//------------------------------//
// Chapter One: Field of Lost Cadets 
// Story: In Bello Praesidium 
// by Jean De Basse - Woolie 
//------------------------------//


“My grandfather, my zaydee, used to always tell me that 'Heaven and Hell can both be had in this world.' At the time I didn't think too much of it, just another proverb he picked up from his homeland. As the first days on Equus went on, and as the weeks turn into months, I found myself thinking a lot about him. A lot about those old proverbs.

Equus was no different from Earth, I found my hell and eventually my heaven. I beat my rifle into a plowshare and bent my bayonet into a sickle, and I no longer take up arms against any nation. What my grandfather forgot to tell me, or chose to spare me, is that one cannot escape his past. In our peace, there will always be conflict. We still carry our hell with us: every sin, every pain, and every loss regardless of the heaven we find.

Carrying our hell with us was not as bad as the trip to it, and we all walked a long road to it across Equus. This book and this story are dedicated to those who walked alongside me.”

-Preface from John Cantwell's "The Grey Tide"





CHAPTER ONE: FIELD OF LOST CADETS




It was rather cold, Cantwell thought. He would admit that the early days of March seemed to carry winter's last few bitter swings. But beneath the thick wool of his uniform, its heavy overcoat, tight cloth straps, and what felt like layers of superfluous dressing, ‘cold’ was always forced to be ‘broiling.' 

John Cantwell was no mind reader either, but his Corporal, Marshall, seemed inclined to agree with him. He stared slack-jawed past Cantwell caught in a daze, shivering as the wind bit at him. Cantwell could only muster a short nod at the other cadet as the world around them seemed unreal. It was cold, snowing, and the wind tugged at the top of his cover.  The tips of Cantwell's ears stung as the wind whipped at him, a gust knocking Marshall’s cover down into the powder at their feet. Cantwell reached down into the snow instinctively to hand Marshall his cover. The Corporal took the hat in an equally mechanical fashion, brushing off a bit of snow from its top to keep the wool from staining. Cantwell caught himself wondering 'why', the cover would still get wet regardless. They were standing in a snow storm.

Except it hadn't been snowing when the parade had stepped off. It hadn’t snowed at all this year, even during the corps' winter furlough. It had been clear, sunny skies over Virginia a few seconds ago.

Marshall seemed to be more focused on the landscape around them, his friend staring at the mountains with a horrified expression as his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Cantwell always felt that the Appalachian mountains seemed to loom over them at Strongbridge. They created inhumane hills and trails that made physical training all the more ‘fun.' However, they were never quite so jagged nor so imposing.

And of course, not covered with snow.

There had been no flash, no explosion, and no noise. No signs of any change as the call to parade sounded with the cry of bagpipes and trumpets. One second they were standing on the parade field at the Institute, and in a blink of an eye they were standing...standing...

Here.

Both cadets stood there for a few minutes, their heads on a swivel as they scanned around. Their platoon shifted with them as if waking from a bad dream. Cantwell nearly jumped out of his shoes as Langhorne dropped her M-14 with a short cry. Someone had loaded a magazine into her weapon. His mind flew in fear at the punishment she could receive for having a loaded weapon, his heart skipping a beat as he realized his own rifle was loaded as well.  The sound of Byrd leaning over to vomit broke Cantwell away from his growing panic. Byrd stood hunched over as he stared cock-eyed at his puke melting the snow, the discoloration from a night of discount daiquiris from the bar in town was to be expected, but the snow itself seemed to entrance him more than the rainbow shades of vomit.

The cadets around him began to murmur as the world around them became more vivid and foreign. Cantwell found a voice joining them as he nearly dropped his own rifle as a new wave of shock seized him, "Oy v-...shit...Marshall...is this real?" 

Turning his head to offer Marshall a pleading look, he wanted to hear his friend tell him otherwise. He wanted to hear that his imagination was just playing tricks on him, that he'd just been daydreaming again and hadn't noticed the start of the snow. A short series of stammers were all Marshall offered as his usual composure drained away in an instant. His friend tugged at his round glasses, wiping them off with his glove as his voice cracked,

"I-I-I...t-th-"

“It's as real. Marshall, make sure Cantwell doesn't pass out or anything like that and keep your guys in check,” cut in Captain DuPont as he moved behind the two. The cadet officer adjusted the red sash holding his saber around his waist tighter as he offered Marshall a pat on his shoulder, DuPont shifted away from them and began to move to other cadets in the platoon. He snapped his fingers a bit at Marshall as he left, "Get to it."

