On the day we were to ship to basic, many of those who had survived M.E.P.S awaited their ship dates reported back to the station. We were to swear in again, the same oath of enlistment we had performed after the monotony of paper work and tests. Royal and Sky Guards didn't have to return to the station, once they've sworn the oath they were in. The active Army and Royal Guards still went to Basic Combat Training together, as well as to the same A.I.T or Advance Individual Training schools. We gathered silently into the auditorium, our recruiters and families standing by to see their once young foals to be sent off to become soldiers. We didn't know it at the time, many of us will be sent to the front and some of these Equestria's finest would never come home; we were canon fodder.

An officer approached the podium and we raised our right hooves and repeated after him.

We were boarding the train, Sgt Spear Head was the last to see me off.

"Remember kid, keep your head down, do what your told and you'll do fine. The point of BCT; is to break you down and build you back up to be disciplined and as a part of team. So trust and work together with your pals. And don't do anything that'll piss off your Drill Sergeants, so pay attention."
He patted my shoulder, and I left for the war.

The train ride was long, it would take some days to get to the training grounds and the whole way we were in good spirits. We broke the boredom with card games, singing songs, and enjoying the view of the country side. We were not yet in uniform but the stewards looked on to us with admiration and respect. They've repeatedly thanked us for our service and that we were the best that Equestria was offering to fight and end the war. Our train wasn't specifically a troop transport, so there were some civilians were on board other than the stewards. My official Army meal ticket got me a fine meal at the dining car.

We've passed by other trains hauling flat cars carrying Equestria's military might and supplies, it was the first time I've ever seen a tank. It's hulking body reminded my of over built tractor with 70mm gun attached to it. We stopped at a couple stations along the way, and we were allowed to eat the restaurants, we weren't allowed to explore. Some of us boys cheered and whooped at the mares on the stations we passed. The females in our troop either rolled their eyes and scoffed, but when a dashing buck in his nicely pressed uniform and groomed mane caught their eye, they couldn't help but cheer, blow a kiss and swoon. A few veterans even greeted and wished us the best of luck. Some of them had a sly grin for they knew what awaited us. I would take the same line home back to Manehattan years later, I too gave the new recruits the same sly grin who were on their way to Fort Rockhoof the same greeting.

"You'll be sorry" one soldier looked to be mouthing at us.

We arrived at the station in the early morning. The sun was long before being raised beyond the mountains. We disembarked from the train and were greeted by a Sergeant Major in the Royal Guard, she didn't have her golden armour on but her uniform was sharp. The braided red and black chord that was given to the First Expeditionary Division draped over her right shoulder. She greeted us warmly and welcomed us to Fort Rockhoof, this greeting had lulled us into to false sense of security. Ahead of us was going to be nine gruelling weeks of Basic Combat Training, but at the time we were impressed by the sergeant major's enthusiasm for us and her almost motherly like charm. The pleasantries were ended when it was time to board the buses, we were called out by name to form up. The unicorns and earth ponies were then separated, we were to train together in the same camp but separate from each other.
Cadre kept us in order as well as quiet so we could clearly hear our awaited instructions on which bus to board. Afterwards was the short and quiet dark ride to Fort Rockhoof itself.

Fort Rockhoof, named after one of the great heroes of legend whose story has been passed down from generation to generation. An earth pony who by his strength and his trusty shovel saved his village from an erupting volcano by digging a trench to divert the lava flow into the sea, all by himself. Fort Rockhoof was recently established and the barracks were still being put up, right by a hill that overlooked the entire base. My platoon wouldn't have such luxury of barracks to shield us from the elements during our time here. Our entire duration at basic we were housed in thatched huts hastily put together with thin planked walls.

We arrived at reception, I took a short nap and was woken by the bus stopping. It was still dark out. A hulking stallion in a sharply pressed uniform and campaign hat got on board. He made it very clear that we were to shut up, listen and don't do anything until told to do so by a Drill Sergeant. Anything we said when addressed by a drill sergeant would be followed with "Drill Sergeant" not sir, not sarge or even by name. To their eyes we were not yet soldiers, some of us may not have what it takes to be a soldier. We were trainees, the lowest of the low and from here on out and we had to get use to it and quick.

