Blind idealism will always get you into trouble. Nurse Redheart finds this out the hard way, and struggles to resume a normal life after coming home from war.
In the Year 996 of the Reign of Celestia. Thirteen Equestrian ponies volunteer for service in the International Brigade. Fighting in the far of land of Espanya, as civil war rips their nation apart. The International Brigade fights the good fight, to prevent the destruction of these strangers way of life, as helping others is simply the Equestrian way.
Only three return.
Nurse Redheart, one of the Thirteen Equestrian Volunteers, now struggles to cope with her life as it happens. Struggling with the memory of those long and terrible five years of her life.
The rumbling of engines drowned out all other noise of the cold morning, the sun has only just risen over the landscape as tracked vehicles rolled over the hill. It was in their sights, the town of Zevilla.
A disembodied voice crackled to life over the radio. All Kampfpanzers report status, came the thickly accented voice of the unit commander.
Prospekt Six standing by. Called another voice.
Prospekt Three standing by… said another.
This was it, this was the moment that they’d all been training for, and every bit of experience in combat was culminating in this event. It was nerve wracking to say the least, and terrifying to say the most. Zevilla… This was what they had been waiting for.
The earth pony mare fumbled with her headset and pushed the button on the radio to speak, having waited for the other members of the armoured platoon to finish reporting in before finally speaking aloud. ‘Prospekt Five… standing by.’
This wasn’t what she had signed up for. No, not anywhere close, she was in the middle of a war. To be sure, but she had not expected to do any fighting—No, she had signed up to treat those wounded on the field of battle. Funny how things worked out, and now she of all ponies, one who abhorred violence above all else, who had sworn to do no harm at one point in her life was now sitting in the commander’s seat of a PT-26 Light Infantry tank.
How had Nurse Redheart’s life come to this? That was a long and complicated story. Nevertheless, now was not the time to dwell on it, even as she looked down at her trembling white hooves, still wondering how she had ended up in this position. She was scared, not a single member of the platoon wasn’t—except maybe their leader, Redheart was sure that he’d never been afraid of anything in his life.
We are about to reach their first defensive line. Load high explosive! Watch for enemy Paks! the thickly accented voice called out.
That was him. Dietrich Olbrich, their fearless leader. Redheart didn’t know much about him, at least not on a personal level, but she would follow him into combat any day of any year.
Unlike almost everyone else in their unit, Dietrich Olbrich was not a pony; instead, he was of a race of Dire Wolf like creatures, called Schäferhund.
Dietrich, or as he was usually called, but rarely to his face, Dieter, was the odd one out. A contradiction in terms. Because as far as his own countrymen were concerned, he was on the wrong side. He was a communist.
Redheart didn’t care about that in the least bit, but for a Schäferhund, that made you worse than the devil. It was at odds with everything his people stood for. The Schäferhund, of Bundesrepublik Schäferhund, were highly nationalistic. Devoted to their fascist regime as if it was their life blood.
Which, as Dieter had once explained to her, it was. Schäferhund thought nothing of valiantly sacrificing themselves for the good of the state. Without the state, they were nothing. If it came down to it, a Schäferhund would martyr himself selflessly, and without hesitation, if it was for the good of their Bundesrepublik.
That of course, didn’t mean that they needlessly threw themselves away. No, quite the opposite. They were well trained, more organised, and far a better equipped fighting force than any other on the planet. Save perhaps, the Præsidium’s Red Army.
She peered into the periscope and spotted Dieter’s tank driving forward, several metres in front of hers. The PT-26 Light Infantry Tank wasn’t pretty; in fact, it was pretty much an ugly flat box with a rounded turret on top. An unimaginative design from the mind of some nameless engineer in the Præsidium, but just like everything else produced in the Præsidium, it got the job done well enough.
They’d gotten closer to the target, and she spotted them, a flash. The unmistakable flash of an anti-tank gun, Redheart could only watch helplessly as a 3.7 centimetre shell from the gun struck Prospekt Four squarely in the turret, punching right through the armour. Prospekt Four slowed, and smoke began to billow out of the hole blown in the turret.
Redheart grimaced, and keyed in the radio. ‘Valkov? You alright over there?’ she asked.
No response.
Prospekt Four continued to roll forward, but had slowed significantly, it was falling behind out of formation with the rest of the group. Redheart frowned. Despite the fact that Prospekt Four was still moving, it was clear that its crew was gone. The PT-26’s transmission was designed in such a way, that even if the driver’s hoof was off the gas pedal, the tank would still move forward, so long as it was still in gear.
A second shot from the anti-tank gun clipped the inside drive wheel of Prospekt Four, shattering the roadwheel, and causing the tank to lurch to a halt. Redheart rotated the periscope to look, and watched as the turret began to rotate, making a full revolution every ten seconds. The shock of the hit must have caused Valkov to fall against the controls.
