Author's Note
At the time of writing, little was known about the Princess’s Own Squadron’s table of organization. My assumption then was it existed as a small élite unit within the larger guard service—something of a cross between an ærobatic team and a special-missions force. The scriptwriters’ handling of the Wonderbolts since then has been extremely hit or miss, almost certainly because they lack any real understanding of military affairs.
“Newbie Dash” and “Top Bolt” in the sixth season clearly seem to be efforts to address this weakness, though even they miss the mark—albeit to a much smaller extent. We can hope the seventh season will rehabilitate further the writers’ depiction of the Wonderbolts, the royal guard, and the EUP Guard.
Questions and answers
The crisp double rap on the doorjamb sounded one minute early.
“Colonel,” came the response in a warmly maternal voice. “Please, do come in.”
A lambent-yellow pegasus mare just on the edge of middle age stepped briskly into the cool, dim private study and swept a graceful obeisance before snapping to attention. “Your Royal Highness.”
Celestia, sovereign princess of Equestria, essayed a faint teasing smile. “Ah, so casually dressed for such a formal greeting.”
“I could point out that the royal summons requested and required ‘uniform of the day’, ma’am, but that would be rude.” A forehoof rose to smooth down the dark necktie that set off the powder-blue undress blouse, the ensemble looking positively sober against its wearer’s brilliant coloration. Only the golden brightwork of the lightning-bolt collar tabs and rank hash-marks on the sleeves outshone the officer’s impeccably-groomed coat. Parade goggles were looped through one of the sleeve straps, doffed while indoors.
“Perish the thought.” The princess’s eyes narrowed humorously. “Since we are being polite, however—please make yourself comfortable.” She nodded toward an arc of cushions arranged before the ancient unicorn writing desk perpetually covered in snowdrifts of paperwork. The pegasus settled herself on one, wings mantling slightly as she shifted for the most comfortable position.
“Tea, Colonel? Or coffee, perhaps?” A coruscating amber glow of magic surrounded various implements, including a mug, lifting and arranging them.
“Coffee, please, ma’am.”
With a nod, Celestia deftly poured the requested brew, then placed the full mug with accompanying cruets of cream and sugar before her guest. “Few officers have served so long with the Princess’s Own Squadron. Even fewer have been commanding officer as long.”
“Yes ma’am,” Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire replied cautiously as she measured out the addenda to her beverage, each cruet in turn held between forehooves.
“An exemplary record; nothing less than I would expect of such a capable officer—who is, I am sure, sharp-witted enough to divine the reason for this meeting.”
“Rainbow Dash.” The Wonderbolts CO looked up at her diarch and commander-in-chief.
“Indeed.” A slight nod acknowledged the shrewd response. “I would be pleased to hear your report.”
“Yes ma’am.” The pegasus mare drew a slow, deep breath, gathering her thoughts.
“Take your time. The staff has instructions to hold aside all but the most important interruptions until we are finished.” Her audience settled back to wait with the patience of centuries.
Despite military discipline, the “short” colonel’s orange eyes widened. Even with Luna’s return relieving some of Celestia’s burdens of office, it wasn’t often either of them cleared an indefinite period in her schedule for any conference. Clearly the princess regarded the matter with all the importance she could ask.
Thus encouraged, she began, her tone formal and impersonal. “Rainbow Dash is brave to a fault and has a great deal of raw leadership ability, especially for one so young. She’s not exactly a model student, so she’s weak on theory, but she is very competent at practical weatherworking and is one of the most talented flyers I’ve ever met.”
Celestia smiled. “That’s saying quite a lot, given the number of ponies you’ve evaluated in your time.” She took another sip of her favored tea and set down the cup with only the faintest click.
“As you say, ma’am.” The officer cleared her throat diffidently before continuing. “Dash is a show-off and all too aware of her ability, but when the bit drops she’s willing to kick all that off the cloud and do what’s needed. I . . . think she also is a little insecure, and the bragging is partly to cover that.” Her ears dipped briefly, and she took refuge in her own sip of coffee.
“Mm, yes. I recall her account of the rainboom rescue.” The princess’s smile tweaked sideways. “It was all I could do to keep a straight face. The mighty Wonderbolts, knocked cold by a unicorn filly’s delicate hooves.”
“It was kind of, um, exaggerated,” Spitfire agreed dryly. “But her friend’s thrashing did complicate things. Without her it all would’ve turned out very badly.”
