//------------------------------// // 7. Sweet Sixteen // Story: A Sailor's Notes // by Thunderblast //------------------------------// At long last, the very moment we've waited what felt like ages for was here. Sailors standing by on the water's edge were tossed long, extremely thick ropes in preparation to moor the vessel safely against the dock. Down the length of the ship, multiple pairs worked in tandem to tie the ropes. The grunts of effort each one put out was astounding. Once all four anchor ropes were double-checked, gradually the massive craft slipped closer, only to stop with all but a yard gap between the starboard hull and the concrete pier. From there, the ground operation was not yet finished. With the crowd giving space, four sailors hauled a wheeled-angled bridge to the side of the ship, two ponies on the deck above locking it in place. In just a moment's notice, ponies in their white-and-black crackerjacks came within view in masses. All around, cheers exploded in the air. Many broke down sobbing. I know Mom did. In a single-file line, sailors, with their bags slung over their shoulders, made their way down to the dock, only to be swarmed by friends and family at last reunited. I held Mom, and she held me back just as tight. Both of us kept an eye out above on the narrow walkway for Sea Current. He would be fairly effortless to spot. As the last of the sailors disembarked, some galloping off of the ship or simply flying off, the final pony, an azure-maned, sea foam-green pegasus halted his march, his eyes staring right in our direction. My breath caught, and both ears fell about as quickly as my heart skipped a beat. There he was, standing proud in the bright white uniform with a neat black split-tie around his neck. With just the blink of an eye, he now stood in front of us, as if a whole minute was wiped out of existence. The pegasus' eyes welled with tears, his composure struggling to hold before the two of us. Carelessly, he dropped the skinny blue sack from a hold over his shoulder, allowing it to fall on the damp concrete behind. All three of us seemed to fall into each others' lung-crushing embrace. My muzzle buried into his neck, the wailing of my sobs muffled out entirely as all went eerily silent. It was not long before reality set in. Opening my eyes, I glanced up at the ship. Pure horror struck me, arcing through my veins. Instead of the ship that sailed away with my father a half a year ago, a slightly smaller battle cruiser sat rocking and bobbing gently in the rougher surf, the ponies that moored it to the dock now rushing up the narrow steel-built walkway to the deck. Countless sections of the ship were damaged. Not entirely with bullet holes, either. At the rear of the bridge, just below the smoke stacks, rested a dark, gaping hole that still smoldered, sharpened pieces of steel peeled backwards in a near-perfect circle around the impact site. Above the bridge, the towering antenna that on a normal day proudly flew the Equestrian flag, as well as where one of the smaller radar dishes was positioned, almost no longer existed. What remained was bent in an awkward angle, while the upper portion was missing entirely. One could even spot the scorch marks where the steel had been severely burned. "Medic! We need a medic over here!" Shouted one of the dock workers from the deck, galloping down from the ship in a panic. On stretchers, some uniformed ponies were carried by others as quickly and carefully as possible. Town folk on the ground made room for the injured as all observed the chaos in utter silence. Some followed, having somehow received a decent-enough look at the wounded to know for sure it was somepony they knew. When the last of the severely-injured were removed from the vessel, those who weren't—the grand majority—began disembarking. Rather than the white-and-black crackerjacks as any sailor wore on the day of return, not a single pony did not still don their working uniforms. Upon closer inspection, very few strode without cuts or bruises, or casts on their hooves. Not many did not have some sort of dirt or grime on them, either. All of these were sure scars of warfare. With each passing moment, fear for my father rose. I felt the urging need to grasp Mom even tighter now. Her cries of joy and excitement for reuniting with Sea had rapidly shifted over into sobs of terror. All around, the semi-chaotic reconciliation between distraught serviceponies and those braving the cold to meet them again was well underway. Perhaps one or two ponies in the gathering hopped for joy. Apart from them, not one soul appeared celebratory. Anxiously, we froze in place, inspecting the bedraggled sailors one by one while they marched cautiously off of the boat and on to dry land for the first time in half a year. By each passing second, the further concerned Hazy became for Dad. I didn't. Not yet. Assuming correct formation remained, everypony under his command would alight prior. Alas, the last of the crew trickled off of the boat. Minutes ticked by, and thus came the overbearing sense of dismay between either one of us. I felt as if the whole world came to a screeching halt. But then, a miracle. Down