The War of '63

It was a normal day for Mel Hutchinson. There were cars that needed to be worked on, Celestia's sun shown brightly down from above, and it was Wednesday.

As he began the walk out to his father's garage, he spotted an olive green Plymouth coming up the dirt road to the little ranch. It had a single white star on the doors, and the Equestrian flag fluttered from two flag posts from both sides of the hood.

As it pulled up, a cloud of dust overtook it, as it caught up with the car, from the storm up to the house. Two unicorns wearing dark green military dress coats got out, and walked slowly up to him.

"You Mel Hutchinson?" one asked. These ponies were obviously from the government. He hated the government.

"Yes, sir," he replied warily, "As a matter of fact, I am Mel Hutchinson. Who wants to know?"

The other one began this time.

"You are an expert in automotive maintenance and repair, correct?"

"You still haven't answered my question," he growled, "who wants to know?"

"We're from the Equestrian Army's recruiting base near Las Pegasus. We need you for the war effort, as your skill in automotive maintenance would be quite valuable to a tank brigade"

"WHAT?!" The simple mechanic felt as if he wanted to run away. "I don't wanna be a part of no WAR EFFORT! I'm just a peace-loving farm pony! My real name's WHEATGRASS, for Christ's sake!"

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Mr. Hutchinson," the first warned, "Now, just come with me, we'll alert your father."

Before it seemed he could blink, he was hoofcuffed to the back seat of the two Army officers' staff car, and was taken down the road.

"LET ME GO, YOU BASTARDS!" Mel kept yelling, as he struggled against his cuffs, "I'M NOT GOING TO WAR!"

"Mr. Hutchinson," the one driving sighed, "You are beginning to try my patience. Now, shut up, we're going to pick up some more future soldiers, and, unlike YOU, they signed up, you slippery hippie coward!"

The next pony they picked up wasn't even a PONY. His name was Cranky D. Donkey, but the two officers just referred to him as Private Donkey.

"So, Private," the second unicorn inquired, slightly smiling, "We hear you have a mare waiting for you at home?"

"Yes, SIR!" the mule responded, grinning with shining eyes, "I met her in Manehattan a couple of months ago. I'm gonna MAKE SURE that, after this thing, she gets to see her little soldier boy again!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that, shooter..." Mel grumbled to himself, "Unlike the movies, one shot to the head, and you're DONE!" The thought of meeting his end via sniper rifle made him shiver. He wanted to be buried in a field of flowers, inside a Chevy Impala, not left in some TRENCH, where the crows and maggots would slowly eat him away!

After Donkey, they picked up several familiar faces, such as Dutch Clogs, an earth pony who had been an explorer scoutee for a couple months, and Harold Brougham, who's brother was Celestia's number one suck-up in Mel's eyes.

They were taken to a small military base, near Ponyville, where they were rounded up, had their manes cut, were fitted for military uniforms, and underwent training, as the head-of-base blasted rock and roll over the intercom.

****

The training was especially hard for Mel, who's light diet as a beatnik had shrunk his muscle mass severely.

"COME ON, YA PANZY FAGGOT!" the drill Sargent barked as he climbed under barbed wire, "I THOUGHT YOU HIPPIES ATE MUD!"

"I resent that, Sargent Jerkoff...." he mumbled to himself, and kept crawling. Barbed wire tugged at his fur through the Army uniform, and he was bleeding in several areas, including his legs, but he kept moving, for he feared what horrible thing the Sargent would do to him if he failed.

All of a sudden, the Sargent blew his whistle, and everypony stood up straight, and saluted him. All except Mel....

"Psst...." Dutch whispered to him, "Get UP!"

"ALRIGHT, WISE GUY!" Mel froze as he realized that the Sargent was standing right in front of him. "I don't know WHAT THE HELL you're thinking, but this AIN'T NO CONVENT, we have RULES to follow here, so STAND THE FUCK UP!"

Mel responded almost instantly, shooting up in fear, and, sweating heavily as the sarge looked him straight in the eyes, saluted him.

"Well, as I was saying," The Sargent continued, "You've all done an OUTSTANDING job, even YOU, Flower-Power! You've all deserved a nice, nommy meal..." They could tell by his malicious grin that he was lying. He gestured to a ramshackle building with a sign that read, "Mess Hall".

When Mel arrived, he immediately turned his attention to the food: In large trays on a counter there was, surprisingly, instead of gruel, like in the movies, there were several, normal meals, including Mac and Cheese, Hamburgers, and even pizza!

Lining up with the others, the gray earth pony anticipated his delicious meal. After dishing up, and giving identification, he sat down at a table, with two other ponies he didn't know, and said grace before his meal.