Marshall slowly came to, his hand rising to shake Cantwell at his shoulder, "Y-yeah...yeah it's real, DuPont is gonna figure it out...get the word back here what's happening...we're good." 

Marshall kept his grip tight like a vice and Cantwell couldn't quite lose the feeling it was more for the Corporal himself than him.

They had stood in silence for a long time before Marshall shifted back, falling out of the formation as he heaved violently. The anxiety and stress choking his speech spilling out from him onto the snow. Turning his head to avoid watching the display, Cantwell stepped behind him to offer an awkward pat on his back, "I'll...make sure everyone else is kosher too..." 

The Corporal offered him a weak thumbs up as Cantwell hustled back towards their platoon. Letting his mind wander as his shock shifted to annoyance, and then to anger before a weight fell in his stomach. His bubbe had always told him, when she wasn't complaining about goyim, to always trust one eye over two ears.

Despite what he heard around him, Cantwell slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped out of his platoon.

Sticking his fingers into his ears, and shutting one eye close he looked around slowly. Shutting out the worried whispers and howling wind that surrounded him he waited. Perhaps the proverb had a deeper meaning, but he didn't care. He just wanted to know for himself.

The weight hung in his stomach and kept him upright as he stood there, just staring. Something might happen and they'd be back home. Maybe he'd see something the others didn't, maybe he could use some old Yiddish magic that no one knew. Anything to just make this whole mess disappear.

So he prayed,

And hoped,

And pleaded,

The cold wind of the mountain was his only reply as it shoved him back towards his platoon.





DuPont carried himself through the snow as best he could, passing alongside the other companies as everyone seemed intent to snap back to their reality at around the same time. The companies he passed raised hurried cries in shock as the regiment of cadets found themselves hurling questions at their company staff. They were all standing atop a snow-covered ridge far from their home, how would other cadets wearing the rank of 'Sergeant' or 'Corporal' know any better than them? He knew the reason though. They were scared like him. Terrified even, and he wasn't exactly doing any better than them. He was just taking his fears up the chain of command by trying to find the Regimental CO. 

As he approached the front of the columns to where the Regimental Staff stood, a few other commanders had the same idea as they were all caught in the chaotic back and forth. The color guard just behind them, to their credit, remained silent as statues. Their expressions were rather pained in their effort to hold up the Stars and Stripes up against the hostile wind as it seemed intent to try ripping away their responsibility, and perhaps their composure.

It had been clear skies and an easy parade on green fields back at the Institute just a few minutes ago, then...

DuPont paused in his step, a few meters away from the other commanders he scratched at his nose. His hand let him muffle his voice as he mumbled to himself, "Then 'poof'..." 

Turning around he looked over his shoulder, examining the ranks of Alpha company standing behind him. He locked eyes on a female cadet whispering quietly to herself, the woman sat in the snow with a blank look plastered on her features as she chanted some mantra. The other cadets around her were lost in their own worlds, unable or unwilling to lend a hand to her as shock stilled them. The way she cradled her rifle in a near fetal position made her appear like a scared kid playing soldier as if she was going trick or treating and got lost along the way.

Staring at the woman for a few moments DuPont nodded his head and shuffled past her towards the front of the formation, they were all dressed up to 'play' soldier and they were all lost 'along the way' at this point. Moving up behind the other members of the staff he caught them all falling quiet as the Regimental Executive Officer, Miss Jackson, barked out in a hoarse voice;

"Shut up!"

Sliding in-between a few of the other officers, DuPont settled in to listen as the bickering among the cadets come to a fast close. The RXO's wrath not worth testing as she stared daggers at all of them for a few moments before nodding towards the Regimental Commander, Henry King. The man was a giant, even by DuPont's bulky standards. He was the oldest cadet in the corps, prior service with two tours with the National Guard in Afghanistan after his first year at the Institute. He got to come back and continue his football scholarship but had to stop after a year as he aged out. King's linebacker build only added to a fierce scowl keeping them silent he seemed to be in deep thought, "Thank you Miss Jackson...I-I've got no idea what's going on...this...this is crazy...but we're all breathing at least, just some faster than others right now."