the walkway strode a paltry band of ponies that some could surmise as the higher-ranking officers. My heart pattered with adrenaline. None of the sailors appeared familiar at first, until two of which engaged in conversation came into view. Now fully alert, my ears stood up straight, and I muttered to Mom, "I know those ponies." "You w-what?" She sniffled out, thoroughly examining the duo. Another break. Yet still, no commanding officer in sight. Then, a tremendous curtain rested upon our backs, relieving the haunting notion that built up higher and stronger over the course of thirty minutes. Tailing a few feet behind another set of officers, a seafoam-green pegasus sauntered. His tangled, messy azure mane rested heavily hidden away by the cover he wore. From having significantly longer hair the day he left, it was difficult to tell just what happened over that time. Gazing forward, he almost entirely neglected to notice the pair of hooves waving to grab his attention. He stared blankly at what ever was in front of him, disappearing beneath the horizon of tens of ponies surrounding us. "I don't think he saw us, come on!" Hazy shouted, yanking my hoof to pull me through the crowd, calling out, "Sea! Hey, Sea!" My heart raced. It had to have been a minute before my hooves regained traction, although still being dragged along by my mother, just less so. These crowds were far thicker than one who has lived here for as long as I have could imagine. Surely, at least a quarter or more of these ponies came from the mainland. With another shout, the stallion's head turned in our direction, eyes scanning about. His breath caught upon hearing the familiar voice, and politely, yet gradually moving faster, he began sorting through the crowd and between ponies. We reached a small opening in the crowd, both coming to a complete halt at the far edge. My heart skipped maybe two or three beats, more than would be considered healthy. There he was. Our eyes locked, and instantly, all worries washed away, as if a soaking rain came pouring down to cleanse our shared fear and stress. In what one could make out as just a flash, the three of us brought each other into an equally-tight embrace. One hoof for each of us, but four for him. All other noise drowned itself out, all but the sobs for joy between us three. He planted kisses on our foreheads, squeezing tighter with both hooves. At some point, his cap had fallen off and laid somewhere on the ground, yet no mind was paid. "I missed you... so much," he shakily and lowly said, only audible between myself and Mom. Our responses, despite his comprehension of what was said beneath all of the wailing, to most would be heard as inaudible gibberish. Eighteen blissful minutes later, what to us felt more on the lines of eighteen hours, or more, he picked up his bag from behind, and his hat, smiling with tear-drenched cheeks. "Let's go home." ⚓ These first couple of weeks since Dad came home zipped by in a flash. Mom and I went back to our normal lives, relieved to have him home in the wake of six stressful months. Soon, as well, school would start back up again. Strangely enough, the school system in town had a completely different schedule from those in the mainland. Here, the school year began after Hearth's Warming. No, more like, right after the new year, then ended about mid-October. What would typically be summer break in Equestria, was considered 'autumn break' in Gander Cove, as it covered the second half of October, to the end of the first week in January. Impeccable timing, too. With Dad off the boat, and me now out of school, we could finally catch up and hang out! But, as time went on, I took great note of a change, one posing mild concern. Whenever I sat down with him, he would either glance away, or not notice at all. When I would give a poke to a conversation, he would seem... disinterested. Above all, he seemed distant, much unlike his normal self, especially now almost a month since he came back. Mom advised to give him space half of the time, or let him sit on the couch or lay in bed in silence, which is just what I did, forcing me to hold back the urge of speaking to him unless he is in one of those moods, as we called it, where he finally talked. Sometimes, he would go two, maybe three days without saying a word. Not around me, that is. I grew used to this new habit of his over more weeks, about to fall into November, my birth month. Throughout his deployment, I hoped he would at least be home in time for my birthday, which was, quite frankly, the only thing I really wanted. Although my wish came true, a part of me felt as though not all of him came back, that this was only half of Dad. By November, this behavior continued with no rhyme or reason to it. He drank more than the occasional stallion's night out to one of the town's limited choice of bars along the waterfront. He didn't hang out with his fellow sailors anymore, either. At home is where he sat down and guzzled alcohol 'til he was buzzed now. Throughout the first couple of weeks, even Mom acted slightly suspicious. Not in the type of way Dad did in the days after stepping off the boat, but... eerily strange. At