“And in the end it gave you a whole day to observe her,” Celestia pointed out with unseemly mischief.
The other mare fixed her ruler with as much of a glare as she dared. “I hope you don’t think the rescue affected our judging—ma’am.”
“Oh, goodness, no.” The sincerity came through despite the amusement. “Her performance was by far the most spectacular, even if a mortal threat was required to draw it out.”
An elegant white arm rose to gesture gracefully; the golden regalia of a ceremonial war-boot gleamed softly in the half-light. “But we digress. Please go on, Colonel. I believe you also had a chance at the Grand Galloping Gala to form a firsthoof impression.”
The immediate reply was a heartfelt sigh and a fetlock over the eyes. “What a disaster.”
Celestia pressed her lips together, suppressing another laugh, before noting, “I had in mind your impression of Rainbow Dash, not of the Gala.”
“I’m not sure they can be separated, ma’am.” Spitfire took the hoof from her face and picked up her cup again. “She tried so hard to keep our attention, and I guess I can understand why, but it was obvious she didn’t have any idea how big our duties and obligations are at a ceremonial appearance like that. I assume you heard her side of that story, too.”
“Yes indeed, at Doughnut Joe’s delightful establishment in town. He was a bit taken aback, but rallied admirably.”
“I’ll take your word on that, ma’am.” After an emphatic swallow of coffee, the lieutenant colonel continued. “To answer your question, I got the impression Rainbow Dash is self-centered—but only a little more so than a lot of foals her age. What’s more important is that she’s rash. Very rash.”
“Hm. And what led you to that conclusion?” the princess asked in an abstracted tone as she refilled her cup, her gaze on the kettle floating over it.
“The fact that she tried to catch the sculpture.” Spitfire glanced up. “She wanted to be a hero so badly she didn’t stop to think about how heavy it was, or that nopony was close enough for it to be a danger.”
“Oh? And what of His Grace?”
“The statue cracked at the fetlock and pasterns, so it fell to the side. The pedestal partly sheltered him. He would’ve suffered nothing worse than moderate injuries, and anypony trying to reach him would have suffered worse.” To judge from Spitfire’s expression, her real opinion was that the spoiled unicorn noble would have been no loss even if the falling deadweight had reduced him to a grease stain on the polished-stone floor.
“Now, now,” Celestia chided, though her heart didn’t seem to be in it. Indeed, her impish twinkle was imperfectly concealed.
The pegasus officer shook her head at the indecorous delight her princess apparently took in the whole debacle, but soldiered on. “There might have been a few other cuts and bruises from fragments, but that would’ve been all. Instead, Dash ended up wrecking half the ballroom. It’s a miracle nopony was crushed under the pillars, or trampled in the stampede when all those animals broke in.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Between frozen panic and sheer disbelief, there didn’t seem to be a lot of crushing or stampeding going on when I arrived on the scene,” Celestia countered. “It was just as well, since it gave Rainbow Dash and her friends the opportunity to decamp before the crowd’s outrage got the better of them.”
“And we were left to restore order,” the colonel observed with another sigh.
“Which you and Captain Soarin’, along with the rest of the squadron and the palace guards, did quite competently,” the princess added blandly. “Courteously, even. I have every confidence in the ability of you and your squadron-mates to land on your hooves in any situation, no matter how socially awkward.”
That earned another suspicious scowl. “While Your Royal Highness slipped away to a pastry shop halfway across town. Without any bodyguard, I might add.”
Peals of laughter reverberated from the heavily-timbered ceiling. “Ah, Colonel, but as it was, all of you had your hooves full. I had to go myself to make certain that the rest of my guests were safe and sound.”
“And you like them,” Spitfire accused.
“And I like them.” Celestia scrutinized her guest. “They are refreshingly straightforward. They pay all the proper respect, but they aren’t intimidated. That’s not as common as I might prefer, and I treasure it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Wonderbolt acknowledged reluctantly from her own experience with the loneliness of command.
“Now then. I believe the next occasion you were able to spend some time with Miss Dash was quite recent,” the princess prompted.
“Yes, this year’s rainwater replenishment for Cloudsdale.” Spitfire pushed the empty coffee cup away. “By an amazing happenstance, the Highland Cistern in, of all places, Ponyville was selected.”
“Why not? It’s nearby, it’s convenient to Cloudsdale, and Ponyville hasn’t had the honor before.”