"The priority is to take accountability for your companies...make sure everyone is still kicking before we should move," raising his hand to quiet any questions, King shook his head; "Before you say it, I know we're lost, and I know we're supposed to wait for rescue if we get lost. But this isn't a normal situation boys. Mister Brown, your Bravo's finest but you've checked your phone twice while I've been talking, nuts to you for that. I'm guessing we aren't getting any service though?"

A nervous chuckle escaped the group of commanders, DuPont twisted his head to see Bravo Company's CO hold up his phone to show the others. "Not a bar...Google Maps still has our last known location back at the Institute," rumbled out Brown before he tucked his phone back into his cover.

Pointing at the rest of the corps with his hand, King continued; "Then we have got to move...maybe we can get somewhere with service and find out what's going on! We also got to get twelve-hundred of our brothers into some kind of shelter before it gets dark. No way our woolies and low-quarters are gonna last in this kinda cold. Goldsmith, I want you to take Echo company and start searching from the back of the formation. See if you can find anything behind us. Brown, you just volunteered Bravo to take the front. Both of you fan out, but keep track of your guys, I don't want to lose anyone."

"DuPont?" rumbled out King as he searched the crowd for the Captain, who was quick to raise his hand. Shuffling forward a bit to greet him, DuPont craned his head up to the taller man. 

"I'm here...what've you got for me?" 

Smirking a bit, King rubbed his wristwatch, "You're a bit late aren't you...I think I might be seeing things, but correct me if I'm wrong. Does it look like Alpha is carrying loaded rifles behind us?"

"Not just Alpha, whatever grace of god brought us up here seemed fit to arm us all for bear. I'll get Delta moving up and down the columns to get an ammo count and to make sure no one decides to start shooting at shadows if that's acceptable?" asked DuPont as he rested his hand on his saber, "I'll also get a platoon up here to act as runners...figure you might need them."

"Good man!" King said as he wore a more relaxed expression.

DuPont smirked a bit as he stepped back. Delta would get it done. He'd be sure of that. They had a plan now, just being in motion might calm everyone down a bit. King's command brought him back from his thoughts as the large cadet bellowed out his next order, "Echo, Bravo, Delta: you've got an hour to get your jobs done then send a report back to me! Rest of you, calm your companies down...make sure no one shoots themselves...and tell them we're gonna move out soon."

The group nodded and drifted away, DuPont joining a small group of officers heading his way as they trailed back through the snow to their companies. DuPont stopped in his step once again as he passed Alpha, his head turning to see if the woman was still sitting. He could pass on the word of the meeting to her, calm her down some before he got back to his guys. As he approached though he heard her mumbling a soft chant,

“This isn’t right…this isn’t right…this isn’t right…”

DuPont, for all of King's efforts, their plan, and whatever bravado he had found fell away as he silently agreed with her.








Aloisia Asumahn, daughter of Prince Ludwig Alger; Knight-Commander of the Black-Vogels was quite sure of one thing, “This wasn't how it was supposed to go...”

Her voice chided the empty cell around her; arms bound above her in a way that prevented her talons from any chance at freedom. Her wings had been placed in crude shackles, the tight squeeze around her coverts made her quite sure of another thing; the bindings were made for ponies rather than a full-sized griffon. The Saddle Arabian had been expecting the flamboyantly adorned royal guards of the Alicorn sisters; even when he had shed griffon blood and made refuge in her people’s land.

She wasn’t sure if she should be mad at him for not expecting a retaliation from the Vogels or for not realizing he had a plan for it. The former was less self-deprecating; the mission’s failure taken from her shoulders for a few seconds before the latter forced the truth back on them. She’d rushed in alone, not expecting the stallion to be alert and ready. Underestimating his band of cheap mercenaries guarding a decrepit outpost in the Southern Alps was yet another mistake. And perhaps the greatest failure she endured was letting them take her in alive as if she were some prize.

Aloisia growled past her beak as she shook the dirty-grey feathers of her head; the black tips of which flopped over her face as she tilted her head down. Her carelessness had allowed that madpony to summon his demonic force; she'd only arrived to stop him after he had finished his incantations. Even in her haste, she had been too late. She had broken the summoning circle, but it did not matter, she had seen the sky flash as if were ablaze before the damned pony knocked her out. 

