With a dropped jaw and wide-eyes of awe, I gawked out at the campus-like facility, surrounded from all directions with wrought iron fence. Building after building stood within the grounds, almost completely covering the area, and ponies walked about in groups or individually.
The main C-shaped building in the center stood above all, a clock tower spire overlooking from four more stories above. On top proudly flew the Equestrian flag, and beneath it, the Equestrian Navy.
We entered through the main gate, the carriage pulling up along the rounded curb that looped around a sculpture fountain, the statue sitting above the water pumps being an anchor with a short chain hanging off the edge.
The pony I sat with opened the little door and stepped out, waving to me, and I scooted over, then took the small hop and planting my hooves on the cobble. Two others stood along the curb, the carriage moving up to them, and they climbed in.
My assumption was that stallion pulling the carriage did rounds, back and forth between this camp and the docks, or elsewhere. There was a term for that service, and it sat on the tip of my tongue.
The uniformed pony accompanying me turned with a warm smile. "Welcome to Camp Wallop, Anchorage."
Facing ahead, I stared down the wide path, between a row of brick-and-stone buildings that other uniformed ponies of all shape and size—and age, apparently—walked between, carrying books on their backs or against their chests.
Further down, a stallion jogged ahead of a neat pack of colts and fillies, singing a cadence that I couldn't make out from this far. This really was a military camp, and the atmosphere felt... welcoming.
"Come on, I'll give you a tour before taking you to your quarters," he said, starting toward the center of the campus.
"My quarters?" I blinked, following from behind and to the side, looking at him with curiosity.
"Your room," he turned back, smiling again.
A room to myself, just like back home? This place didn't sound so bad.
⚓
"Class, before we get started this morning," the neatly-dressed unicorn standing in front of the chalkboard began. "Allow me to formally introduce our newest member of the Reserves, and our new home classmate. Anchorage?"
He turned off to the side, a hoof held out to his left, fixing his gaze on me standing just beyond the door frame. I blinked slowly, my brain encased in a thick fog that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The pony cleared his throat, attempting to retain his smile.
"You can come in now, Anchorage," he added.
The haze disappeared in an instant and I jolted alert, standing straight up and my irises shriveling.
With brief hesitation, I trotted into the room, turning to face the class of thirteen students in or around my age group. Each of their eyes met with mine. Twenty-six scrutinizing gazes mercilessly staring at me and the crackerjack-wearing teacher beside me.
He leaned down slightly to whisper into my ear, making it swivel. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"
Somehow, I found it difficult to swallow at that very moment. In spite of the lump preventing any speech, I breathed normally while trying to ignore the fast-beating heart about to explode out through my chest.
It felt like minutes passed, but in reality, only a few seconds until my maw parted, and the lump vanished as quickly as the fog in my head.
"Hi there," I lifted a hoof and waved gently, then lowered it quickly. "I'm Anchorage. I'm from... Gander Cove."
Eyebrows raised as I sputtered, forcing me to freeze up again, and the teacher to grow a bit of concern. He whispered a second time, "Tell them why you joined."
My ears perked again as the thought train began rolling again with his aid. "Right. It was not me who joined, my parents signed me up for the program as a birthday present for my sixteenth birthday. Needless to say, I fainted when the Lieutenant Commander showed up that morning."
Some faint chuckles emanated from the small crowd, although most still seemed uninterested, prompting me to just jump right to the end.
"It's nice to meet all of you," I nodded once, trotting to one of the empty desks at the far back and center of the room, my ears pinned back in embarrassment.
I hated introductions, whether they be to new ponies or in front of an assembly, especially the unexpected ones such as now. I loathed them with every little bit in me.
"Well, er... Thank you, Anchorage," the teacher nodded with a smile. "On behalf of all of us, we welcome you to the Reserves, and we are proud to have you as a member of our little community."
