//------------------------------// // 10. While I Was Gone // Story: A Sailor's Notes // by Thunderblast //------------------------------// While I lay in bed, I stared blankly toward the ceiling. The window cast a gentle, soothing blue light that blended with the dark of the room. Silence permeated the atmosphere, and any sound outside went muffled by the heavy snow falling from the heavens. It truly was a sight for sore eyes a week from Hearth's Warming—to me, anyways. Few other Juniors found enjoyment in the winter weather, much to my dismay. As such, we were all given around twenty bits to purchase clothing of our choice for the colder months that we could consider holiday gifts straight from the Navy. Frankly, all I needed was some gloves for my hooves and a beanie—or what the officers refer to as watch caps. Having grown up in the cold the whole sixteen years of my life, this was nothing new or exciting in that manner, and nowhere near as frigid or snowy as back home this time of year. In fact, hearing the locals complain all the time, even after a measly inch or two of snowfall, was nothing but laughable. One thing that did feel off was the lack of a tree. Of course, one for each room wasn't possible, though I wouldn't mind a fake tree as long as we each had one to set up to admire, or even craft our own ornaments to put on 'em. Then again, this wasn't kindergarten. I was a Junior sailor now. No time for fun and games anymore—not often, that is. On some occasion did it become mildly depressing, though it was to my acknowledgement I wasn't alone here, despite how lonely things were. It had been a month and two days since I left home. Every week I would write to my parents, and usually within a few days I would receive a response collaborated by the both of them—though, it did become more apparent over the course of the past two weeks that Mom was the one doing much of the writing. They hadn't mentioned anything about it, but I wasn't planning on expecting anything for Hearth's Warming. Being here was a huge gift on its own, a dream come true; and to keep in close contact was all I truly cared about these days. I did miss them. A lot, actually. Here I was thinking I'd do well on my own, not that I was against being around my parents like most colts and fillies my age. I suppose this counted as a glimpse of adult life, living on my own in a city far from family. Some aspects of it were exciting, others downright terrifying. Something had to change, though. I can't stay afraid forever. And while I don't see it as something they would do, in a little under two years my parents could legally kick me out as soon as the day after my eighteenth birthday. Dad might not be extremely opposed to the notion, but Mom would be for sure, and I can see frequent arguments in the future assuming I don't leave the nest myself. Not that I don't have thoughts of it. After all, I seek to be just like my father, sailing the high seas and serving my country. Nothing and no pony will change that dream for me. ⚓ "All right, listen up, Juniors!" began Bullworth, my class' division chief, a simple green backpack sitting upright in the snow beside him. "Consider these lessons fairly light-weight as compared to your normal classes. It is part of our annual agenda on behalf of the Navy to teach every one of you colts and fillies the basics of tools that can and will help you in the real world." Nine of us, ten if you include the chief, stood out in the snow under gloomy, overcast skies that threatened to open up for a second time in just under twenty hours. A couple of my classmates shivered, indicating they still had not accustomed to the cold of northeast Equestria and were from warmer climates of the nation. Even Chief Bullworth's form had a faint tremble to it, indicating I was the best-faring of my class simply due to my origin. "So, you are out in the wilderness, far from home," he started again. "No cell reception, no easy access to the basic necessities. Say you wind up lost, or an accident lands you in this treacherous part of the world without the slightest of clues where to traverse. You came totally unprepared. You are as good as dead." That brought a couple of gasps out of my classmates. Mainly some colts who, knowing well where the chief was going, should not have been taken by surprise in all actuality. "But!" Bullworth pointed his hoof up, beginning to stroll back and forth in front of us. "What if you were prepared? In order to be, you would have had to previously acquired items that may prolong your survival. First item you can think of off the top of your head, go!" "Bottle or canteen for water!" I called out. My answer garnered a firm nod from the chief, who dug into the backpack and swiftly tossed a black stainless steel canteen at me. With only a moment to react, I reached up and grabbed it against my chest, only managing to stumble back a couple inches. "Very good, Anchorage. Second item!" "Blankets!" chimed Sunny Rain, a tangerine unicorn filly, raising her hoof. Despite her height, she was among the older of us teens; in fact, she had a year and three months on me. "Space blankets, emergency blankets, whatever you may call them," nodded Bullworth, digging a second time into his backpack and producing a reflective-surfaced blanket that could have confused anyone for tinfoil, but it certainly was not that. As it was tossed to her, Sunny Rain held out the edges to examine its shiny nature with a little awe in her eyes, before re-folding and placing it on her back. "Third item!" Bullworth scanned among us neutrally when no one jumped out for an answer. "Any takers?" I tapped my chin in contemplation, then