Redheart turned the periscope back forward. It was at this point, she saw them, a line of the Schäferhund Pak 37s that they hadn’t even bothered to hide any more. They opened fire in succession. Redheart watched in horror as the shell from one of them flew straight towards her own Prospekt Five, and slammed right into the turret.
The Thirteen One
It was morning, the alarm clock sprung to life as the hammer began to swing wildly back and forth between the two bells. The clock rattled around on the bedside table for a few moments before falling onto the floor with a clang.
Either way, the clock’s job was done, its intended target now lie fully awake, looking up at the ceiling from her spot on the bed. Nurse Redheart let out a quiet sigh as she slipped from her bed, letting out a yawn and placing her hooves on the mahogany floorboards. She bent over and picked the alarm clock up with her teeth and placed it back on the bedside table, turning it around and resting her chin on it before reaching up with a hoof and depressing on the winding key on the back. One turn, two turns, three turns, done, the alarm clock would wake her tomorrow at the same time, five o’clock.
She shook her head, sighing profusely at the strands of bright pink hair that dangled in front of her eyes. She shook her head again, but it was only making it worse. She let out a low growl before brushing the hairs aside. Some good it would do; her mane was a monster in the mornings.
She'd slept poorly that previous night. As she had for the past several nights. The nightmares, again plagued her, as they did from time to time.
She glanced around her bedroom. The room was fairly plain, sterile white walls on all sides of her, the mahogany floorboards below her, the simple night stand beside her bed, this was the bedroom of somepony that, from the perspective of an outsider looking in, was either poor, or boring. Most would have picked the first option, were it not for the centre piece of the room, the bed itself. The bed was quite large and excessive for a room that was otherwise so plain.
Boring, however, was also the incorrect judgement for the room’s owner. The fact of the matter was that this room was only rarely used, so what was the point of having such lavish decorations for something that was only going to be used once in a blue moon?
The exception was the bed; it was lavish for a reason. Its owner was subject to quite a bit of stress, and even though the room was only going to be used every once in a while, she wanted to make sure that when she did that she did not have to worry about not being comfortable.
She turned and walked out of the room and in to the washroom turning on the water at the sink, filling the basin before reaching in with a hoof and splashing icy cold water on her face. Nurse Redheart looked into the mirror, only her ice blue eyes looking back at her. She moved over to the shower and turned the water on. She immediately stepped in, as a rush of cold water doused her. Some would have waited for the water to warm up a bit before stepping in. There wasn’t much of a point thanks to the fact that her water heater’s pilot light had decided it didn’t want to work anymore one week prior. Redheart was rarely ever at her house except to sleep, so she had simply not gotten around to getting it fixed yet.
If anything though, it was an encouragement to finish quickly.
Quickly washing herself up, she turned off the water and shivered in the open air as she stepped from the shower, grabbing a towel and tossing it around herself, rubbing herself down to dry off before hanging the towel back up. She stepped back in front of the mirror and reached with her mouth to grab an oversized comb commonly utilised by earth ponies to brush their manes. She slowly ran the comb through her mane a few times before using it to aid her in tying her mane up in a neat bun. She looked into the mirror, and frowned at what she saw looking back at her. A tired looking, pale grey earth pony mare who should, under ordinary circumstances, be refreshed and ready to start her day.
She trotted back into the bedroom, and glanced at the bed. Despite its lavish comfort, it didn’t help. She opened her bedside table and pulled out her nurse’s cap, and placed it on her head, before turning around and trotting down stairs and into her kitchen.
The rest of Redheart’s home was just as plain and simple as her bedroom. She rarely entertained guests, or even used the other rooms in her house. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone down into the basement, or used the dining room. She moved quietly throughout her own home as she walked into the living room and let out a yawn as she walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was one of those with an individual page for each day. She reached out with her teeth and took hold of the top page, and gently pulled it off, discarding the old day’s page for later recycling, and took a look at the current date. December 16th, Year 1001 of the Reign of Celestia.
Redheart’s ears drooped. Could it truly have been that long already?
She let out a sigh and stepped towards the front door, slipping on a set of snow boots, tossing a simple red scarf around her neck, and adopting a pair of earmuffs before stepping outside into the cold winter air.
The sun had yet to rise in Ponyville, but it wouldn’t be too much longer at this point. Redheart walked along the road towards Ponyville’s clinic. She glanced over to her left as she walked past the construction site of the new South and West Canterlot Province General Hospital. The work was coming along quite nicely, and Redheart figured it wouldn’t be too long before it was time to shut down that stuffy old clinic for the new hospital.
Redheart sighed quietly as she turned away from the site and continued to walk along the road towards the clinic.
Ponyville had been quite the last couple of weeks, and that was certainly a welcome change. The town’s biggest troublemakers, Twilight Sparkle and her friends, were off on some hiking trip far to the north. They could stay there for all Redheart cared.
No, that was mean. It wasn’t that Redheart disliked any of them; it just seemed that when Twilight Sparkle and her friends were off doing something around town, some crisis wasn’t far behind. Redheart had seen some insanity in her life, plenty of it, and she wasn’t particularly willing for any more.
