rhyme. Chief nods. “Can somepony translate that for us non-nautical folks?” says Skyray. “Beat my head on the wall.” “Colonel Tweak is the worst leader I’ve ever seen or heard of,” says Drill Bit. “This is my first unit since getting out of boot camp and even I know he’s the worst,” says Wretched Heart. “We can’t just let this keep getting worse,” I say. I pause. “We need to do something.” Clear Code indicates her computer monitor. “We have a legal basis for charging Colonel Tweak with at least espionage and assault. I could probably put together quite a bit more with some time.” “I’m not exactly on the same ground as all of you,” says Line Scribe. He points to our uniforms and his polo shirt. “Tweak can’t exactly give me orders, so I can’t exactly revolt against them.” He smiles. “But I’ll help you with the paperwork for the charges.” Every face is still looking at me. They’ve all confirmed their support. I’m in charge. I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “We’d need to get somepony with the authority to pull this off. Somepony a lot higher in rank who has our back. Scribe, do you remember that General’s name at the border?” He replies, “General Park Avenue.” “Right. See if you can get in contact with him. Get Kimchi to help. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help, um, us.” Kimchi gives me a look, but nods. “We’re going to have to do this as hard and fast as we can,” I say. “Everything needs to come down on Tweak at once, or I’m sure he’ll find some way to wiggle out. We need to freeze him colder than a brass monkey.” “Nautical slang,” Skyray mutters. “So, we’re doing this,” says Clear Code. “Just to be crystal clear, we are going to stage mutiny against our tyrannical commanding officer?” Everypony looks at me again. I’m in charge. I nod. “We’re doing this. Colonel Tweak is going down. We’re making a stand. Casual Friday is back on. Let’s hoist the black flag and start slitting throats.” I don’t have to translate that piece of slang. Looking around the room, they’re all nodding.
FridayFriday morning, I get up and put on my flight suit. I stand in front of the mirror for a moment. Maybe I’m narcissistic, or maybe I’m just a pilot. I smile. It’s as comfortable as pajamas and I know it’ll draw stares, especially here at an Army base where they’ve only just learned what I look like in khaki. Then, reality comes crashing down. Today, I’m putting my boss in jail. I shrug. As long as it’s Tweak, I’m down. I pick up my sword. Not that I need it, but since I’m already breaking uniform regulations. It’s just then that I realize that I don’t have a belt for it. The flight suit doesn’t have a belt to hang it on. I frown at the problem for a moment, but then just tuck the scabbard under my wing. The coffee maker is running when I step into the office. I’m a little early, but not the first one there. Drill Bit and Iceberg are there, both wearing camo. We drink coffee as the rest arrive. Skyray has his own flight suit. I don’t know where Clear Code got one, but she does too. Kimchi is in her camo, and so is Wretched Heart. Rhyme wears her Coast Guard utilities, which are like camo but blue. Line Scribe doesn’t wear anything besides his usual polo shirt, but he looks at the rest of us, grins, and pops his collar. I glance at the clock. “I wonder when Tweak will get here.” “Do you think he’s still at home?” says Skyray. “Nah, his wife left him a couple of weeks ago,” says Wretched Heart. “She took all the stuff, so he probably doesn’t want to be there any more than he has to.” I give him a suspicious look. Wretched Heart amends, “And it actually wasn’t my fault. He’s just that much of a dick.” “We have to find him before we can remove him from office,” says Clear Code. “We could call him,” suggests Rhyme. “Tell him there’s some super important reason he has to be here. At this point, if we’re sacking our CO, I think we can get away with a minor distruth.” “Look at you,” I say. “Pretty soon you’ll be running with the pirates instead of busting them.” The VTC starts up. The briefer says, “Before we begin, uh, Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, are things okay with you?” “Yeah,” I say. “We can’t stay for the meeting, though. We’re having a change of command today. You’ll probably hear about it.” I turn off the VTC. Just then, Tweak walks in. He stares at the group of us, in our casual uniforms. We stare back. Oh, that’s my cue. I step forward. “Colonel Tweak, as second in command, I have convened a board to determine your fitness to lead. Due to facilitating enemy espionage, assault, and incompetence, I hereby relieve you.” He laughs. “You think you can-” Iceberg, Wretched Heart, and Drill Bit loom over him. “Okay, first of all,” says Tweak, raising a hoof, “I love my country. I would never be a spy.” “You’ve been giving