Former Lieutenant Summer Meadows stared dismally at her porridge with tired eyes, trying not to focus too hard on the faces she saw there. She sighed and stirred the spoon telekinetically, banishing the pony features temporarily in a turgid swirl. It was the morning after Major Grapevine’s company made it back to Equestrian lines again, although of course they would never have made it without her help. A slice of dried apple bobbed to the surface of the mixture and was pushed back down just as quickly.

“Do you not like it, ma’am?”

“No, Enlisted Cashmere, your cooking is entirely satisfactory. Pray tell me, wherever did you find so much apple for the dish?”

They were sitting on the torn engine cover panels on the back of the tank, at Summer’s request. Across from her, Cashmere, Summer’s faithful radio operator, sipped porridge from her mess tin in the manner of enlisted ponies. Summer slowly raised her spoon and took a bite.

“Oh, there were a lot of them in the rations they were giving out earlier. I thought they’d make a nice addition to your breakfast.”

“Thank you, Enlisted Cashmere. Your efforts are not unappreciated.”

Summer rubbed her tired eyes and swallowed another bite of the stuff, thick enough to stand the spoon up in. Truthfully, she was getting sick of eating porridge of some kind all the time, but Cashmere had made it of her own volition for the entire crew, and Summer didn’t have the heart to tell her that she didn’t feel like eating.

She had awoken early that morning, before the rest of the crew, and sat in the darkness for a while, reluctant to move. It wouldn’t be fair to them to disturb their rest, after the night they’d had. At first, she’d thought she was still dreaming, but still she didn’t move. The big guns always sounded in her dreams, now. The guns, and the faces of the dead.

After a moment spent listening, though, she had determined that it was only the field guns firing, possibly fending off a probing attack by the Crystal Empire forces across the river. Her back was sore from sitting upright in a very unponylike fashion for so long.

They had taken to sleeping in their stations for the last few days, ready for action, but the commander’s seat was never meant for resting in. She was starting to think it was intentionally designed that way, as a metaphor for the demands of authority, and she envied her disrespectful loader and his flat turret floor to sprawl out on. Maybe she should have slept outside, but after that last, hair-raising bridge crossing that also, by happy chance, ended up preventing the enemy from following, everypony had simply passed out at their stations like usual.

Summer stretched her aching limbs and set down her half-empty mess tin precariously close to a gash that a near-miss had cut across the engine deck like a knife. “Wake the others when you’ve finished. They’ve slept long enough.”

Cashmere nodded and saluted, but Summer wasn’t really paying attention. She was thinking about what the day held in store for them. Eventually, she got to her hooves and used her telekinesis to open the turret box and retrieve her pack and began inspecting it for bullet holes.

It contained nothing truly important to her; it was the pack she cared about. It was an old-style pack, originally used by an infantrypony two centuries ago. It had been used by the family ever since, though by now most of it had since been replaced as it inevitably picked up wear and tear from the hard use the military sons and daughters of the Meadows family put it through. She frowned at the several new holes she saw and dropped it to attempt setting up her tent.

Summer had just managed to get the old two-pony army tent more or less upright, without help, when a hoof tapped her on the shoulder.

“Gah!” Summer cried, and jumped around. Her telekinesis failed and the tent collapsed on itself. “Oh, it’s you, Enlisted Cashmere. Speak, next time.”

“I did ma’am – er, that is, I’ve woken the others up, ma’am…”

“And you couldn’t wait for me to –” Summer began, then broke off and sighed. “Very well. Crew, form up!”

Minty was already standing behind Cashmere, Summer noted with approval, despite how tired she looked. The mare’s sides were bandaged, from some minor wounds she’d taken last night. Thrash followed smartly shortly thereafter. Say whatever else about that stallion, but he knew how to comport himself as a soldier when he cared to. And Supercharger… was just emerging groggily from her hatch, looking just as breathtaking as always. The play of sunlight through her navy-blue bob of a mane…

And then she was standing in line with the others. Summer shook her head furiously and straightened up.

“Well, gentlecolts, I’d like to start by congratulating you for your performance last night. You deserve it.”

They looked back at her blankly. Supercharger coughed and said, “And? Is that it?”