Although, she did suppose that whenever something insane did happen around here, Twilight Sparkle and company were quick to clean up after it. She didn’t even want to think about Discord again.
Honestly though? Compared with what she had seen in her life, Discord had been nothing. Redheart closed her eyes as she walked along. There was something to be said about silence in the cold winter’s morning.
Suddenly, a crack rang out, Redheart’s eyes shot open and she immediately took a dive on the ground.
‘Sharpshooter!’ she cried out and quickly crawled around on the ground before taking cover behind a building. She was breathing heavily, her heart racing, it was a terrible feeling that she was all too familiar with. She glanced around the corner, taking care to not expose herself too much as she glanced around, looking at rooftops and windows, hoping to spot any glint of light as the sun began to rise.
It took her a few moments before she realised where she was. Redheart began to calm herself. The fact of the matter was, that there wasn’t anything actually threatening her. She let out a frown, the more she thought about the sound she had heard, the more she realised that it was most likely the sound of somepony else doing something in the early hours, possibly dropping a ceramic pot or… something.
Redheart felt silly, but the fact of the matter was, old habits die hard. She placed her hoof on the wall of the building she’d taken cover behind, and took a deep breath. Five years, five years had already gone by since that fateful day when Redheart became swept up in a conflict that should not have been the concern of anypony in Equestria.
She brought herself to her hooves and continued her walk through the quiet streets of Ponyville. She glanced around to see if anypony had noticed her making a fool of herself, to her relief, there was no one to be found.
…
Redheart made it to the clinic a short time later, fortunately not having made a further fool of herself. Her early morning walk in the cold December air meant that there had been no witnesses to her foolishness. Everyone sane was still at home, in bed, curled up under the warm covers.
She entered, quietly, and nodded at the night nurse as they were walking out. Redheart was embarrassed to admit, that she did not know the night nurse’s name. She’d been working at the clinic since before Redheart had come back from the War two years ago, but still, Redheart did not know her name, and it would be simply too awkward at this point to try and find out.
To admit, after all this time that she didn’t actually know anything about her co-worker was far too embarrassing, and worse still, it was downright socially unacceptable in Equestrian society. You might not be friends with your co-workers. Or even know them very well, but you should at least have the decency to know who they are. To know their name.
That was another side effect. Redheart didn’t want to get to know anyone new, for fear that once she did get to know them they’d just end up getting killed.
Preposterous, of course, in Equestria, but as she’d always said, Old habits, they die hard.
Redheart could barely remember the circumstances that had lead up to her getting involved in the Espanya Civil War. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She knew perfectly well how she’d gotten wrapped up in it. Blind idealism. When Dietrich Olbrich had showed up in the summer of 996, looking for volunteers, Redheart had been dumb enough to let him talk her into it, that she would be caring for the injured.
Well. Dieter had never lied, in that regard, but he didn’t tell the whole truth either, and that was what had changed her life forever.
Redheart had been fresh from Nursing School in the Summer of 996. She’d graduated with honours from the University of Canterlot’s Helping Heart Nursing School. She’d even been in the top 10 per cent of her class. That was unheard of for an earth pony like her.
Those in the medical field were all almost exclusively unicorns, or, so they had been traditionally. In practise, this was becoming less and less true with each passing day.
Surgeons were exclusively unicorns, because the need for a greater amount of dexterity than other fields, but now, there were plenty of doctors and nurses in other fields that were members of the other races.
Redheart had always been proud of her accomplishments, and with getting a job at Doctor Nightly’s clinic in Ponyville. Ponyville was her home, it might have been an unassuming little hamlet before Twilight Sparkle the trouble magnet showed up and ruined that, but in the Summer of 996, it was the perfectly quaint little town that Redheart loved.
Of course, with that in mind, it left the clinic with very little that actually needed doing. Oh sure, the foals would get their normal bumps and bruises, and the occasional cold. Hell, the most serious thing to ever happen was the time that Alley Way had broken her leg and spent a whole summer in bed while it healed.
Now, of course, that boredom from a lack of anything serious happening was what had gotten Redheart into trouble. Her overwhelming desire to help those in need was exactly what Dieter was looking to exploit. The International Brigades were desperate for recruits at that point, and someone as young, and stupid, and idealistic as she had been being just the kind of person that Dieter needed to find. There wasn’t anything inherently malicious about it, but the hispà ponies in Espanya were desperate. They needed them, and that was that.
That was how she had found herself at the Port of Fillydelphia, her nose buried deep in the map of the port as she attempted to navigate herself to the proper berth.
Berth sixteen, she had to find her way to berth sixteen. Waiting there should be a ship that would take them across the Eastern Ocean to Espanya. A ship called a Destroyer, she remembered Dieter saying.
The Jaime so it was to be called.