information to that voice on the radio,” I point out. “That’s my girlfriend! She’s not a spy! She’s real and I’ll prove it to you. She’s coming here today.” That gives me pause. “How?” “On the train. I gave her the gate code so she can come right onto base. She said she’d bring some friends and we could have a party.” Clear Code begins rapidly typing on her computer. Tweak starts to say something else, but just then the door opens and General Park Avenue walks in, flanked by two soldiers. Line Scribe steps forward and the two of them shake. I see the General’s eyes go to me and Kimchi. Line Scribe steers the conversation to the topic in front of us. “This is Colonel Tweak.” “Wait, you were serious about kicking me out?” says Tweak. “And you had to get some pretty boy General to do your dirty work for you? I bet he doesn’t even have the balls.” “Yes I do,” General Park Avenue says flatly. He jerks his head at his soldiers and one of them cuffs Tweak. The three of them lead him out of the office. “You haven’t seen the last of meeeee…!” And then, he’s gone. I let out a breath. I’m in charge. I frown. “Uh, we have a problem,” says Clear Code. “This morning, a train and a company of North Koltrean soldiers went missing. I checked the train schedule and we have one arriving here on base in one hour - origin unknown.” A silence settles over the room as each of us get that through our heads. An infiltration force? Combined with all the other activity we’ve been seeing, could this be the first attack of a new war? A world war, what with all the countries that will be involved on either side? I remember that I’m in charge. Oh buck! “We need to mobilize the base,” I say. “The reason we had to bring in Park Avenue was because nopony else would listen, or had the authority,” Clear Code reminds me. Yeah, I can just see it now. A junior officer in the Navy, part of a unit known for being unimportant, shouting about an imminent attack. A few ponies would probably side with us, to be safe, but that won’t be good enough with… “How many soldiers are in a company?” “Two hundred,” says Drill Bit. We could maybe get that many of our own soldiers ready to fight in an hour. Maybe, I don’t know. This is waaay out of my league. At the very least, we can have somepony ready to meet them. To surprise the surprise attack. I grit my teeth. Any attack still basically guaranteed loss of life, and despite my misgivings about leadership, that probably bothered me more. “Okay,” I say. “We need to get the word out. “Everpony scatter. Start knocking on doors. Make phone calls to whoever you know. Clear Code, keep working the intel. Kimchi, see if you can bring your army in. Skyray, same for you.” Suddenly, I realize that if we do our job right and succeeded in warning the base, then everypony will be suspicious of outsiders, for example, us because of our Casual Friday outfits. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Much as I was tempted to yank my security badge off because we didn’t need any stinking badges, it might be the only thing that marked me as belonging here. Plus I had a sweet sword and what kind of Nork would try to sneak attack with that? Orders given, everypony went their separate ways. Maybe General Park Avenue was still on base? I went to find him, only to come up short, in the distance spotting a VIP helicopter flying away. For half a second, I think about flying after the helo, but abandon the idea. I’m fast enough to catch it, but I also don’t like getting sucked into turbine intakes or diced by rotors. Instead, I head for the closest building. A young Army Private is sitting at the front desk as I walk in. “We have intelligence that the North Koltreans are about to attack,” I say. “You need to alert everypony.” “Um, who are you?” she asks. “Is this some kind of test?” “I’m Lieutenant Lightning Dust from EACK. It’s not a test. Call your boss.” “Um, Sergeant Major Lawn Order isn’t really the kind of pony to do things outside of regulations. Just a friendly piece of advice. He won’t appreciate this.” “If you’re concerned about consequences to you, then dial the phone and give it to me,” I say, gesturing. The Private hesitantly does. I put the phone to my ear. “This is Sergeant Major Lawn Order. How may I assist you?” “This is Lieutenant Dust. I’m with EACK. We’ve been told that the North Koltreans are about to attack the base. I need you to mobilize your troops.” “First or Second Lieutenant, ma’am? Full name?” Really? Really? “Just Lieutenant. I’m in the Navy. My name is Lightning Dust. Now Sergeant Major, I need you-” “Ma’am, I must recommend you stop right there. If this is a matter of security, it’s likely classified and shouldn’t be discussed over this phone. You can come down to my office and we can talk about it there. Is there anything else?” I pause, but then