Chapter 1
Act 1
“Où serait le mérite, si les héros n'avaient jamais peur?”
(Where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid?)
- AlphonseDaudet, Tartarin de Tarascon
Chapter 1
“Second Flight, Atten-TION!”
The barked command was followed immediately with clockwork precision, each movement rehearsed over and over. Each pony standing on the tarmac snapped into a rigid straight-necked position, head back, chest out, wings tucked tightly to their sides. All twenty of us looked straight ahead, awaiting our next command.
“Second Flight will take the open order for inspection. Open ranks, MARCH!” With that command the entire back row took a step rearward. With me being in the first row, this gave me the uncomfortable feeling of being on display. This feeling was only amplified as a broad-shouldered pegasus moved down the line, stopping at each pony in turn to inspect everything about their uniform, from the position of their insignia to just general cleanliness.
A few dings were noted here and there, and while Sergeant Major Iron Band wasn't yelling, his booming voice still carried across the tarmac in the dead-quiet morning. One mare's collar was turned. A stallion was missing a button. One stallion's uniform had some carbon fouling on the sleeves. Finally, the Sergeant Major got to me.
I was sure, damned sure, that I had everything in place on my uniform, but under the watchful brown eyes peering out under the wide brim of a silver-trimmed black Stetson, I felt like there'd be something he'd be able to find amiss. From hooves to ears he looked me over, ensuring my blue-grey uniform was flawless, that every insignia and button was right-way up and polished, that collars were pressed, all that. I typically didn't mind stallions checking me out but this was somewhat intimidating. It lasted maybe ten or twenty seconds and that was it, but it felt as if minutes had stretched by. Finally, the Sergeant Major gave a crisp nod and moved on to the next pony in line.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding but didn't dare to move. This was more than uniform inspection, it was drill and comportment too. If I faltered now, I'd be in worse trouble than any bit of misplaced uniform could bring me. So instead I stood stock still, sweating from the humid morning.
At long last the Sergeant Major passed the last soldier in line and gave a nod to our Sergeant, who turned to face the group. “Second Flight will take the closed order. Close ranks, MARCH!” she barked. I could feel the pegasus behind me step forward until she was practically touching my rear end. “Stand at ease, stand easy.” Given leave to relax, the whole line sagged visibly - adjusting their uniform and fixing individual pieces out of place - and yet not a word was spoken, not even a nervous laugh. I watched as the Sergeant Major moved to the next flight and repeated the whole ritual once again with the group next to us.
Long minutes ticked by until the whole affair was over. The Sergeant Major took his place in front of the three groups to give his own commands- and if the individual flight officers had voices that could carry, the Sergeant Major could be heard from here to Canterlot.
“Company, atten-TION!”
Sixty ponies immediately moved, wings snapping to their sides and heads standing tall. Two ponies marched forward, one bearing a folded flag on her back, and headed for the nearby flagpole. Without a command necessary, we all brought our hooves up to our temples.
A soft tune began playing over a set of speakers near the flagpole set off next to the tarmac, the opening bars of “Hail, Equestria!” piped over the crowd by a band that long ago had stopped playing for real. The flag was attached to the rope and run up above our heads, bearing three equal horizontal stripes of blue, white, and green. The song trailed off on a long note and left the parade in silence, aside from the soft snapping of the Enclave flag in the breeze.
“Company, RECOVER! Company will dismiss by flights starting from the right. Dismiss!”
“First Flight, dis-MISS!”
All the ponies to our right turned to their right and marched off. Next was our turn.
“Second Flight, dis-MISS!”
As we left the parade square we heard the Third Flight behind us being dismissed, then distantly, Fourth Flight. Our sergeant took us along the tarmac of the number 2 runway of Satchel Mouth International Airport. The base was abuzz with activity already despite the early dawn hour. Pegasi in uniform moved around the outside of the terminal, making their way to various hangars outside the terminal or returning from somewhere else. First Flight was already on their way to the barracks ahead of us, a re-purposed hangar not far from the terminal, while our sergeant stopped us next to the runway.
“Alrighty, fuck-o's, gather 'round,” she called out. “Come on, snap to it. Shut the fuck up. Like, now, please.” Sarge was a pleasant enough mare, with a white coat and a shocking red mane and tail that were always cut short. Despite her usually pleasant attitude, she also had a mouth that could make even the most hardened Shadowbolt double-take at times. She'd once told me it was just a little tic of hers, then told me to shut the fuck up.
Sarge climbed atop a small piece of white and red fencing marking the end of the runway and sat on the edge to give herself a little platform from which to speak. “Listen up, Second Flight. Got a big fuckin' day ahead of you. LT wants the Air Equestria hangar at the south end of the base cleaned and all that shit catalogued.”
There was a soft chorus of groans from the crowd, me included. It meant spending the better part of the day clearing the entire hangar out and having every single thing inside catalogued and inspected for use: spare parts, tools, scrap metal. Anything and everything.