Redheart looked up from her map, and ran headlong into another pony. She cursed herself for not paying better attention. She dropped the map, and the wind caught it, sending it flying. She looked back at it, frowning as it went over the edge of the dock, only to stop in mid-air as a ruby red telekinetic field enveloped it. The map folded itself back up, and floated its way back over to Redheart. She grabbed it, turning her eyes forward to the pony she had run into.
The mare before her was a unicorn, her coat in this light looked to be bright white, but as Redheart looked closer, she determined it was actually quite a pale yellow. The palest it could be and might as well have been white to the average observer, with her mane a two tone electric blue and turquoise, done up with a spikey look. She looked at Redheart with the dumbest grin on her face, and bright ruby red eyes. ‘Drop something did you?’ she asked as she let the map go from her telekinetic grip.
‘Ah, thank you miss—?’ Redheart began to say.
‘Vinyl Scratch,’ the mare said simply, offering a hoof to shake. Redheart took it and shook back.
Had she known how much trouble this mare was later going to get her into, she might not have accepted it, or worse, pushed her into the bay.
‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Redheart said with a smile. ‘You wouldn’t by chance happen to know where berth sixteen is, do you?’
Vinyl Scratch merely grinned at her. Redheart would later come to learn that this grin could never mean anything good. Which was unfortunate, because this was very much Vinyl Scratch’s default look. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’m on my way there right now.’
Redheart looked surprised, taken aback by her response. She had not thought she was going to actually run into another volunteer. Dieter had explained that the Espanya needed help, and that had brought the attention of quite a number of ponies, but when he explained exactly what was going on, it turned most of them off. Equestrians, by nature, abhorred violence. Dieter had only gotten Redheart to agree when he suggested that she could be put to work as a medic. (Which, at the time, he had failed to mention, would mean that she was in the thick of violence, and would have to inflict some violence of her own if it meant staying alive.)
‘You?’ Redheart asked. The look of surprise on her face more than evident. The mare couldn’t be any older than twenty.
Vinyl chuckled and nodded her head. ‘Me. Surprised?’ she asked.
Redheart nodded her head, though it was clear that Vinyl’s question had been rhetorical. The look of surprise on her face couldn’t have been anything less than obvious. ‘I didn’t expect anyone would have been able to get over the violent aspect of what we’re being asked to do.’
‘Eh, I think you’d be surprised of what a pony can do when they’re given the proper motivation,’ Vinyl said with a grin.
That should have been a red flag. Vinyl had said it so casually; it had gone over Redheart’s head at that point. She was a trained nurse, top of her class at the college of nursing. She should have had some warning for just how unstable Vinyl Scratch was. She wouldn’t have figured it out properly though, until much, much later.
The two eventually made their way to berth sixteen. Vinyl had expertly lead the way to the berth.
The Jaime had not quite been what Redheart had been expecting of a ship.
The Jaime was roughly a hundred metres long, and was built of riveted steel. This surprised Redheart, every ship she had ever seen, air or sea, and been timbered. Usually driven by sail, or large paddle wheels. The Jaime had neither. Redheart would later learn much about their transportation.
The Jaime was a ship of the Churruca y Elorza-class, so she had been told, and was exactly one hundred and ten metres long, exactly three metres and thirty centimetres tall, and three metres and thirty centimetres wide. Apparently, such precision had been lauded at the ship’s time of construction. Or so, at least it was, according to the one crew member Redheart had meet who happened to speak Equestrian, and was, apparently, well-armed for a ship of her size, with five single mounted 12 centimetre guns, and two centre mounted 53.3-centimetre torpedo tubes with triple mounts, and could do a maximum of 67 kilometres an hour.
Though at her standard cruising speed, 26 kilometres an hour, which they would be making their crossing at, they were looking at an eight-day trip across the Eastern Ocean. She would certainly be getting to know everyone pretty well. Some were pleasant, some she preferred to stay away from.
And then there was Vinyl Scratch. Of whom, Redheart determined to be absolutely insane by the end of their first day at sea.
It was, of course, on that first day at sea where Redheart had met the other members of their Brigade. Of course, they were hardly a brigade, as they were only thirteen in number. Redheart didn’t know exactly what this made them, but in name they were still titled the XIII International Brigade/Equestria, or less formally. ‘The Lucky Thirteen.’
It had proved to be terribly ironic, because the Brigade had not been named the XIIIth in the expectation that only thirteen volunteers actually showed up. (Redheart later learned that Dieter had gotten quite the chewing out for coming back with so few of them, but Redheart and the others all knew that Dieter had done the best he could. The likelihood of getting any more had been exceedingly low. Dieter had even spent a month longer than he was supposed to in Equestria and managed to only get one recruit in that time. Redheart herself.)
Redheart had taken a seat in the ship’s mess. It was playing host to the new brigade, allowing them all to meet.
There was, of course, Vinyl Scratch. Redheart had attempted to ask her what brought her into the Brigade, but Vinyl had repeatedly dodged the question. It didn’t take her too long to figure out that Vinyl was simply not going to tell her, and did not push further.