“. . . And the commanding officer of the Wonderbolts just happened to catch the assignment of crown witness this time around.” Said officer gave Celestia a trenchant look. “Rainbow Dash might believe it’s a coincidence, but I don’t.”
“No?” Celestia asked ingenuously as she refilled the pegasus mare’s small cup with more coffee.
“Not for a minute.”
“Well, perhaps not. But the point wasn’t to slip one past you, after all.”
“I thought so,” Spitfire pronounced with satisfaction, looking up from the cruets after using them.
“Is that why you didn’t add your own wingpower?” The question was genuinely curious.
“She might get a kick out of flying with her idol,” the pegasus said slowly, “but how would she feel about failing in front of her idol and needing to be bailed out?”
“You took a real chance there, Colonel,” the princess of the sun stated with the dispassion of the ages. “What if her friend hadn’t come through in the end?”
“Then I would’ve taken over. And this report probably would’ve been completely different.” The fiery orange eyes were downcast, studying the refilled cup.
Celestia’s voice gentled. “But you had faith in her.”
“I guess I did.”
“Yet you also harbor misgivings.”
“Ma’am—” Spitfire hesitated, biting her lip. “Yes ma’am. I do.”
“I thought as much.” Celestia regarded the veteran officer attentively. “Tell me about them.”
Spitfire paused, taking another sip of coffee, to arrange her thoughts before speaking again. “She’s made no secret of her ambitions—goodness knows we’ve heard all about them.” She paused for a shared tolerant chuckle; the cyan filly’s hero-worshipful gushing was too endearingly sincere to cause offense. “But it’s just as obvious she hasn’t thought any farther than that.”
“Go on.” Celestia’s attention was undivided, watchful, with an air of having followed the same logic.
“Aside from you and your sister, she and her friends probably are the most important ponies in Equestria. They’re good kids—of course—good enough that they haven’t realized just how important they are,” Spitfire said firmly, then added a touch sourly, “Most of the public don’t seem to realize it either. I suppose that’s good for those fillies, but it does seem a little unfair.”
“The ponies who matter most in their lives know, as do those with the most influence over their futures,” said the princess serenely. “Such as you and I.”
“By the time Rainbow Dash is old enough to act on her ambitions,” the colonel replied with earnest formality, “I may have moved on to other duties, and no longer will have such influence. I hope you don’t take it wrongly, ma’am, if I say I would be very relieved in that case. Breaking her heart would be a hard thing to do.”
“So cut and dried!” There was no censure in the tone, merely a gentle chiding. “Are you so sure it would come to that?”
“I don’t see how it could be any other way.” The flame-colored pegasus set down her mug to gesture with a hoof. “She’s a Bearer of Harmony. United, the Elements are powerful—some of the most powerful magic in the world, if I understand rightly. Disunited, they don’t work at all; that much was proven during Discord’s return.”
“You are correct,” Celestia commented. She cocked her head curiously. “Are you worried because the Bearers are not under military discipline?”
“What? Ah, no ma’am.” Spitfire blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “I don’t think it would suit most of them, and it wouldn’t be a fair thing to do, especially if they didn’t volunteer. Besides, I have no idea how that would affect the Elements. I wouldn’t want to take the chance.”
“Good.” Another slight smile curved Celestia’s lips. “I agree—with all those points. But the Elements are the source of your concern, I gather.”
“All the Bearers live in Ponyville, a few minutes’ gallop or flight apart, and a short train ride from Canterlot and the palace. I’d feel better if they were here in the city, but as long as they’re together and not far away, I can live with it.” Spitfire shrugged, ruffling her wings. “If Dash joins the Guard, all that changes.”
“I could see to it that her assignments placed her more conveniently,” Celestia countered with a twinkle.
The colonel snorted. “How do you think she’d react when she found out? She would, you know.”
“Yes. Yes, she would, and you’re right. She wouldn’t take it well at all,” the princess conceded. “Nepotism of that sort would cut against the grain for the Element of Loyalty.”
“More than that,” Spitfire noted. “If she isn’t given exactly the same chance to prove herself as anypony else gets, how can she know she’s doing well because of her own efforts?”
“Speaking from acquaintance?” An arch look accompanied the query.
“Only a little,” the officer answered with a roll of the eyes. “Mostly it’s just that I’d feel the same way in her place.”
“I imagine so. The two of you are alike in many ways.”