The groaning made Sarge grin, her wings spreading out. “Oooh, I love that sound of Skies-damned misery in your voices! Gives me a little wing-boner just thinking about it. Hey, upside? Afternoon's gonna be fun as fuck. The Major's given orders that everypony is to be trained on the novasurge casters. Even the non-PA troops. So hey, think of it this way: you get to blow shit up on the range afterwards. How's that sound?”
“Gee, I dunno, Sarge, I'd rather clean the hangar all day,” somepony said to my left. A chorus of snickers rose up from the crowd.
“Have fun, Aviator Leaf. The rest of us are gonna go blow shit up. Alright, Second Flight. You have your orders!”
“Hodie, non Cras!” we all cried out the motto of the regiment. Today, not Tomorrow.
“Damn right!”
-=O=-
The hangar was an absolute mess. Whoever ran the hangar pre-war hadn't been a particularly clean individual. Most of the tools had been left out in disorganized piles, while the hangar's space was dominated by the rotting carcass of an old Sky Whale. Time hadn't been kind to the poor machine. Once it had been a mastery of engineering, combining the best of all three types of ponies: earth pony ingenuity and engineering, unicorn arcanotech, and pegasus cloud magic. These massive metal beasts had once dominated the skies of Equestria, ferrying ground-bound unicorns and earth ponies from every corner of the nation to the other in pure comfort. Now it was a sad sight.
Rust and time had eaten massive holes in the Whale's metal skin, exposing the rusted ribs of the interior. Parts had rotted away which caused the two wings to sag and snap off. One was still held on by the barest few metal girders, while the other was in shattered pieces upon the hangar floor. The cloud generators which once lifted and propelled it had long since run out of magic, and the Sky Whale's back sagged with the weight of a century of neglect. She wouldn't ever take flight again, not in this form. With time pieces of the great machine might make their way into power armour and Vertibuck repairs but as it stood now, this Sky Whale was done for.
Ponies in uniforms and grease-stained overalls climbed around it, wielding cutting torches and crowbars. Sparks showered down the metal sides and cascaded through holes in the airframe, sending strange shadows across the hangar's interior. As parts came off the Sky Whale they were thrown off into one of two piles. One was for the most useless parts, some good for nothing more than scrap metal. Another pile had to be brought outside and catalogued for later use, and that included copper wiring, Nixie tubes, half-full arcane batteries, and the like.
In particular, three of the four cloud generators were still in good enough shape to be salvaged. Weighing a couple hundred pounds apiece, they'd have to be carted out of the hangar. That duty fell to myself and a friend from the regiment, Sky Dancer.
With a last check of our harnesses, Sky Dancer and I started moving. The little wheels groaned in unison with us until they finally creaked forward and we slowly, carefully, hauled the cloud generator out. This single piece of equipment was - as one of the techs straddling the wing had informed me while they cut it down - worth more than I was, and I didn't once doubt it. Not to mention, it was a heavy piece of gear: if it got away on us, Sky and I wouldn't be able to unhook ourselves in time. “Death by Cloud Generator” was not exactly the most noble thing to have engraved on the Wall of Remembrance.
“Join th'Enclave, they said... see th'world, they said...” the stallion snorted in derision. “Ain't seen shit of th'world yet that ain't a blasted hellhole.”
“Oh, come on. This is fun!” I joked, glancing over at him with a grin. Sky's black mane was stuck to his red coat by sweat, and I could feel my own burnt orange mane stick on my forehead. It was an incredibly humid day, and the thick cloud cover that day wasn't helping either. “I mean, I dunno about you, but I'm having a blast. This is what I signed up for. Hard labour in the heat.”
“Ha! Speak for yaself. I was thinkin' I'd at least get Neighvarro, or Haywaii. Somewhere nice. Somewhere with an actual place for leave.”
“Or a place we could even get leave.”
“That too.” Sky snorted again and shook his head. “Feels like we ain't had a second t'stop for weeks.”
We brought the cart to a controlled halt next to the pile of useful materials. A few soldiers helped us offload the cloud generator, and we wrestled it gently to the tarmac next to one of its sisters. “Smoke break?” Sky asked.
“Count me in.” I could go for a break. The harness was trapping the sweat against my uniform, and when I pulled it off I could feel the uniform clinging to my goldenrod coat.
Sky motioned for me to follow. We found ourselves some shelter underneath one of the Sky Whale's tailplanes, which was resting like a lean-to atop a pile of body panels. It provided just enough room to crawl under and get some shade. Not that there was much sun to hide from, but even that little bit of shade felt that much cooler.
As promised, Sky fished out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket on his uniform, passing one to me. He lit them with a simple silver flip-top lighter and we sat back, watching the army inside the hangar moving around. From where we sat the inside of the hangar was just a yawning black hole, lit only by the blue-white sparks of the cutting torches flickering away inside.
“Fuckin' A. Three months, we still cleanin' this shit out.” Sky pulled a drag on his cigarette, blowing a little trail of smoke out of the opposite corner of his mouth. “Figured we'd'a pulled our shit together by now.”