The second of their number, was Lily, a bubble gum pink earth pony with a blond mane and tail with three daylilies as a cutie mark. She’d been a florist from a little town from the north called Meadows Glen, and had been moved by Dieter’s skill at oratory. She wasn’t particularly bright, but what she lacked in sense. She made up for with mettle.
The third was Valkov, he was a grey coated earth pony with a black mane and cropped short tail. Sporting a cutie mark of a bottle rocket. He made fireworks, which, translated directly into a skill with explosives. He was quite the thrower, and could throw a grenade with otherworldly precision.
The fourth was Winterfel, a snow white unicorn mare from the north, sporting an icy blue mane with short curls. She hated summer weather, and it wasn’t clear if anyone had let her know that Espanya was temperate all year-round. Nevertheless, she had never once complained, even when it was clear she was uncomfortable.
Their fifth member was a bright orange pegasus pony by the name of Fireblast, with a swept back ginger mane. He was a show-off, a braggart, and a compulsive liar. Redheart had taken an immediate dislike to him. He'd joined up because no one in Equestria could stand to be around him. She couldn’t imagine why.
Their sixth member was a demure unicorn mare, the youngest of the group, dark blue mane and tail, matched against a light blue coat with a single water drop for a cutie mark. Misty, the quietest of the bunch, rarely spoke with more than a few words. She had admitted to Redheart that she was afraid of being outside, and around others, and had considered herself a waste of space at home. She’d joined up to make herself useful, and get over her uselessness, hoping that the experience would let her become a productive member of society.
The seventh was a grey earth pony mare, who could have easily been mistaken for Valkov if you weren’t paying attention. Dusty was another pony that Redheart was determined to avoid. She was extreme in her negativity, with an antisocial personality. Vinyl Scratch may have been a nut case, but Dusty was downright malevolent. She seemed to be into violence for the sake of it. Making her the most anti-Equestrian case Redheart had ever seen. This usually made for a bad soldier, but Dieter, of course, had been desperate.
Number eight was an amber red pegasus who didn’t talk to anypony. Though as it turned out, that wasn’t exactly his fault. The truth of the matter was; he didn’t talk because he couldn’t. Redheart discovered that he’d been born without a tongue. It did make for an awkward situation though, because of his lack of ability to speak, they were unable to learn his name. And so stuck to the, rather uninspired nickname, ‘Red.’
Nine, ten, and eleven, were a set of identical triplets. Each one canary yellow with a forest green mane and tail. They were unicorn mares whom Redheart could not for the life of her keep straight. They didn’t expect anypony to either, fortunately. Starlight, Starbright, and Moonlight’s parents had been expecting twins, and as such had to come up with a name for the third daughter, leaving Moonlight (Whichever one she was) having been arbitrarily picked for a name which didn’t quite match.
Number Twelve was the one Redheart knew the least. He was a grey coated Earth Pony, with an orange mane and short tail. With soft orange eyes and a friendly look on his face, was Monty Ulan. He was a kind enough pony, a bit mysterious. He claimed to be a trader from Fillydelphia, but was unable to recall any important details on the city. Though by this point, Redheart had come to expect that she wouldn’t get the exact truth out of everyone. In a way, they were all misfits, and she could hardly blame them for having pasts they wanted to avoid.
That of course, left number thirteen, Nurse Redheart herself. The end of their first day at sea had come, and they were pared up for their room assignments. She had gotten Vinyl Scratch.
‘Dibs on the top bunk,’ Vinyl said as she tossed her bag onto it with her telekinesis, and hopped up onto it. Redheart had not minded, of course, and let her have it. She set her own bag on her bunk and looked up at the mare.
‘So… I suppose we’re going to get to know each other quite well in these circumstances,’ Redheart had commented.
‘Yep,’ Vinyl said without any sort of commitment.
‘So… where are you from Vinyl?’ she asked. Hoping that the mare would open up a bit to her, despite her refusing to do so at dinner.
‘Eh, all over really,’ she said. ‘Don’t think I ever spent more than a year in one place as a foal. Pops was a deadbeat who couldn’t be bothered to stay sober long enough to hold a steady job. Mum was a moron who ignored it. One day, they decided to move again and I’d said no, that I wasn’t going to. I ran off, and spent the next several months on the streets of Manehattan, where they couldn’t find me. They didn’t even look for me, as it turned out.’
Redheart was taken aback by this. She couldn’t imagine anyone actually behaving in this manner. Abandoning their own child? That was monstrous. She’d had no idea that somepony could be so self-centred. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said after a few moments.
Vinyl merely wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s okay, it’s not like I’m bitter about it or anything.’
Vinyl was extremely bitter about it.
‘Is that why you joined up?’ Redheart asked, cautiously.
‘No,’ Vinyl said with a grumble. ‘I haven’t even thought about those assholes in years—not until you brought the subject up.’