least they returned to conversing with each other more normally a month later, yet still, most of the time he'd refuse to even look in my direction. Mom didn't say much more about it, other than she thought he was doing better. If he told her anything about what happened, it evidently was something I would have to wait until I'm of adult age—two more years away. ⚓ On the seventeenth day of the month, my eyes fluttered open, remaining itchy with tiredness. I yawned softly and quietly, blinking slowly toward the ceiling. Dotted shadows of raindrops sat on my wall, some steadily sliding down the window to my right. Like most days on this tiny island, they were either cold, rainy, cold and rainy, or simply overcast—or snowing. For this late in the year, annually, we'd have had our first snowfall three blizzards or so ago. Rarely did it rain in November. I sat up, careful as to not leave my bed sheets too messy, tidying them as if I floated out from beneath them, much like every morning. It became quite the habit for cleanliness in my room after so long of this routine. Almost immediately after opening my bedroom door, my nose met the sweet aroma of pancakes and scrambled eggs flooding the hallway from downstairs. My stomach growled, the scent most certainly the reason behind it. Without tripping over myself, I stumbled out of my room and down the corner staircase, looping around the railing and into the small corridor between the living room and kitchen. "Hehey, there he is!" Smiled my father, sipping coffee at the dining table. "Morning, Dad," I returned the smile, but then froze, met with bewilderment. "If you're here, then who's—" "Good morning, my love!" chimed Mom, gently scrambling the eggs on the frying pan. She set down the spatula, walking up and pressing her hooves on my cheeks, planting a kiss on my nose. "Happy birthday, sweetie!" My eyes widened. It was my birthday! Everything on my mind, I neglected to realize for this long just how close my birthday was, and today was the day, November 17th! Lightly I blushed. "Thank you, Mom," I brought her into a brief tight squeeze. "I'm making your favorite with your father," she smiled, returning to the stove to tend to the eggs. "I made the pancakes, she's making the eggs," Sea added, reading a newspaper with a soft smile. "It smells wonderful. Might be what woke me up," I chuckled, sitting across from Dad and waiting patiently. "So, Anchorage," he began, folding up his newspaper and placing it to the side. He leaned forward on the table, making eye contact, but breaking it as he turned to Mom. "Honey, should I spill the surprise?" "No, let it come!" Dad chuckled. "Well, guess you have to wait a bit longer. It'll come after breakfast," he winked with a smile. "I can't wait," I smiled. "I'll really be surprised, I didn't wish for anything in particular." "You'll love it, we guarantee it. Last thing on the top of your mind." The excitement only further built—as did some anxiety, but mostly excitement! In all reality, nothing could possibly disappoint me, assuming Dad wouldn't be leaving again. What kind of happy surprise would that be, anyway? ⚓ Finishing up breakfast, as stuffed as one could be, I silenced a belch and gulped down the last of the apple juice in my glass. Before I could move, Mom walked around, taking my dishes. "Thank you," I smiled. "That was amazing." "Glad you liked it, honey," Mom smiled, kissing my forehead, bringing the dishes to the sink for later washing. "So, Dad, how was—" A solid knock on the door interrupted, all eyes turning in that direction. I glanced back to Mom and Dad. "Who could that be? Neighbor?" "Perhaps you should go see," Dad smiled. On a normal day, opening the door was the last thing they would be happy with me doing. Despite knowing everypony in town, that was one of the house rules. This was weird. I got up, sliding my chair in, striding to the door and twisting the lock, pulling inward. My eyes shot wide-open, blood running cold. "Good morning. You are Anchorage, I presume?" said the uniformed earth pony, dressed head to hoof in Navy blues, a sealed box across his back and a clipboard in his hoof. "Yeah—er. Yes, sir, that is me," I straightened my posture a bit. The stallion outreached his free hoof forward, which I took after a second of examining it. He shook firmly with the strength to quite possibly rip my arm off clean. "I am Lieutenant Commander Reveille, assigned to the Junior Officer Naval Reserves in Alderneigh," he glanced up from his clipboard, expression blank. "The Reserves are always open to new recruits, it pleases us to add to our ever-growing community, especially this far north," he grimaced slightly. I grinned faintly at that, and he raised an eyebrow. Immediately I wiped the grin. "As of the twenty-fourth, you are expected at port to embark on the journey of a lifetime," he placed the clipboard to the side, reaching back to grab the box. "The paperwork has already been signed by your parents, therefore, I am obliged to provide you with thi—" Before he could finish, I fainted to the ground with a an audible thud. The poor stallion's eyes widened, leaning down to examine me, wondering just what he did wrong.