"Females will disembark the bus first and form up on the left. Males on the right, you have two minutes. Do you get me?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant" We bellowed.

"Move"

We hastily gathered our saddle bags and got off the bus as quickly as we could. Needless to say, we did not meet the two minute order we were given.

"You all failed your first test. Front leaning rest position move"

Basic training hasn't even started yet and we were already getting punished or the more common term smoked.
We immediately dropped into position, a few ponies sneered and cussed under their breath. Drill Sergeants have been trained to have keen eyes and hearing and caught them.

"You will keep your mouth and attitude locked up or you will get use to this position! Down! UP! Down! UP! Down! UP!"

And this was just day zero.

During reception a pony will go through a shake down of everything they will need and what they need to know. Starting with injections of vaccinations, our paperwork in order of the various medical tests and finances squared Way.

Our civis were packed away on arrival and we were then issued our first uniform; PTs or physical training uniforms. We had to quickly put them on and head to formation to wait for further instructions. Later in the processing stage we would be issued more gear and a large duffel bag to put them in. All our new equipment were to be stored and inspected to ensure we had everything and they do mean everything we needed for the training ahead. We received our field uniforms, undergarments, belt and extra PTs in the coming days in reception.
This was only just the start of what was to be issued to us. Each item we were responsible for and as one Drill Sergeant had put it:

"This gear is worth more than any of you low lifes. It belongs to the Army and so do you. So don't lose em, break em or steal them. If you some how manage to fuck this up it's your ass."

We listened closely to every detail and did as he said. The alternative would be unbearable for anypony. We wouldn't be issued our rifles until two weeks later so that was one less responsibility for now. This part of the processing stage was called zero week, the first phase before the actual training. Here we learned the basic fundamentals, potential benefits available to us after our term was up and squaring us away with corrective disciplinary action in order to be just be mentally ready for the the next step. There was no talking, no exploring, we weren't even allowed to be alone. We had to take buddy with us, and always a pony of the same sex. A mare went off to the latrines by herself and was balled out for it until she had corrected herself and took a battle buddy with her.

I was scared out of my mind, and I am willing to bet everyone else was as well. We had to be correct and meticulously to the detail, the Drill Sergeants watched us the whole time and corrected us when they saw an infraction in the most ear splitting in our face way. It was "hurry hurry hurry" followed by long periods of waiting. We quickly learned that this was going to be different and tougher from what any of us would have or ever anticipated. Our civilian lives were over, the army owned us now. The first day all the stallions had to have their manes and tails cut to regulation. The room hummed with the buzzing of the clippers. Ponies with a head full of mane came in, a short time later buzzed down to bald and their tails trimmed short.

"Next five" It was my turn.

We were hustled out with everything that was issued to us into the parade grounds early morning, it was the day we were meet our drill sergeants. The start of BCT begins with something called the Shark Attack. 72 hours of non stop harassment and shock of the Drill Sergeants to scare the civilian out of us. They watched us eagerly like hawks eyeing their next prey. A buck in front of me stumbled and dropped his duffel bag, I veered around him as he tried to pick his pack. And in front of me heading my direction was a pair of Drill sergeants making there way with big toothy grins. Oh boy, was I in trouble for leaving a pony behind? To my surprise one of them yelled at me for just stopping and continue on to the assembly area. The buck behind me hopped to and caught up on the double, I looked behind and saw his packs were missing and his face was red with embarrassment. One of the Drill sergeants yelled at him for dropping his equipment while the other kicked his pack to another formation to which another drill sergeant kicked and threw it around and another drill sergeant joined in and picked up with his magic and threw in the dumpster.

"Are these ponies nuts" I murmured to myself. They give us all this stuff only to have it thrown out.
The buck further balled at for not having his duffel bag during our inspection on the drill pad. He was later allowed to retrieve his pack once the formation was dismissed.