Summer felt her face tighten. “No, Corporal, it’s not. All of you, look behind you.” They obediently turned around and focused on the tank, as Summer had intended. “As you can all see, our tank is a fright, and hardly suitable for fighting a battle in its current condition. Corporal Supercharger, I’m sure you know better than us what repairs need to be made. See to it. Corporal Twist, procure for us more ammunition, tools, and anything else we might need. Enlisted Metal, ensure that we have proper accommodation and report the condition of the camp. I want an ear to ground. Start by setting up my tent. And Enlisted Cashmere, help in any way you can, but start by making the machine presentable. Are we all clear?”

They all saluted and said, “Yes, ma’am,” with varying degrees of promptness. Thrash and Supercharger immediately hurried away, but Minty lingered a moment.

“And you, ma’am?” she inquired carefully.

Summer gave her a wan little smile. “I have the rest of my squad to see to.” Though maybe not anymore, she privately thought.

She left Minty to her work and walked next door, so to speak, to tank no.18, or as she knew the Company had begun to call it, “The Burned Tank”. They had never been able to spare time or energy to clean their tanks, so even now, the turret and upper hull was scorched black from the incendiary that had badly burned the commander in that ambush that fortuitously delivered these tanks into Summer’s hooves. Not that the event had been a good thing, of course; after all, these thr- no, two tanks were the last survivors of three whole squads of Equestrian tanks.

The tank was commanded by Selvage Seam, a former textile worker and enlisted loader unofficially promoted to tank commander. Out of the four survivors of her crew, she was the most easily spared from her original station. Summer rather liked her; she was a sharp commander who got along with everypony, and she followed orders without question. Over the last hellish days, she had come to effectively be Summer’s right-hoof mare.

Selvage Seam herself was a mauve middle-aged mare with portly sides and a greying cerulean mane that hung in loopy curls around her neck. If Summer had thought Turnip’s accent said, “groundskeeper”, then Selvage’s accent positively screamed it. Maybe that was another reason Summer liked her; the pony reminded her of home. Her cutie mark was a bolt of red fabric with a ragged edge run through with a needle followed by several curling loops of thread. It was a curious thing; before the last week-and-some, Summer had never thought there could be this many ways to speak Celestia’s own ponish in all of Equestria.

“Good morning, Sergeant Seam,” Summer greeted, approaching the circle of ponies eating their morning meal on the other side of the tank. Porridge again.

“Oh, top o’ the morning, Sergeant Meadows!” Selvage said. She gestured at the pot sitting between the circle with a friendly smile. “Can I offer ya some? Bobby here found some cinnamon!”

Bobby, a reedy cocoa-colored colt with acne issues, flushed and looked down at his hooves at Summer’s attention.

“No, thank you, sergeant,” Summer politely declined. She made a point to refer to her subordinates in her tank squad as the rank they should be, not the rank they technically were, and she felt that they appreciated the effort. Unfortunately, though, no one called her “lieutenant”. It was just as well; that rank had been rightfully stripped from her. “I already ate with my crew. I’d just like to speak with you a moment, if you have time.”

Selvage took the hint, set her food down, and rose, nodding. “Right y’are. Are ya going to be wanting Rosebud in on this too?”

Summer suppressed a smile. That was another thing she liked about this mare; more often than not, she knew what Summer wanted of her without needing it explained.

“Yes, please, sergeant,” Summer replied. “Let’s go.”

They crossed to the other tank left in the squad only to learn the unpleasant news from the crew that Rosebud was gone, off to look for food elsewhere.

Summer grimaced and turned to Selvage. “Well, I’m not going after her now. I had intended to give you your orders, and personally congratulate Rosebud for what she did last night, but alas.”

“Would those orders happen ta be about fixin’ our tanks?”

“Yes, yes, what else would they be,” Summer sighed and closed her eyes, realizing how transparent she must seem. “I realize we all need some rest after the week we’ve had, but we’re the only tanks in the area. We need to be ready. You understand.”

Selvage understood.

“Well,” Summer said. “There’s more. See about finding some alcohol.” Soldiers liked that stuff, right? “We’ll distribute some tonight. And find out if anyone from tank no.7 survived last night. I should like for us to organize a feast, or, you know, a celebratory dinner of sorts, for the crew, but the work takes priority, and we may not be able to spare a hoof. Hmm…”

Selvage waited politely for Summer to organize her thoughts.