slam the phone down. To the Private, I ask, “Where’s his office?” She points down the hallway and I practically run down it. Finding the right door, I give it two knocks and then throw it open. Lawn Order looks surprised. Good. He gets up from his desk as I come in. Before he can speak, I say, “We need to mobilize the base to defend from an attack. How many soldiers do you have?” He looks at my uniform. “Respectfully, ma’am, isn’t Colonel Tweak the commanding officer of EACK? Orders should be issued from him.” “He was arrested this morning on espionage charges. Second in command, Major Winchester, is elsewhere. I’m acting commander.” “Ma’am, Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea is not authorized to give orders troops working in this office,” says Lawn Order. I lean forward across the desk, pointing a hoof under his chin like a knife, my voice hissing through my teeth. Dear Celestia, am I turning into my boot camp drill instructor? “Listen, Sergeant Major, hear me when I say that a company of North Koltrean soldiers will arrive on a train in less than an hour and it would be advisable to meet them with as many armed ponies of our own as possible. If you aren’t going to treat this like a lawful order than treat it like piece of advice. I don’t care that I’m not in charge of you, I don’t care how you get it done, as long as it gets done.” I really can’t press the message any harder that that. I spin around and leave his office, and the building. Outside, I see the others working the street. Drill Bit seems to have a small contingent following him, but half a dozen ponies aren’t going to be enough. I think about who I can call. Where’s the nearest aircraft carrier? Not nearly close enough. I could call my old friend Rainbow Dash, but by the time she shakes something out of her current unit, the Norks will already be here. Plus, she’s on the other side of the world right now and would be kind of bitchy about being woken up in the middle of the night. I decide to check in with Clear Code. Maybe she can give me some good news. Nope. “They’re still coming,” is all she says. I turn to go, but she calls me back. “Keep your mobile handy. Call if you need anything.” She gestures to the empty office. “I’ll keep command here until you get back. Ma’am.” That was almost touching. Maybe I could appreciate it more if we weren’t about to be invaded. I go back outside. I wonder if somepony has told the gate guards yet? Maybe they wouldn’t let the train onto base. I frown. But then we’d have Norks running loose in the civilian populace. Plus, maybe the fences of the base could keep them contained a little better. There isn’t really much time left. My ears perk as I hear a train whistle in the distance. Screw altitude restrictions, I need to be in position. It’s a little difficult to hang onto my sword as I zoom across the base. I come in for a skidding landing at the train siding. Chief Iceberg is there. He has a dozen guards with guns, looking somewhat terrified. I don’t know what he said or did to convince them, but it worked. Wretched Heart shows up next. He has three female soldiers with him. Drill Bit then arrives with maybe three dozen ponies. They’re carrying rifles with fixed bayonets, though I don’t see any ammo. “These two platoons were in the middle of bayonet practice,” he says. “As close quarters as this might turn out to be, it’s better than nothing.” The train whistle comes again, louder. Faintly over the whistle, I hear jet engines. Looking up, I can just make out a pair of fighters from Prance circling the area. Skyray appears beside me. He gestures up. “Like ‘em?” “Not bad,” I say. Not great for a close-up face-to-face train intercept, but air support makes anypony more confident. I hear clanking and see a tank rolling down the street towards us. Coming from the other direction is a platoon of infantry. Line Scribe stands in the middle. The tank and the troops stop on either side of him. “Vat is zis?” asks a Germane pony appearing from the top of the tank. “Vere did you vant us to drive next?” “Hopefully someplace out of our way, mate,” replies the Scoltish infantry leader. “We can’t go anywhere with that bloody tank in front of us.” “Just hold on,” says Line Scribe to both groups. “Take a break for a few minutes here.” He glances at me. I nod. Kimchi comes marching up just then with a trail of South Koltrean soldiers behind her. Probably not even a hundred, but more than any other forces we’ve been able to dig up so far. I take a quick headcount. We’re still outnumbered, but not by a lot. Also, a tank and fighters make up the difference. Rhyme appears just then, lugging a sturdy box. She pops it open to reveal a dozen sidearms packed in foam. She drops one into a holster strapped to her leg and tosses the next to Chief, who checks the chamber and