Redheart had not brought the subject of Vinyl’s parents up, of course, but she figured that pointing this out was not likely to do her any good.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised at once.
Vinyl’s grin returned. ‘It’s alright. You’re just trying to be friendly, water under the bridge.’
As simply as that, it was almost as if Vinyl had completely forgotten that she’d been upset about recalling her foalhood. This warning sign was one Redheart did not ignore. Rapid changes in mood were never a good sign.
‘So, why did you join up?’ she asked.
‘Going to ask that again, are you?’ Vinyl said, her grin fading. ‘Fine. If you really want to know? I’ll tell you. I’m running away from my problems at home.’
‘By going to war?’ Redheart asked.
Vinyl grinned. ‘I never claimed to be a smart pony.’
———
‘Did you hear what I said? Nurse Redheart? Nurse Redheart!’
Redheart suddenly snapped to awareness, and found herself standing in the centre of the waiting room of Doctor Nightly’s clinic. She didn’t remember coming inside, she must have gotten lost in her thoughts and let her body run on autopilot. It had been a useful skill that she’d picked up during the War. Menial work, such as scrubbing the Jaime’s bulkheads, had been made simple by letting her shut off her conscious mind to it, and just letting herself do it while her mind was off in other places.
It occasionally happened here too, but almost never by choice, and usually never like this. She turned to look and found Doctor Nightly standing there, with a frown on his face. The unicorn stallion was looking back at her with his bright amber eyes, that almost seemed to glow in the low light of the waiting room. She could hardly see him, only his eyes popping out from his pitch black coat and mane. It was an unusual colouration for a pony, pitch black on pitch black. A recessive trait, he’d mentioned to her once.
‘I’m sorry Doctor, what was it that you needed me to do?’ she asked.
Doctor Nightly looked annoyed. Redheart figured he’d probably talked to her for several minutes before he realised that she wasn’t all there. Redheart looked sheepishly at him.
‘Please take these forms to the copyist. I need six of each made up,’ Doctor Nightly said shortly.
Redheart nodded and took the folder of forms. ‘I will get it taken care of,’ she said.
‘See that you do. Try not to take too long. Tenderheart is out today, so I’ll need you back to pick up the slack.’
Redheart nodded her head, wrapped her scarf back around her neck, despite not remembering ever taking it off, she had, and walked out the door back onto the cold streets of Ponyville.
Doctor Nightly’s words were empty, of course. She had no control over how fast the copyist worked, and Doctor Nightly knew it. He had just gotten annoyed when Redheart would get lost in her own little world. She could hardly blame him in that regard.
The cold air chilled her as she went outside. Ponies were out and about, having started their days. Redheart hardly noticed any of them. She was too busy checking the thatched roofs of Ponyville’s buildings, and any second story window for the unmistakable glint of light reflecting of a sharpshooter’s targeting goggles. She knew it was silly, she knew there weren’t any there, but she did it out of force of habit, and she rarely even realised that she was doing it. The only reason she’d become aware of it today was because of the dropped pot from earlier this morning, and choosing not to do it made her anxious.
It bothered her how much of a slave she’d become to her automatic habits, but the fact of the matter was, she didn’t have a clue what to do about them.
Her stomach gave her a low rumble. She had forgotten to eat breakfast; her day having been thrown off by that stupid dropped pot.
She could really go for a Sweet Apple Acres apple right about now. Which was unfortunate. They were out of season, and finding a fresh one would be—
———
—impossible.
Or so she had thought, but there he was. Monty Ulan, sitting in his bunk, quietly nibbling on an apple. She was shocked, to say the least. It looked fresh, it smelled fresh. It couldn’t be though; they were out of season.
Monty looked up, realising that Redheart was staring at him, and gave her a cautious smile. ‘Hello Nurse, is there something I can do for you?’ he asked.
‘That, is an apple,’ Redheart said. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘I brought it with me,’ Monty said simply. ‘There was this orchard in this quaint little town I passed through, Sweet Apple Acres, I believe—’
That was a lie. Redheart was from Ponyville, and she knew for a fact that he was eating an Ida Red apple. Apples of this cultivar were not available in Sweet Apple Acres until October. Ponyville existed on the apple trade, and even if you didn’t want to, just living in the town was enough to get to know more than you could ever want to about the fruit. There was no possible way for him to have that Apple.
Yet, he did.
‘You’re lying,’ Redheart accused him.
He was taken aback by her accusation. ‘I—’
‘I’m from Ponyville. Ponyville exists because of apples. Everything in Ponyville is about apples, that cultivar you’re eating? You can’t get it until October. It’s July,’ she explained. ‘It’s an apple though, why lie about it?’
Monty frowned at her and looked down at the apple. ‘Betrayed by an apple—I can hardly believe it.’
He rose to his hooves and looked at her. ‘Would you believe me if I told you this Apple is sixty years old?’
‘No,’ Redheart said simply. Impossible, apples couldn’t keep more than a few weeks. Years? That was insanity.