The unicorns and earth ponies were separated and further down separated into male and female bay platoons. A platoon size in Basic Combat Training consisted of around fifty to sixty ponies with four platoons to a company or battery as it would called at Fort Rockhoof. We were to do everything together from eating, sleeping, exercising, bathing and training together for nine weeks. Depending on what classroom session was going on, the unicorns would learn to utilise their magic by conjuring spells that would be beneficial to their warrior tasks and drills, while we learned ours the earth pony way.

Drill Sergeants aren't always cruel and respected the basic rights of their trainees as ponies. But when something isn't done quickly and precisely it would be a world of hurt, consisting of some of the cruellest of punishments; push ups was one we detested the most. Their job was to tear down the individual away from their weak sensible civilian minds and bodies and remould us into soldiers. Every instruction we were given we had to head without fuss or question and learn it. A drill sergeant doesn't like to repeat an order. They expect their instructions executed quickly, to the letter and with purpose. Our's was no exception.

Our Senior Drill Sergeant wasn't a large pony, we was roughly shorter than I and was ten times tougher than the whole platoon combined. He kicked all our flanks in and right on the first day. He never screamed at us but he had an icy sharp tone that would make the hairs at the back of our necks stick straight up. We were his platoon and he was the boss who was in control of our daily lives. He knew his job and knew it well. His name was Stone and to him we were 1st "Black", Platoon, Bravo Battery 340th Field Artillery.

The day would begin early, 0500hrs to be precise. Sometimes we got up even earlier where we would get at best an hour or two in the rack. Drill Sergeant Stone and his cadre would bang on trash bins, shake our racks even yelled in our ears until we were sound and awake. The battery would assemble at the drill pad for morning PT in the chilly dark morning of winter doing callisthenics on the damp cold floor and dirt. Then depending on the day followed with other team building exercises, running, pull up bars for climbing drills which was already difficult to do having to grip the icy cold and often wet bars with just our bare hooves. Fortunately we were split into teams of three for assistance and rotated on command.

To keep our fitness in shape we had to take the PT test, consisting of doing as many push ups and sit ups we could manage in two minutes, followed by a two mile run. This was done monitor our fitness level and to push us to become faster and stronger than we were before we arrived. Least to say, many of us we didn't perform well on the first test. We had three tests to take and the final was what would see if we had it in the end to become soldiers.

"As long as you don't give up and keep pushing yourselves, it doesn't matter how well you score. Take time during your time off to get some practice in".

As if we could get anytime to get practice let alone free time was a rare privilege. Smoking was on a regular occurrence that our bodies ached and we spent any time allotted for any bit of rest we could get. But the strangest thing of all, it helped us bond in common misery into a team. One mistake or failure to perform from anyone of us in the first three weeks would have us dropped to the front leaning rest.

"We're becoming stronger or perhaps smarter in other ways" A thoughtful buddy put in. "I couldn't do five real push ups before we started and now, I can get forty done without breaking a sweat."

The army had fully laid out what they had in store for us from day one. Much of it was routine that we eventually got use to schedule of morning PT, DFAC, classroom, more field exercises of various skills, drill and ceremony, marching, more training and lights out at 21:00hrs. We looked forward to the various activities that helped challenge our bodies and minds in a practical training environment. It even became a competition between the platoons on which will perform the best. Obstacle courses became my favourite as well as land navigation. Combatives were a challenge due to my size and I've gotten a few lumps from sparring and being tossed in the dirt. The pugils which consisted of a stick that was heavily padded on either end to simulate rifle and bayonet I found the only combative activity I could stand some what of a chance in. I still got knocked down quite a bit, but it was good fun which helped motivate me for complete the training.

There was still a lot of the suck that happened and it wore down on us. There were many good ponies who had to be recycled because their performance wasn't up to speed, others had to taken out due to injuries. Those who quit fared worst, they were to be treated like outcasts and as a blight to pony kind. We felt sorry for them but we knew that we couldn't let them drag us down from graduating. The quickest way to the finish was to go through every gruelling process day after day after day.
We had to keep ourselves motivated, we only had each other and no one wanted to let anypony down and look weak. Even the drill sergeants when they sense we were low would help with a more tough it up kind of way. One even tried one of speeches.