At least this pony seemed more personable than Reveille. It would explain the smaller rank patch on his shoulder, too. From experience around my father's friends and coworkers, those of a lower rank were... what's the word I'm looking for? Serious? Nah. Stoic? Maybe, but that's about the same as serious.
I nearly laid my head on my desk out of pure chagrin, my gaze falling to its shiny surface. For a first impression to the other ponies in the room, surely I could not have butchered it any more than I already have.
All I could hope for is them to not think of it as poorly as it rested in my mind.
⚓
The messdeck—otherwise known as the mess hall, or the chow room, or the galley by some students and a few of the teachers—sat packed with fillies, colts, mares, and stallions of all shape, size, and race.
Both age groups had been partitioned off to certain areas as well, with younger ponies or pre-teens to the right of the only door in, and the older ones, teenagers—including a reserved area for actual sailors—on the left.
I placed my tray on the far end of a half-empty table, sitting down and ready to dig in at last, completely neglecting the others at the table a couple seats down, as they did me. Mashed potatoes, four diced carrots, green beans, and a vanilla pudding cup on the side, with a small carton of milk.
The voice in my head rambled on and on, warning me as a whole to prepare for disgusting food that I would never want to touch with a fifty-foot pole in my life in the future. He can't have been further from the truth. Of course, it wasn't my father's cooking, either. As long as decent meals are served here on a regular, I'd be happy.
While chowing down on my dinner, a few of the colts further down glanced in my direction, exchanging in conversation about what I could faintly make out was about me. Much to my assurance, none of it seemed threatening to my conscience.
About halfway through my meal, one of them called out. "Hey, you!"
Finishing a swig of milk, I turned to the seemingly-oldest of the three. "What's up?"
"Come over here," he gestured his hoof and his head toward them, smiling genuinely, as did the others.
That totally didn't strike me as strange. Without much of a choice, I slid myself—and my tray—down to them, closing the little circle a bit.
"You're that new colt, right? Anchorage, was it?" the colt asked, narrowing on me.
I nodded firmly. "That's me. Are, er... are we in the same class?"
"Close, next class over," the earth pony beside him said, before scooping a spoonful of corn into his maw.
"I saw you in the hall at the end of class, and I asked myself, 'who's that dude?'. Between all of us, we know just about everypony. It's nice to see parents still send their foals here to get beaten into shape," the older colt said, leaning back slightly and crossing his hooves.
"Beaten into shape?" I halted myself, lowering a fork of mashed potatoes to my tray. "Oh, no, no. That's not why I'm here," I smiled softly.
The colt furrowed an eyebrow. "Oh? Why are you here, then?"
That was actually a good question. Why was I here?
"To... be like my father?" No, that's not what I wanted to say! Damn it!
The small group chuckled, the older colt being the loudest of the three.
"Now, we all know that ain't the truth. I don't know anypony who ever wants to be like their old pops when they grow up. What, is your father an admiral?" he chuckled again.
My ears pinned back a bit. "No, but he gives orders. He is a great role model, if you ask me."
"Well, ya learn something new every day," the colt straightened his back. "You wouldn't be the first to say that, but I ain't gonna deny it. So, it was your idea to come here?"
"Well, actually," I paused briefly. "My parents signed me up for my birthday, had the Lieutenant Commander come to my door. Why?"
The greyish-black unicorn of the group spit out his drink over the table, nearly spraying the other two. "Reveille came to your house?!"
Startled by his reaction, I leaned away just. "What about it?"
"He never goes to ponies' houses anymore! Well, occasionally, but that's only when he knows the parents good enough!" the unicorn responded with wide-eyes that fixed on my own.
Sitting up straight again, I looked down at my tray. "It wouldn't surprise me if my father knew him in the slightest, our base is so small."
"Where are you from?" the older colt blinked.
"Gander Cove. It's northeast of here, off the coast."
"No kidding! My grandmother lives around there, says its beautiful, but cold and gloomy all the time. Is that true?" he smiled more, hooves on the edge of the table.