an answer came to me. Before I could vocalize it, however, the chief cut me off as he drew a sharpened combat survival knife with a black handle and steel grey blade, holding it pointing upward and carefully moving it around to show us. "This could very well be one of if not the most important tool to have on you in potential situations such as these." One of my classmates, Tango, scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What, so I can stab myself and bleed out? I think I'd rather do that than having to physically and mentally deal with being stuck in the forest for Celestia knows how long—" He was promptly cut off by the slicing of the knife in Chief Bullworth's hoof, which stabbed into the icy ground some six inches from the colt's forehooves. He lurched back, ears pinning beneath his watch cap, the act striking some fear into others' hearts as well. Patience tried once now, the chief's toffee cores glared daggers into the startled colt's fear-shrunken pupils. "To cut yourself a patch of dry earth necessary to start a fire, once you have the ingredients necessary to do so, among other uses," he said, a slight snarl to his tone. "Fourth item!" he continued, shifting his demeanor back. Bullworth instead reached into his left breast pocket, producing a rounded object with a hook and small carabiner for clipping onto you or your backpack. On one side beneath glass sat a labeled directional dial that changed even at the slightest of movements. "A compass. How to use one should be plenty obvious, but for educational purposes I am going to teach you every aspect of using this little thing for navigating." Tango snorted. Apparently he hadn't learned the first time. "Teach us how to use a compass? Why don't you teach us something useful, like, I dunno, skin a rabbit for survival? Or show us which leaves and berries are safe to eat in the wilderness?" The colt's remark garnered yet another soft glare from Bullworth. His maw parted for a response, only to be cut off once more by his continuation. "This isn't the Colt Scouts. Why for the love of Celestia's golden flank would we be lost in a forest if we are on a boat?" That's when Sunny rejoined, "Well... what if our boats sink and we wash up on an uncharted island?" Tango threw a puzzled, dumb look at the little soon-to-be mare. "Why would we wash up on an uncharted island?! This isn't the fourteenth century, the world was completely explored a long time ago!" Breaking the argument, the ear-piercing blow of the chief's whistle startled everypony into attention. Spitting it from his mouth, the lilac stallion's scowl carried across the eight of us with equal weight. "Must I write home to each of your families individually?!" he threatened, voice echoing across the courtyard, startling even other sailors of his rank. At that, every single one of us shut our mouths tight and perked our ears attentively. ⚓ The eraser of my pencil tapped below my lips, squinting some down at the thinly-paged booklet sitting open to the final page on my desk. One of the electives I had chosen to last throughout the school year was a language course; Prench, to be precise. Something about Prench tickled my fancy from the previous year and, after only a couple of months consideration, decided to try it. One nice aspect of JONR was class flexibility. Should we not find enjoyment in a chosen elective, we have the option of selecting another within a couple of months after classes start, but because I arrived later than most, I had a bit more liberty of choice than others. Much of today's classwork involved finishing basic sentences, whether English or Prench, with the latter's variant of those words. Not the toughest of assignments, although I could understand if others struggled with it. Basics such as greetings, simple answers, and other easy words in Prench grew on me rather quickly, I must say, much to my relief. Despite understanding the lessons, one particular fill-in-the-blank question left me stumped. With three more following it until completion, I guessed I had all the time in the world to figure it out. That was until I broke my concentration for the first time in twenty minutes and realized class was almost through for the day. Without hesitating any further, I scrutinized the blank in the sentence only harder, reading over what built up to the word in need of filling in repeatedly in a seemingly endless cycle that would normally spark a headache. My hind hoof tapped against the floor out of the rush, making little noise however seeing as it was a thin layer of carpet that muffled hoofsteps. Then came what I had dreaded: a single-tone chime to replace the obnoxious ringing of a traditional bell sounded throughout the classroom and beyond to signal the end of today's session, startling some awake. "All right, pencils down. Stand up and turn in your packets for grading," said Meira, the teacher of this class, closing her newspaper and laying it off to the side. A blonde mare from Fillydelphia with a Bachelor of Arts in Prench, she joined the Navy nine years ago as a radar technician with a sub-rate as a translator for when her ship, the EQS Cloudsdale, made port in foreign Prench-speaking nations. Ranking at Master Chief Petty Officer, she transferred to Camp Wallop upon immediate election as an instructor for this particular language. At her word, I only rushed through the last few questions, scribbling faster than I originally believed my hoof could move. My conscience screamed with a war cry unlike any I have heard prior, and it was my own. Thankfully, it wasn't one to make it past my scrambled mind as I raced to finish up before standing and