"No one likes a weakling. If the zebras knew that, we'd might as well throw in the towel. But you're not. Each of you here has the chance to become the best son of bitch that would scare them zebras shitless! And that I fucking bet, when they see you they will for sure regret it! But that depends on you. You are the future of the army and pony kind.
Your actions here and on wards in your careers reflects on all of us."

Our ears also became fine tune to the DS's barking and close attention for fine details, we could almost anticipate what the next orders were and execute without hesitation or mishap. We learned quickly from our mistakes that nearly half way through basic training, the platoon was becoming something like a oiled machine. Stone never smiled even when he praised us when we finally got something right. His thick outer shell was much to his name sake and we never saw him break. Over time his icy tone became less pedantic and became more instructive as we perfected our drill and discipline, he still found any excuse to get us on the dirt and exercise to remind us that he was still in charge and that we became laxed. Despite this we grew more confident in each other and in the skills we had learned. It felt that things were getting a little more easier as each week past.

By third week in we were doing weapons training. Many of us especially the Appleloosans and Ponyville types took delight in the news. Some of them were already familiar with firearms and knew a thing or two about them. I on the other hand, I knew nothing. The fortunate aspect from somepony who doesn't know a thing about fire arms is that the army will teach them and teach them right, while the those who were had to unlearn their old ways and learn the army way. They still bragged about being the better shots and earned the expert markspony badges to prove it.

Safety was the upmost importance. It was drilled into us from the day we were issued our rifles. The officer in charge gave us a quick safety course then let lose his cadre of ncos to ensure we followed and if need be to be reminded of.

"Keep the muzzle either pointed down or at the target. Don't point anywhere that you don't intend to shoot."

The IF-64 "assault rifle" was the new standard issue rifle to the Equestrian military. It fired a 5.56 millimetre cartridge from either two settings: semi or fully automatic. Later models would replace the full auto setting to a three round burst to keep accuracy and from wasting ammunition. The standard magazine capacity was thirty rounds and was accurate up to three hundred yards with an effective range of twenty-five hundred yards. It was a rugged weapon and nothing like the toys I played with as a colt. I respected it, learned, and took care of it. It became every bit as a part of me as my own hooves. In the end it was a tool, it was a hard heart that killed.

We didn't fire live ammunition from on the set for the next two two weeks. Till then we field stripped and cleaned our rifles, learning every detail of it until it was like a second language. We drilled every day with them in the manual of arms, both in our bays and in formation, at the end of it our rifles would be inspected to see if we have kept it clean and in working order. We learned the various firing positions from standing, kneeling, prone and the sitting until that too was like second nature. I don't believe I have ever used the sitting position in combat or at least consciously.

The latter weeks we had more emphasis on something called "rucking" A full load in our saddle bags, a large back pack which was the ruck itself, rifle, "FLC" or fighting load carrier with gear, helmet, rations, the gaudy pt belt we had to wear at all times and as much water as we can carry. The standard weight was usually around thirty to forty pounds, and that was just the ruck sack. In total I had put on somewhere close to around sixty pounds of gear. With all that we had to march sometimes three to up to twelve miles on hoof. We took breaks every three miles or so to prevent us from injuring ourselves, everypony was in some way hurting from these marches. But we kept going, urging ourselves on to complete the gruelling task at hand. We'd ruck during the day or night. Most often into the trails up the hills, slopes and then down.

"Everything you need to survive in the field are in your packs. Get use to it and take your time. We don't want any of ya'll breaking your backs and hooves up that hill, the wounded will have to be carried out which more weight for your pals to carry".

We grumbled the whole way, hated every bit of it, but we stuck it out. We were at this point a unit, and no one was going to fall behind or quit.

After nearly two moons of training. We were to take our final test called "The Forge". The whole ordeal was somewhere around eighty or so hours of non stop exercises of everything we have learned to this point. Morale was high on the start, we were nearly finished with what felt like the worst eight weeks of our lives. As the Forged dragged on for hour after hour with little rest and endless ruck marches and manuevers, we could feel the strain. I stumbled on the trails a couple of times, ponies rucking their heavy load would stop and help me back up again with concern for my safety. Later on it would just be quick glance and a helping hoof.