“I’ll help, of course, when I can,” Summer continued. “The last thing for now is for you to track down Rosebud and tell her how thankful I am for her assistance last night, and congratulations on her first two kills. I would do it myself, but… oh, right on time.”

She turned to meet an approaching orange-coated unicorn stallion. “Ah, there you are,” she said, forestalling whatever it was he was about to say. “Mister Marmalade, was it?”

The stallion gave her a carefully flat expression and began again. “Specialist Orange Marmalade, sir. Captain Havoc sent me. He requests your presence in his tent at your earliest convenience.”

“I see,” Summer replied shortly. “Lead on, Specialist. Selvage, you have your instructions.”

Marmalade led her around Captain Havoc’s tank to a curious tent pitched a few meters away from it. It was a relatively small, peaked thing, completely hidden behind the bulk of his huge square machine. It would have given the impression of being tucked into a peaceful corner, if it weren’t for the generator the cooks used running right next to it where it butted up against their area of the camp. Marmalade pulled the long triangular tentflap aside just enough to peek his head in.

“Sergeant Meadows, sir,” he announced.

“Send her in,” came the brusque reply. It was the first time in a week Summer had heard the Captain’s voice.

The interior was nearly baking hot; the old space heater was set up on one wall of the circular tent. Inside the small space had been crammed a cot, a card table serving as a desk, another card table for a bedstand, and a stool. Multiple other stools were stacked next to the entrance, opposite the desk.

“Summer Meadows,” the Captain began, before she had a chance to announce herself to her superior. “You really need to stop coming to my tent under the most unusual of circumstances.” The Captain himself was lying on his cot with his forehooves behind his head, one leg propped over the other in an attitude of lackadaisical repose. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips, and his glittering blue eyes glanced over under the brim of his cap to watch her enter.

“I met with one of your commanders earlier, a certain Sergeant Rosebud,” he continued. Summer didn’t react; she’d expected this since she heard where Rosebud had left to. “She tells me you’ve been acting in the capacity of a captain these last six days. Directing the other tanks under your command, coordinating with other command elements, mingling with them. Stepping on my hooves.”

Summer felt she was wiser to his game, this time. She made a show of swallowing, and said, “There was no one else, Captain. I alone had the requisite qualifications.”

He barked a short, humorless laugh and looked skywards. “I’m sure you did. And I suppose now you expect to get your own squad for what you pulled off, eh?”

“I serve the princesses’ will,” Summer said with a modest dip of her head.

“Well, Sergeant Meadows, I’ve got some news for you…”

Summer waited patiently in silence, confident that no fault could be found in her actions.

“You’re going to get that squad.”

“Really, sir?” Summer couldn’t help herself from blurting out. She had been prepared to fight tooth and hoof for her newfound subordinates. She’d grown rather attached to them. Shame about Harvest; he’d been a good pony.

Havoc continued, heedless of her question. “After what Major Grapevine pulled last night, well. Higher-ups are mighty interested in the situation, and we got back a bunch of replies earlier, at first light. Funny how that goes, eh?”

He put the cigarette on the card table that wasn’t covered in papers and rolled off the cot onto his hooves. None of their previous encounters had driven home just how much bigger than her Havoc was until she found herself sharing a small teepee with him.

“We’re talking propaganda films, press interviews, military commendations. Princess Luna, in her acting capacity as Supreme Field Marshal, is going to personally issue medals to the commanders of the force that returned intact to Equestrian lines. Major Grapevine, the hero of the hour, named you as one of them. I threw in my word, too, for what it’s worth.”

Summer was positively floored. It was a conscious effort to keep her jaw from hanging slack in amazement. Her head spun, and it wasn’t because of the heat of the tent.

“And that’s not all,” Havoc continued, with a wicked grin. “I’m going to need to rebuild D Company from the ground up, mostly. There’s a lot of reorganization going on all over the front as we try and recover from this bloody nose the Empire has given us. I’m going to need to put together new platoons. New tank squads, you know. And you’re standing right here.”

Summer’s mouth finally opened, gasping like a fish. The Captain’s grin got wider and more sharp-edged. He was clearly enjoying this.