stuffs it in his belt. Wretched Heart, Drill Bit, Skyray, and Kimchi each get a gun. The others are claimed by the nearest unarmed ponies. I think about it, but what am I going to do with a sword and a pistol? Not that I’m going to be particularly combat effective either way. I’m just a pilot out of my league. “Where did you get those?” I ask. Rhyme smiles and doesn’t reply. I could wonder if the weapons were confiscated in law enforcement raids, if they were borrowed from an on-base stash, or if Rhyme is a psychopath, but I don’t have time. The base gates are opening. The train rolls in. It’s pulling a short string of boxcars. Yeah, there could be two hundred ponies hiding inside, especially skinny Norks. The brakes squeal and the train stops in front of us. “Chief, on me,” I order. “Got you, ma’am,” he says quietly, standing behind my shoulder with his pistol low but ready. I grab the handle of the nearest boxcar door and yank it open. The car is absolutely stuffed with North Koltrean soldiers. One mare in particular catches my eye. She’s actually got makeup on and is quite a bit more voluptuous than any North Koltrean has any right to be. And she’s got an assault rifle. “Sexy voice?” I blurt. There’s a pause, as if everypony on the train was about to charge out guns blazing only to be stopped by a non sequitur. “X-ray Three Delta One Charlie Mike?” I ask. “Was that you on the radio?” “O-oh. Yes!” she says in recognition, and smiles. I raise my sword and point it at her face. Her smile instantly vanishes and her eyes cross, looking at the tip of the sword. “You and your friends are now prisoners. Come out quietly and we’ll make sure you’re treated fairly.” Her expression hardens. “You stinking pigs are all puppets of the illegitimate southern regime!” “My boss has called me worse things.” The Norks in the other train cars are apparently waiting for her signal and are taken by complete surprise as our ad hoc armed greeting force sweeps the train, opening car by car and taking prisoners. I take a step back and call Clear Code. “We got them.” “Thank Celestia. The North Koltreans piled up on the border looked like they were waiting for these infiltrators to kick off the war. It seems like they’re getting antsy and maybe starting to go home, realizing the surprise attack failed.” “Make sure you inform whoever needs to know about this.” “Will do, ma’am.” A staff car pulls up and a Colonel gets out. It’s the base commander, if I remember correctly. He looks around for a moment, seemingly bewildered. “Who’s in charge here?” I’m in charge! I raise my hoof. “Me, sir.” He glances again at the Norks being pulled off the train and the array of friendly forces that have come together to do it. “So I guess you’ll be doing all the paperwork for this?” I’m in charge...
SaturdayI slump at my desk in front of the VTC screen. I’m still wearing the same clothes from the day before. I’ve been at work all night doing paperwork and coordinating prisoner logistics. EACK has finally found a purpose, though mostly because nopony else wants to do it. Rainbow Dash says “You did what!?” I stare at her image on the screen. “My team and I overthrew our boss and in the process accidentally stumbled into being the only ones who could stop a war before it could start.” “That’s awesome!” she says. Despite the aftermath, the prisoners, the endless requisitioning, authorizations, and signature endorsements, I have to admit, it is pretty cool. EACK might have stopped a world war. “What’s next?” Rainbow asks. “Are you planning to sleep? What time is it there?” “Saturday morning.” “You look beat.” “Yeah, probably. The coffee helps. Please though, I’m begging you, mail some Derpyroast. I haven’t had good coffee since I’ve been here.” “No problem. So you have like two hundred prisoners? What are you doing with them?” “We’ll probably trade them back to the Norks or something. North Koltrea comes off looking even worse than they already did in front of the world. More importantly, we didn’t have to go to full-scale conflict.” Rainbow snickers. “Look at you, acting like you’re ready to go up another rank, maybe two.” “Bite me. We did it because nopony else could.” “Oh, and ‘we.’ The leadership skills!” She keeps laughing. I sit back and sigh. I haven’t had a shower in too long. My coffee cup is empty. My eyes hurt from staring at a computer all night and my eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep. At least I’m comfortable. It sure is good to wear a casual uniform again. Author's Note My gratitude is due to the following people for helping me develop characters: Tweak - Jake The Army Guy Winchester - Keairan Iceberg - Spectral Wretched Heart - Tyrannosaurus_Tux Drill Bit - Dafaddah Clear Code - Mitch H Rhyme - Azreal DuCain1 Skyray - Lt Rainbow Slash and arcanelexicon Thanks for reading.