Or was it? Catching Monty for lying didn’t explain where the apple came from.
‘I could explain fully, but I doubt you’d believe me,’ Monty said.
‘You can try...’
———
She hated when that happened. A flash of a memory, brought about by sensations. Redheart stopped and shook her head. She needed to focus on her work. She gritted her teeth and went into the copyist’s shop, putting the memory behind her and put on a pleasant smile. The copyist was an old grey unicorn, who smiled at her as she came in.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
It had not been a good morning for her so far, but she smiled and agreed. ‘Good morning, I need six copies of each of these forms made up please,’ she said as she handed him the folder.
The old stallion looked over the papers and nodded. ‘Of course, Nurse, I’ll have them for you in a jiffy!’ he said and took them and immediately went to work.
It was a lie, of course. It had taken him an agonising four hours to make each up. Fortunately, as a unicorn he was able to make six copies at the same time, holding six quills, and six pieces of paper in the air as he copied each of the forms, line by line. Making copies was an art form. Making perfect replications of the writing, down to the signature was a drawn out process.
Redheart tried not to be impatient with him, but patience was lost to her as well. Of course, she could just slip back into an old memory, but she struggled to find one worth remembering.
The copyist finally finished, and handed Redheart the stack of forms. She gave him a fake smile, paying the normal rate, and made her way back to the clinic. Forgetting that she’d ever even been hungry at all.
Their crossing was mostly uneventful. Though, it did take a bit longer than expected. On the fourth day of their crossing, one of the Jaime’s crewmembers spotted torpedoes in the water, and fortunately, the destroyer had been able to take evasive manoeuvres to avoid them. The ship’s captain decided at that point it would be best to proceed forward with zig zag manoeuvres. This was supposed to make it harder for them to be attacked with torpedoes. Redheart wasn’t sure exactly how effective it was, either way, it was the only time they had come under attack on the trip over.
Well, there was one other time, a mistaken case of near friendly fire. Five hundred kilometres from the shore of the port of Viga, their destination, the Jaime came under fire from a Praesidium Heavy Cruiser, the Leninov, who had mistaken them for a Schäferhund destroyer. They’d only gotten one shot off before they realised their mistake, and fortunately, they’d missed.
Not by much though, Redheart had been on deck at the time, and the concussive blast from the shell exploding as it hit the water behind them had been enough to knock her off her hooves.
They were only to be in Viga a short time. It was here, along with two other brigades, that they went through a hurried training. It was a two-week muster course, that taught them how to shoot, and to quickly whip them into fighting shape.
Redheart had wondered about that, she wondered how exactly a pony could use a gun on first seeing one. She looked down at a rifle Dieter had put out for display.
It was a simple design, shaped like a long pole, with a large metal handle near the back, that was pulled back to cycle the weapon. Dieter gave them a demonstration on how the action worked, the bolt, as he called it, was pulled back, and the round ejected, and a new one from the internal magazine was pulled into place, ready to fire.
All well in good, though Redheart didn’t quite see how this could be of practical use. Not at first, at least.
Dieter, spotted her sceptical look at once. ‘Something on your mind? Nurse Redheart?’ he asked, a smirk appearing on his face.
‘Yes, how do we use it?’ she asked simply.
‘I am glad you asked. Seeing as you’ve asked, I shall use you to demonstrate,’ Dieter said with a grin.
The solution had been ingenious. Dieter had called it a Storm Harness, a sort of light weight metal frame, that when properly fastened, held a soldier’s entire compliment of weapons, and ammunition. Dieter helped Redheart into one, fastened in one of the rifles, and ten or so clips of ammunition. She had been so fascinated that she'd forgotten she'd signed up, not to fight, but to tend to the sick and injured.
Dieter dropped the pretence later that same day, and informed her that knowing how to use a weapon could be all the difference in maintaining her life. There would be circumstances where it would be her life, or the life of an enemy. This had made her uncomfortable, but she soon figured out it was simply a practical matter in the end. You killed those trying to kill you and your friends. They’d given up their right to life the moment they’d tried to take yours. (This wasn’t exactly the best outlook on life for a nurse to have. Redheart was still struggling to unlearn this one.)
The Storm Harness was quite impressive though. The frame had her rifle attached to her left flank, and she could adjust the exact direction it was pointing with a little control knob she turned with her teeth. Resting just below her chin was the firing control yoke. You could bring the gun to rest, and the gun to bear, by moving the yoke up or down. Generally, it was kept in the down position so as to not get in the way. To fire, you bit down on the yoke. To aim, there was a little cross hair that dropped down over her eye, allowing her to see where the rifle was pointing to, and allowing her to deliver shots accurately. To reload, you merely kicked your leg out to the side, and the reloading mechanism would slot a new clip into the rifle’s internal magazine. Inside the rifle, there was a little peg that stuck out when the magazine was full that blocked the reloading mechanism from sliding in a new clip accidentally. Redheart was impressed with the precision engineering that had come with the design and manufacture of the device.