“Sweet Tooth and all his ponies are still around, and on their way here. Coward broke and ran when it happened. Maybe he took that speech I gave him about preserving our armored strength to heart, eh? The other platoons did their jobs, and are still MIA. But here you are, with the remnants of another destroyed unit in tow! So, yes, you’re getting your own squad. In fact, just before you got here I sent off a request to promote you to a rank more suitable for the position. Shall we say… Second Lieutenant?”

He brushed past her and knocked into the stacked stools, causing one to flip off the top and land on its feet. Walking around his desk, he took a seat on the stool there and gestured to the one on the ground opposite. Summer sat heavily.

She sat speechless for a long moment until she realized he was expecting a response. “I… don’t know what to say,” Summer confessed honestly.

“Take your time,” Captain Havoc said. “Oh, by the way, those enlisted ponies who you’ve been calling sergeants are to be raised to the rank appropriate their station as well. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’ll see it done.”

“…Why?”

“I thought I already explained all that…” Havoc said, closing his eyes and laying a hoof over the bridge of his muzzle. “Do I really need to lay out for you how impressive Major Grapvine’s, and therefore your, achievement looks in light of the current state of the war?”

“When you put it like that, sir, no, you don’t,” Summer said quietly. “But I’d still like to ask – what happens now?”

“You mean, besides everything I just told you?” Havoc asked, rubbing his chin. “We’re remaining on station here until reinforcements can be found to prop up this area of the front. New tanks are arriving in a week, but those aren’t considered reinforcements, and the crews will be green as the machines. Two weeks from now is the medal-bestowing ceremony in Canterlot. And after the reinforcements are here, you and everypony who returned with Grapevine get two weeks of leave. Enjoy them, because I doubt you’ll get any more until the war ends, unless you somehow manage to pull off another spectacular feat.”

Summer sat a moment, trying to absorb everything she’d been told. A thought occurred to her. “Why did you tell me all this?”

“You mean besides the need-to-know stuff?” Havoc replied. “You look like a mare that appreciates knowing what’s going on. By the way, how would you like to have one of my command tanks for yourself? The other one lost a track when the Empire attacked HQ over yonder and we had to leave it, but we’ve still got one, and I get the feeling you could put it to good use.”

Summer considered, and Havoc let her to it, lighting a different cigarette with the electric space heater. He was probably referring to that slope-fronted brick of a machine outside, the one next to his own. It did look like a very capable machine, but then wouldn’t she be putting the commander of it out some? And it didn’t really like her…

“I’d like to keep my own tank, please,” she answered. Besides, the Ranger probably wouldn’t like it if she abandoned him the moment she got the option to choose something better. “But I’d like a better radio set. The short range of the standard one caused some communication problems last night. I was not aware of the enemy tanks that had destroyed tank no.7 until it was too late.”

“Done.” Havoc tapped the table with a forehoof. “Now go and get some damn sleep. You’re no good to anyone looking like that.” He looked at her down his muzzle and wrinkled it meaningfully. “And take a bath. You smell like you haven’t washed in a week.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Summer stood carefully and stumbled her way out of the tent. Outside, she paused and tried to remember where her tent was. Nothing around her seemed real; nothing approached her senses as something worthy of notice. She shook her head furiously. It did nothing to bring her clarity, the way it usually did. This must be how pegasi feel when they walk on clouds, she thought, as she drifted around Havoc’s tank and towards her tent where it sat before her own.

Someone was trying to get her attention. It was Minty, who had procured a cigarette since Summer had left. That was odd; Summer hadn’t seen her smoking all day yesterday. Whyever had she started again?

“See to it, Corporal,” she said, with a faraway, detached manner. She brushed past the forest-green mare and into her tent, ignoring the curious look Minty was giving her. Nothing was in there except her pack, which somepony must have moved there, because she certainly hadn’t. Oh, well, the Captain had ordered her to rest. She lay down in the dirt, using the pack as a makeshift pillow, and tried to sleep.

Sleep proved impossible for her. Summer lay awake for many hours, listening to the sounds of the work progressing on the machines outside, turning over what she’d learned in her head endlessly. At some point, she thought she heard Turnip’s voice outside, but she didn’t pay it any more mind than she did the other voices, and it left just a few minutes after it arrived. Eventually, she pushed herself to her hooves again. If she couldn’t sleep, at least she could see about getting cleaned up and presentable.