The pegasus raised a hoof and opened her mouth, then visibly changed her mind and went on with her thesis. “What happens to the Elements if she’s hurt, or worse, during the course of her duties in the Guard? We’re at peace—and may that stay true!—but being a guardspony isn’t completely safe even so. That goes double for us; we get all the tough assignments as well as the air shows to thrill the foals. Has she even thought about that part? She’s still young enough to believe she’s invulnerable.”
“She’s had her share of misadventures.” A leaf of fine stationery floated up from a neat stack on a nearby credenza, the familiar golden glow surrounding it, for Celestia to consult. “Why, not long ago she went to hospital with an injured wing.”
“And was out again in days.” Spitfire waved dismissively. “Foals get used to bumps and bruises and even breaking something once in a while—especially pegasus foals, and most especially really active ones like her. I’d bet my goggles she doesn’t think lights-out ever really could happen to her.”
“Even after everything she’s faced?” Royal eyebrows rose questioningly. “Changelings, full-grown dragons, Discord, Nightmare Moon, the Everfree Forest?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, yes.” Only a little trepidation leaked into the officer’s regulation manner.
“Hm.” The questioning look faded but didn’t disappear. “It interests me that you haven’t mentioned another possibility—that being in the Guard may change her, cause her to drift apart from her friends. The Elements might well become equally unusable in that case.”
“Ah—no, ma’am.” Spitfire looked nonplused. “That didn’t even occur to me.”
“Why not?” the princess asked with the manner of a simple schoolteacher, posing a question to the class.
“I don’t see it happening,” was the equally simple answer. “She’d move the sun and moon herself to keep her friends. That’s what loyalty is all about.”
“Indeed.” The ruler sipped her tea again, then tapped a war-booted hoof on the desk. “Your concerns are twofold, then: Her duties might place her impracticably far from the other Bearers at a moment of crisis, and they might prove dangerous or deadly in themselves, leaving the Elements short a Bearer.”
“Yes ma’am. That about sums it up.”
Celestia sighed. “All right. I understand those concerns, and they certainly are legitimate. On the other hoof, I can’t deny her a chance to follow her dreams. If I start doing that, where do I stop?”
It was Spitfire’s turn to pause. “Ah . . .”
“I will do this much, Colonel.” Celestia pinned the other mare with a gentle but implacable stare. “If she is not already aware that she must become a guard officer—and serve not merely well but outstandingly until she has demonstrated her suitability—before she can apply for assignment to the Squadron, I shall inform her myself. At the same time I will lay out the potential difficulties. But I will not bar her from service if she elects to bear the risk, and I will not permit anypony else to do so. If it endangers Equestria, so be it.”
“Yes ma’am,” the colonel answered uncomfortably.
Her sovereign relented enough to add more quietly, “It’s part of your job to think about things like that, Spitfire, and you do it very well. This is a matter of principle, though, the principles on which Equestria itself is founded. If we—if I—start taking the expedient route, it could destroy the country just as surely, if more slowly. That’s the road to Nightmare Moon, or something equally terrible. As it is, even this special conference is arguably beyond the bounds of fairness.”
“Even if we do our best to pretend she isn’t, we can’t ignore the fact that she is special,” the Wonderbolt said equally softly.
“Yes.” Celestia sighed gently. “That’s why I made this exception to our normal semiannual candidate evaluations. But that’s as far as we can go, and in her presence we have to do our best to treat her exactly the same as we do any other potential applicant. That’s the only way to be fair to her and to everypony else.”
“I understand, ma’am.” That wasn’t the same as agreeing, but it was enough. The lieutenant colonel had sworn an oath, and she would follow it to the bitter end. If her ruler said Rainbow Dash would be allowed to enlist and serve, that was an end of it.
The princess smiled sympathetically; it wasn’t hard to figure out what was running through her officer’s mind. “Do you have any other matters to discuss on the subject?”
After a moment’s thought, Spitfire shook her head. “No ma’am. I’ve said my piece and made you aware of my reservations.”
“And I’ve heard them,” Celestia said kindly. “You are dismissed to the day’s duties, then, Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire. I thank you for your time and trouble.”
The colonel stood and stretched, even her wings flaring and shaking out. “You’re welcome, ma’am,” she replied sincerely. “A good day to you, and I shall see you again soon.”
She turned and strode out, leaving Her Royal Highness Celestia smiling behind her. The day was yet young, and both of them had many more things to do.