Dieter smiled proudly. ‘It is of Schäferhund design,’ he said.
Dieter might be an exile, and an enemy of the current government, but it could not be said that he was not proud to be a Schäferhund.
The unicorns, of course, did not need to use them, and as a result did not. The unicorns of their Brigade, instead trained with specially modified rifles. Ones with buttstocks, external triggers, (Vinyl said it was easier to focus telekinesis on a piece on the outside of something, rather than on the internal trigger of a normal rifle, though not impossible,) and gunsights actually placed on the rifle itself.
The Espanya Sauser rifle utilised by Vinyl, and the standard model, as used by Redheart were considered to be the same weapon, though the only parts they had in common were the barrel, and the ammunition they used. The modified version could be used in a Storm Harness as well, though it was preferred not to, as it involved connecting several more moving parts compared to the standard model.
By the end of the day, Redheart had become a decently good shot, at least at unmoving targets that didn’t shoot back at her. She wasn’t sure how well she could handle moving targets that shot back yet.
Too next to no one’s surprise. Vinyl Scratch ended up being the best shot. She had just the right kind of crazy for everyone there to believe it.
She’d managed to bullseye a target at three hundred metres, on the first shot. This impressed Dieter.
‘Do you have any experience with fire arms? Miss Scratch?’ he asked as Vinyl blew steam off the barrel of her rifle.
‘Nope, my first time using one,’ she admitted. ‘It does feel natural though, using a gun—maybe in a past life I used one regularly,’ she said with a grin.
Dieter rolled his eyes at this, and sent them back to their practise.
———
Redheart sat quietly at her desk in Doctor Nightly’s clinic, staring down at her typewriter. Which, being made for earth ponies like her, took up an entire length of her L shaped desk. Doctor Nightly had gone out to lunch, and left her to man the clinic in case of any emergencies. They had no appointments on the books for today, so that left her for want of something to do.
Doctor Nightly had been waiting impatiently for her to return from the copyist, he instructed her to file the forms, and then headed off to lunch.
He didn’t mean to be a jerk. He was usually quite pleasant, but he was still annoyed with Redheart about what had happened this morning. She sighed, but disregarded it. Things would be fine between them tomorrow. Today was Friday, which, of course, meant that tomorrow was Saturday. Redheart was not looking forward to it. Saturdays and Sundays were her days off. Meaning too much time to be had with her own thoughts. The clinic’s day staff had a well-established schedule. Redheart off Saturday and Sunday. Doctor Nightly took Mondays and Tuesdays, and the other day shift nurse, Tenderheart, had off Thursday and Friday. Wednesday, usually their busiest day, had all three of them working.
Redheart didn’t mind the schedule, it worked for her, and Tenderheart didn’t mind working on the weekends, so it was fair enough.
Redheart closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She liked how quiet it was in the clinic, or at least she did until someone threw open the door.
‘Nurse Redheart!’ a young mare’s voice called out, causing Redheart to jump and let out a gasp of surprise. She hated being startled.
‘What!?’ she asked coarsely, looking annoyed at the young mare who just barged in.
It was Rose, one of Ponyville’s three florists. Why Ponyville needed three was something she had no idea about. Rose was taken aback by Redheart’s reaction to her, and stuttered her response. ‘They’re back,’ she said.
‘Who?’ Redheart asked, figuring she already knew the answer.
‘Twilight Sparkle, and her friends,’ Rose said simply.
Redheart gave her a grumpy look. ‘And? Are any of them injured?’
Rose blinked at her. ‘Um, no, it doesn’t look like it.’
Redheart rolled her eyes. ‘So why are you telling me?’
‘Um—’ Rose began, but Redheart rose a hoof and waved her off.
‘Go home Rose,’ she said simply and looked back down at her desk.
Rose departed without another word, the interaction left Redheart in a foul mood. She had nothing against Rose, she was just more upset about being startled than anything else, that and the bad news she bore. The relative tranquillity that Ponyville had had while Twilight Sparkle and her friends were on their northern trip at the edge of Equestria was sure to be over and done with now.
Doctor Nightly came back to the office a short time later, giving Redheart the opportunity to go have lunch. She was starving, she’d gotten distracted twice this morning and it had messed up her rhythm.
Redheart sighed as she stopped by, popping into a café, and walked head long into another pony. She stumbled in surprise, not expecting anypony to be there, since it was past everyone’s normal lunch hour.
‘Sorry I—’ Redheart said, and paused. She looked up to find the pony she had run into staring back at her. She blinked as she looked at the mare.
‘Vinyl Scratch?’ Redheart asked.
Vinyl smiled warmly at her. Not her obnoxious grin, but a genuine smile. ‘Redheart!’
Redheart scowled at her and lashed out, smacking her across the face.
Vinyl flinched as the blow landed, she frowned and gently rubbed her cheek, before finally admitting. ‘I deserved that.’