Lieutenant Summer Meadows; she giggled a little at the thought. Where before, the sound of it had been vaguely grating to her ears, now, it rang sweetly, like a little silver bell. Just wait ‘til she wrote her brother about this.

/-/-/-|=|---\

Captain Cry Havoc sat at his desk for a while after the unicorn’s pink tail left the tent, thinking. Summer Meadows was turning out to be quite possibly the best unicorn mare to ever walk into his life, and as a higher-ranking officer, there had been a few of them over the years.

She’d asked why; why tell her what he had, why pull strings to help both her and her underlings’ careers. Why, indeed. The truth was, Summer could do an awful lot for Havoc’s career, too, she just didn’t seem to know it.

Helping her was a feather in his cap with her family, who were, as he understood, one of the richest and most influential families on the eastern coast. And he now had in his unit, under his command, one of the ponies that had made Major Grapevine’s little adventure a success, which looked very good to the higher-ups. More directly, and more relevant to the war – since, after all, political gains meant very little if the country was destroyed in the meanwhile – He needed good, driven, and above all, able ponies in his unit. Ponies of merit.

Captain Havoc was a strong believer in merit. He considered himself a practical stallion, and he himself, one of the very few earth pony Captains in the entire equestrian military, could never have got where he was without being very good at what he did. If he hadn’t had merit, he wouldn’t be here, and that should go for everypony else, too. There was more to it than just being good at it, of course; he knew well that war was but one of the games the army played.

Speaking of merit, that cowardly snake Sweet Tooth would have to be demoted. Summer could have his place; maybe he could even be placed under her command. Maybe some of that brash risk-taking would rub off on that stallion. Yes, Havoc, thought, leaning back with his hooves behind his head, that would do nicely.

Yes, if only all ponies could be like Summer: capable, patriotic to a fault, willful enough to make the right play, against orders if need be when it mattered, intelligent enough to discern what that play should be, and obedient when it really mattered. Then the war would be over by now for sure. Come to it, it would have been over before it really began. Havoc chuckled and shook his head.

His thoughts turned, naturally, to the state of the war, and his face darkened again. He’d heard that the front had collapsed everywhere, all along the line. Everything was chaos, except possibly in places like here, where they had a nice little steep-banked and deep-running river, a lesser tributary of that big one to the north, to keep the enemy off. Havoc had heard that reserve forces were being committed to try and halt the tide, but he had very little confidence in that. And news of militias – militias! Showing up to stand against the Crystal soldiers. He could have laughed, if it wasn’t his own countryponies being killed. He might have still, if this had been happening in New Mareland and not the mother country.

Well, it had happened in New Mareland. Last he heard, the griffons had annexed the place when the colonial troops were all withdrawn to the mother country. But New Mareland didn’t really matter, and the crown agreed with him. Let them fend for themselves.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the tabletop along with the thought that his beloved country would not exist by that time next month. He had to look up and have hope. There would be a big move back as the Supreme Field Marshal tried to stabilize the lines, he was sure, but then they would really give the Crystal Empire what-for. When thrown onto the ropes, you just bounced back harder, right?

It had better happen soon, though. There wasn’t much heartland left to retreat into before they would hit the Canterlot parallel.

“Marmalade!” he called.

“Yes, sir?” his ever-helpful aide answered, appearing in the tentflap.

Havoc rose and swept past the orange unicorn. “Let’s go to the officer’s mess. I need a stiff drink.”

“This early in the morning, sir?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And after that, I need you to send some letters to general staff about this promotion business.”

“Yes, sir.”

Author's Note

This is the first short little story I wrote after finishing the third arc; I just had so many ideas for fun little scenes that I couldn't ever do in the main narrative the way it's constructed.
Because they are directly related to and important for the main narrative, and told from the perspectives of our main characters, and are meant to fit squarely into the main continuity, I felt they would be best placed as chapters in the story, rather than placed in secondary stories where they might be missed.

This is also a "please, guys, I'm not dead, I swear" chapter. Really I just don't like leaving everypony hanging for moons on end while I work on the next parts of the story.

Well, anyway, I hope you liked it. Watch for the second one next month.