Frowning a bit as she hung from the ceiling Aloisia chuckled in a low, dry tone. It was all rather cliché, a wizard capturing the hero in the middle of their evil plot. Or perhaps she was the damsel, awaiting rescue by some noble knight. It was a fate that almost seemed worse than dying in the cell itself to her. And then clichés seemed content to compound: in her brooding, she realized the wizard’s mistake as she scratched the back of her calf with the pad of her foot. Every villain seemed to make it when holding the hero captive, he didn’t bind everything.

Grunting as she flexed her arms, she bent her core as she swung her legs up to the ceiling until she hung like a bat with the chains. The cell was old; and it was designed to hold a pegasus, a pony that spent all day pushing clouds and flying in calm winds. With a grunt, she pulled with her weight attempting to pry the chain’s bolts from the roof. It wasn’t designed to hold a griffon, she battled tempests and swung iron with abandon. The binding almost gave way as a bolt popped off it with a short crack: it wasn’t designed to hold her, it wouldn’t hold a Black-Vogel. Nothing, especially not a pony, would keep her in chains! Finally, the chain snapped from the roof, and she came tumbling to the ground with an audible thud.

Brushing herself off, Aloisia Asumahn, Knight-Commander of the Black Vogels stood tall. She could work with this, her hands were still bound and wings disabled, but she was standing. She fancied herself a good match if any suitor ever had the gaul to catch her eye, but she was no 'damsel in distress.' She would admit though, playing the role could be to her advantage. At least for a few painful, embarrassing, regrettable moments. Letting out a low whistle, she poked her beak out past the bars and put on the best ‘whiny’ voice she could muster; “Help…someone please; I’m huuurrrtttt…”

The haggard features of a tired minotaur squeezed down the narrow passage of the hallway; the bull’s horns scraping the ceiling as he twisted his head to glare daggers at the griffon. The towering figure jabbed a stubby finger at the griffon; “Knock it off meat! You come here, cleave through ten of my mates before the boss takes you down. Then you break part of your bindings…you weren’t exactly quiet you know...have the sack to lie and beg for help? Ruins the legend of your King's great Black-Vogels by degrading them...” 

The mercenary tapped his finger atop her beak as he finished with a bellowing laugh, a decision that he came to regret as she bit through the fat digit as if it were a carrot.

“Well, you aren’t even worth stomaching you overweight cow!” Goaded Aloisia as she spat the severed digit at his feet and pressed her back on the edge of her cell. The minotaur stretched his arms through the bar as he snatched madly at her, 

“You little featherbrain! I’m going to give your decapitated head to the goats to-AUAAGHHH!” 

Aloisia leapt forward, swinging her chains around his powerful arms before tearing them violently to the side. She felt the warrior strain against her efforts, trying to overpower her as his cries intensified. She had the leverage though and a final tug elicited a sharp crack that bent the bull's arms at an ugly angle. Crying in agony, the minotaur slid down to his knees in tears. He could only curse in vain at the griffon as Aloisia wore a flat expression before she quickly reached through the bars to yank a pair of keys dangling from his belt.

Swinging the door open she dove out into the hall; standing tall as she lunged over to take his blade from its sheath. The minotaur began to wriggle helplessly on the cell's bars, gasping out in pain as his mangled arms crippled any effort of escape. Scampering behind him; Aloisia held his sword up for a quick inspection. It was a rather crude device; an antique from Zebra lands with a long curved edge and a rounded point. Sharp too, good for hacking and slashing. Checking the blade's edge in a shallow slash across the bull's arm, she flicked the weapon around in her hand and hacked madly at the minotaur’s skull. Letting out a repressed scream as she cursed a week's worth of frustration out as she hammered away.

Ending her tantrum at the top of the remains of the bull's head, she let out a deep breath as her world slowed down. Her heart beat heavy as a bass drum, adrenaline still holding it in a vice as she shook slightly. She unlocked her chains once her hands stopped shaking before setting off to stalk down the narrow hallway on her hind-legs. She squeezed her palm around the handle of the short sword as she felt her composure returning; "One step at a time...one foot after the other."