A smile crept its way onto my muzzle. "Is Celestia a princess?"
"Huh, what are the odds of that? Name's Cordial, by the way. This is Tidefire—" he pointed to the earth pony, then moved to the unicorn. "—and Saber. We like to call him Sabe, or Sabby."
"Or S, every so often," the unicorn added, rolling his eyes, then chugging down the rest of his milk.
"Nice to meet you all," I nodded once, retaining the smile, sighing out. "At least none of you saw me earlier than you did."
Cordial's ears stood up. "Why, what happened?"
Oh great. "Messed up in front of the class."
"What did you do?" he blinked twice, even more intrigued than before. Lovely.
⚓
Come to think of it, my parents should have probably discussed this ahead of time. Because the Reserves ran by Equestrian education standards, the school year began in August, meaning with my transfer, I was now required to attend classes without much of a 'winter break' like at home.
For each class, there were sessions that mixed recess with the military in order to keep us fit. Obviously, the teachers and instructors had been far less strict when it came to our exercises. What others failed at, they compensated with another excelling activity. So, it wasn't all bad.
Every few days, an assortment of games, both mental and physical, were held in the gymnasium that everypony took part in. These games included sports, flash quizzes on military terminology—primarily Navy acronyms and such, and other activities, like tug-of-war between us and the teachers, for example.
All in all, the Junior Officer Naval Reserves was more like a Colt Scouts camp, but on the lines of a militaristic one. On the weekends, firearm safety was taught, and we marched in formation around the edge of the camp. Every two weeks, surprise inspections popped up—which eventually became much less of a surprise once we discovered how to predict their patterns.
Outside of the busy schedule that slowed down going into December, and the wave of sickness that came with winter, I found myself writing more frequently to home, about once every two days.
Responses were far and few in between, and steadily becoming less frequent as time went on. It grew concerning for me as the weeks passed. Eventually, they ceased entirely. Now, I wrote dud letters that didn't have replies. My guess was a recent blizzard halted the mail service to and from the island and around much of the northeast coast as far south as Baltimare, and they couldn't reply in time.
But, in the days that followed, still, nothing. Not even a little note. It wasn't the most calming to not have a letter from my parents to read to myself before bed on occasion. At this point, I started to re-read older ones every night leading up to the last one that came, then started from the beginning. This came to be my newest—and strangest—way of reassuring myself that everything back home is just fine.
I sat in the middle of class, focusing on what I should write next. Gently and silently, I tapped the eraser-end of my pencil against my chin, fixed on the blank slate of paper held on the bottom-left corner with my other hoof.
For some amount of time, I hadn't been paying attention and rather focused too much on the letter. Worse yet, my lack of acknowledgement grabbed the teacher's attention. "Anchorage!" he shouted.
I jumped in surprise, snapping up from my desk and making direct eye contact, straightening my back in my chair. "Yes, sir?"
"Are you listening to what I am saying?" he asked, making his way between desks towards me with an eyebrow raised.
My eyes widened slightly. I cleared my throat, responding, "Yes, sir. Just taking notes is all."
The teacher slyly grinned, looking down at me. "Tell me what I've said."
He of course had to go there. Now I made a liar out of myself. Gulping quickly, I looked him straight in the eye once more. "The derivative of X is four—"
He raised his hoof, stopping me there. "Let me stop you right there, Anchorage. You should know which class you are in. So, tell us."
"Isn't this algebra?" I cocked my head.
"Close. Biology," he reached a hoof to tap me on the side of the head. "Pay attention, you might learn a thing or two. Let him be an example, class," he turned and headed back up to the chalkboard.
A quiet, collective chuckle emanated from the others. I lowered my head in humiliation, ears drooping and a frown pursing my lips. The only pony not to laugh was a freckled draft filly a row ahead and to the side, who glanced back in concern. I failed to even notice as I stared down at my desk in shame.