"Bless this food to our use," he mumbled, "and us to thy service. Fill our hearts with grateful praise.

Amen."

He drank in the delicious smell of the food, and began to slowly eat it, savoring each moment.

He hadn't gotten a third of the way done, when the Sargent marched up to him.

"YOU'RE EATIN' TOO SLOW, SON!" the superior yelled, throwing his tray against the wall, "Get your ass up, and get out there WITH THE OTHERS! It's time for target practice!

Mel obeyed, and sprinted outside, to see several soldiers crowded around a box of M1 Garand assault rifles.

An elderly pegasus was speaking to the other recruits on top of a soap box.

"Hello, friends, and welcome to Basic Training, I'm sure ya've already gotten to know Sargent Thunder Dash."

Thunder Dash gave a wave from the shadows, accompanied by a malevolent wave.

"MAH name is Commander Deville Brougham, and ah'm aware that one of mah sons is here today, and 'da other is with Celestia?"

"He-hello, dad," Harold mumbled shyly, "I-I mean, sir."

"Hey, kid." Commander Brougham grunted back, "It's nice to see ya here. Maybe, some day, ya'll be as good as yer big brother, Eldorado?"

"Well, may-"

Deville cut him off with a wheezy laugh. "As IF! Yer brother's commandin' our EVEREH MOVE right now, PLUS, the bastard had wings AND a horn! Do YOU have a horn?" He laughed again, but then straightened up.

"Well, down to business.  Ah want each'a ya to grab an assault rifle, and practice on those dummies over there. Now, ya may all be wonderin', wha's the military usin' the dummies that prissy fashionistas use to style their new dresses? Well, let's just say, Aunt Celestia didn't give me mah allowance this year."

A couple of the recruits, including Mel, gave a little chuckle at the joke, picked out his gun, and began firing. After a few misses and minor wounds on his target, he managed to hit it square between the eyes.

"Excellent shot, Hutchinson!" Deville congratulated, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be a mechanic?"

"Yessir."

"Then, come with me, we'll get you on the range again later."

Mel was led down a dirt road, to a garage. In it, there was a camouflaged Travelall, a Jeep, an M-4 Sherman tank, and a Deuce-and-A-Half truck.

"This old girl has a problem starting," Deville told him, gesturing to the Sherman, "What do you do?"

"You look for a dead battery, first. And, if the battery and it's connection is fine, then you look for a bad ignition switch, or maybe corrosion."

"Aces, Hutchinson," the old, black-and-white-maned stallion praised, "Aces. Say, don't tell this to mah superiors, but could you take a look at my girl? She isn't firin' right, or something...."

After a while of working on Commander Brougham's red, '58 Plymouth Fury, he had begun to like it at boot camp. Good meals, a Commander who LIKED him, and a feeling that he belonged, this was EASY!

"There," he concluded, starting the car's V-8, "She's all better."

"We'd better get back to the range, Hutchinson," Deville suggested, "If any of the guards catch us out in the parkin' lot, they'll kick me out, and make Thunder Dash head of camp!"

The two hurried back, and, as night fell, ponies were still firing at the dummies, which were now riddled with bullet holes, after 4 hours of shooting.

Thunder Dash ran up to them, in shock that they were talking as if they were friends. "Where were you two, Commander?" He queried, "You should've seen Harold! I let him take the sniping course, and he passed with flying colors!"

"He still ain't no general..." Deville mumbled. "Hutchinson here is a top-notch mechanic. Ah think he'd do real well in the 8th Armoured, with Eldo."

"Really?" Mel gasped, "Thanks, Commander!"

He darted off, toward the firing range, leaving the two older stallions alone.

"I remember when I was like him," Dash sighed, "So eager to go out to war."

"And then," Deville finished, "You killed your first man?"

"Yep." The World War 2 veteran's eyes clouded with memory. "The look in his eyes, it was TERRIBLE, Commander Brougham. They told us that the Germans were evil, that they were the scum of existance, but, that human, that German human, I looked in his eyes, and I just saw the fear that my buddy, Joe had in his eyes, when we were stormin' the Normandy beaches...." He trailed off, and soon regained his composure, and had no expression. "Excuse me, Commander, I have to get back to watching the recruits."

Mel sat in his bunk that night. He didn't mind the blankets that hadn't been washed for a while, nor the cold. He dreamed of how his dad would love him, when he came home a war hero, and how his mother would hug him tight. In a week, he would be off to the battlefield, and, in a week, he would see his first glimpse of the hell that is combat.