The Drill Sergeants kept us motivated or scared, depending on the mood to complete the tasks at hoof with the occasional barking if we couldn't get things right after multiple tries that ran their patients out the window. I never heard such swearing before in my life. DS. Stone never swore at us, he kept his language clean albeit using every imaginative word to describe Black platoon in the dictionary as "undisciplined, sorry pieces of swine dung".

During the tactical evacuation test One Drill sergeant from behind a bush with rifle jumped up at us and yelled "BANG BANG". We hesitated and looked around in confusion. She pointed a hoof at me.

"You're dead on the ground"
To which I eagerly obliged. To play dead in a scenario ment a more rack out time while my squad assessed and dragged me out of the immediate "combat zone". I didn't feel sorry one bit, I needed the sleep. So they grumbled and kidded me for dying. I would have done the same if I were in their horse shoes. But I was chosen and I got the rest.

At the end of The Forge, the company gathered under torch light. The night was quiet and chilly, Luna's moon overhead bright and full giving the ceremony its symbolic allegiance to the princess . In the darkness the captain joined us for a toast of grog for accomplishing the toughest training there was.

"You are soldiers now. I am proud to be the first to call you soldiers. You've gone through the roughest training this army has to offer. You struggled up the hump and kept to it until you made it down to this moment. You should be proud for even in the darkest of nights under the Princess' moon, she sees what you have accomplished. She too is very proud of you all."

Our drill sergeants made their way to the ranks and slapped on our patch that marked us as Equestrian Soldiers. We had earned our keep and wore it along with our prized berets with pride. DS. Stone looked at me with his steelie expression as ever when he put on the patch. He didn't seem to blink as he looked into my eyes and shook my hoof. I'm willing to bet that he was tearing up inside as we were on the outside. He made us into the best soldiers we could become, after every smoking, hardships and trials. He never gave up on us and deep down he was proud that we've made it.

At the end of the nine week training, Black Platoon as with all platoons in the Battery were to be broken up, each graduating soldier to be sent off to do their Advanced Individual Training. The guidon was to be stored away for the next trainees that would be in the next cycle. It was our hope that the ponies who would be future soldiers under Bravo Battery, 340th FA will become proud of their unit as my buddies and I were. The experience I would never forget as I was to rely on it for the rest of my time in the army. For now graduation was on all of our minds. We marched out in formation on Graduation day for our families that we've missed so much and for many who would never see again.

Many friendships were ending here as we would be sent to the various forts and facilities for additional training. Artillery ponies would keep their equipment and begin right away remaining in Fort Rock Hoof for a few more weeks. Ponies like myself who were to be specialist of other crafts would have to turn in rifle and equipment and report back to the train station for our destination.

"Give em hell"

"Don't be a hero"

"Look out Zebras"
We would say to each other as they left. Many bright young faces eager for the fight and prove themselves. We maybe soldiers now but we were still naive foals who didn't know what awaited us.

"Private Hawk Line, turn in rifle and equipment. Here are your orders to report to the Ministry of Peace Medical training facility in Canterlot."

Author's Note

I went to BCT at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. The place was miserable espicially during the winter. It was always cold, windy and got all sorts of rain. In the words of Forrest Gump: we got little bit of stinging rain, big old fat rain, rain that flew in side ways.
The highlight was the day of the forge when had two hours of down time before we formed up. My DS gave the bay boxes of tooth brushes and we were told to go clean the floor latrines with them. We cheered saying "Now it's Basic Training! We have reached Forest Gump level."

Ft. Sill is home to the artillery school, so every training unit is considered as an artillery unit. My cycle I was in "Black" 1st Platoon, Bravo Co. 1st Battallion, 19th Field Artillery.
Companies were called batteries and barracks were called bays. The training cycle is the same across the bored as with Benning, Jackson, Hood, Knox etc.