I snorted softly. The smoke was a little harsh on the throat, but nicotine was nicotine, and it was good to just relax. I worked a knot out of my left shoulder, rolling it in its socket. “Yeah, I know. Sure ain't EFB Hurricane, huh?”
“No it ain't,” Sky said slowly, emphasizing each word. “Fuck, if y'all asked me a year ago if I'd ever miss Hurricane Bluff? I'd'a laughed in ya face.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Here we is.”
We sat in silence for a little while, just watching the slow deconstruction of the Sky Whale. A few others were following in our hoofsteps and finding quiet places to sit and have a smoke. Within a minute or two of us relaxing I could hear a squeaky cart wheel approaching.
“Chow!” somepony called out. The cart stopped just outside the hangar. A whoop went up as ponies filtered out in small groups to grab some food.
“Under here!” Sky Dancer waved a hoof out from under our little shelter. A pair of cardboard boxes slid across the tarmac. “Thanks.”
“Bon appétit.” I picked up one of the boxes and we tore into it. Lunch was served in classic Enclave style. We didn't exactly have a proper supply line, which meant fresh cooking tended to be reserved for dinners only and even then it was a rare occurence. What our new base did have, however, was a seemingly infinite supply of old, pre-packaged rations – some of which looked and tasted like they'd come from before the war. Mine at least seemed relatively fresh from the packaging facility at Neighvarro.
I spread out the cans inside and fished out the little can opener, working on them. There were three cans and a small wax-paper package inside the box. “Whadja get?” I asked Sky, who was quicker with the can opener than I was.
“Let's see... beans and rice, cold, o' course. Ah... there's some peaches here, let's see what...” as he opened the tallest can, Sky Dancer lifted the lid of the can and broke out into a huge grin before lowering it again. “Oooh, look at this. Even got me some'a that spicy cheese spread.”
“Lucky bastard.” My own ration tin coughed up a small container of blackberry jam. What made Sky Dancer so damn lucky was that pretty much any of the other spreads – and most of the meals in these rations to begin with – were tasteless or simply foul. The jams were too sweet, the standard cheese was disturbingly dry. Just the simple addition of some hot peppers to the cheese spread fixed that and actually gave them some flavour. That simple can, labelled Spread, Spicy Cheese was as good as gold around base.
As for me, the rest of my tin contained a stack of crackers and a fig bar, identical to what Sky got, along with an entrée of vegetable stew and a tin of apple slices. We traded our drink packets, too. I'd gotten one of the super sweet fruit punch packets while Sky Dancer got coffee, which I hoarded like mad. You never knew when supplies of it would run out and even simple instant military coffee was wonderful when you were alternating which eye was currently getting sleep.
I was eating – not exactly enjoying, either – a cold can of vegetable stew when Sarge made her appearance again, in her own usual way.
“What's up, fucknuts?”
“Hi, Sarge,” came a quiet chorus of replies.
“Gah, that's pathetic. I said what's up, fucknuts?”
“Hello, Sergeant, ma'am!” This time the replies came louder and with quite a few giggles.
“That's more like it. Looking for Autumn.”
“Down here, Sarge,” I called out, shuffling a little to peek out from under the tailplane.
She trotted over quickly and snorted. “Am I going to regret looking under here?” she asked, ducking under the tailplane. “Better have your uniform on...” She took a quick sniff of the air, glancing at Sky, who was part-way through spreading cheese on one of the crackers. “Oh, shit, is that spicy cheese Damn, you got lucky. You busy, Autumn?” Sarge asked.
“Real busy.”
“Smartass.” She snorted in laughter. “Soon as you're done eating I need you on your hooves. Got something for you.”
I glanced at the cold stew in the can, half-eaten. It wasn't exactly appetizing, so I shrugged and climbed out from under the piece of the Sky Whale, pocketing the rest of my lunch – cigarettes, candy, tin of fruit, and the coffee packet – and popping the fig bar into my mouth.
“You're gonna finish that shit before we get to the Major's, right?”
The what now? My eyes went a bit wide. “ 'he Ma'or?” I repeated around a chewy bar of almond and fig.
“Yes, the fuckin' Major. Don't worry, y'ain't in trouble.” Sarge turned to the gathered ponies, most of which were already sitting down anyway. “Alright, Second Flight! Take twenty, shake the stiffness out, have lunch, smoke, jack it, whatever. Autumn, fall in, let's not keep the Major waiting.”
I immediately swallowed the fig bar and fell into step with Sarge. Even if she was right about not being in trouble I was uneasy. Being singled out to go see the Major wasn't exactly a common thing – and everypony else knew it, too. It was like being called to the principal's office. The Major could be awarding me a medal but until I returned with it to the barracks, the rumour mill would turn and turn. As I left I could feel everypony's eyes on me, but I kept my composure. Even managed to avoid blushing. Somehow.
But it was a long walk up the runway back to the main terminal, and with each passing step my apprehension grew.
Level Up!
Level 2
Perks Gained: Tail Trick (Can use tail as prehensile limb)
Traits: Fast Shot