filing into line with the other Juniors. Being a rather small class, only three others stood before me, exchanging respectful salutes with Meira before making their way out of the room individually. When it came to my turn, I handed over the closed test booklet gently and stood at an attentive stance, as expected by our superiors when doing so, and anxiously awaited her grade. She looked down at the packet, flipping through each of the pages and spending only three seconds examining each answer before moving on with single nods of her head, making it a fairly quick process altogether. That's when she paused on the last page, looking up at me with a furrowed eyebrow. My eyes widened some as her sudden stare filled my mind with concern. Meira tilted the booklet down just enough for my eyes to peek over, where I immediately noticed the cause for her bewilderment; all four of the final questions were quite literally answered with unreadable scribbles, even more so than cursive writing from three centuries ago. In that moment I felt my cheeks warm in embarrassment. Knowing the color tone of my coat, even the slightest of blushes was discernible from miles away. But, instead of a jabbing glare, she offered a small smile. "I suppose not enough time is allotted for you all to complete your work in time, which is why I must stress that you should only take time for what you can finish, and the rest will count as your rackwork. I'll let it slide, Anchorage. See you next Tuesday." The few seconds after her speaking was ultimately a blur in my head, but before long it hit me that I was now standing out in the hallway, with my things, as other Junior Officers were relieved from their respective classes. What just happened? I thought to myself. I could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing now that my mistake would not go against me. That said, I had to acknowledge the fact that getting up to speed or even advancing on a lesson or two in my textbooks might not be the worst thing in the world after today, no matter how much I despised taking time out of my jam-packed schedule to study. With that, I started back to my dorm. "Hey, yo, Anchor!" called Cordial from behind, having emerged from his physical science classroom. Halting, I glanced over my shoulder to look his direction. "Wanna join me at the rec center for some ping pong?" I blinked as I pondered over his question. "Oh, er, I'm sorry. I have some Prench studies to catch up on tonight. Maybe some other time?" "Come on, Anchorage, just one game?" he begged, waving his hoof with a grin. He wasn't the type to be a bad influence on one's social life as I once expected him to be based on a first impression. In fact, his little friend group before I came along have all achieved a somewhat heightened status in the program for their responsibility to their work and loyalty to extracurricular activities, so this was not peer pressure as freshmen are warned about. My gaze lowered to the small collection of books held securely to my chest, pondering only for a moment before I came to a conclusion. "Well, one game couldn't hurt. Only one," I emphasized, walking to him. "Fine with me," he shrugged his shoulders. "Ever play before?" I shook my head, widening his eyes in astonishment. "Never in my life. Now, I've watched others play it, such as at the watering hole my dad used to go to with his drinkin' buddies in the service. Pool, too." The greyish-blue colt threw a look my way, one of puzzlement this time. "Your father dragged you to bars? Isn't that like... illegal?" "Oh, no. He would give me some spendin' money to use on the arcade machines in the corner. The owner didn't seem to pay much mind to it, and besides, no one cares as long as a minor does not consume alcohol." Cordial faced forward, eyes wide open but countenance virtually neutral. "Huh. Must be different in your town." "What can I say? Little towns that barely make the map don't have much authority in them, especially when it isn't needed most of the time," I said as we rounded a corner and headed for the doorway into the recreational center, or compartment as our superiors preferred we call rooms. Fairly decent in size, the rec compartment included multiple entertainment stations ranging from ping pong to pool and air hockey tables, a small movie theater, tables for card games such as Euchre or Poker (minus the gambling), and wall darts. Busier on the weekends, we were fairly lucky to come in at the time that we did on a Friday. Both setting our study items to the side, we occupied one of the three ten-foot long tables closest to the television lounge and the chair we placed our belongings on, paddles and a set of five plastic balls were provided. No rule book, though I imagine there aren't many rules to this particular game. Slipping a ball from the holding slot on the side, Cordial raised his stare to meet mine on the other end while I examined the paddle. "Any certain way I need to hold this?" I asked, twirling it in my hoof. Neither side had any significant difference to each other, apart from the brand logo printed on one of them. He responded with a shake of his head and a smile. "Whichever is most comfortable, they are both the same." With that, I settled with the brand logo facing me and looked up at Cordial. "Now, basic rules, pretty simple to comprehend: move yourself about within playing boundaries as you please in order to hit the ball back to me. If you miss, that is a point for me, and vice versa. The ball hits the net, it is a foul for the passer and a point for the opponent. You find the right moment to, you may hit the ball hard enough to send it sailing past me." I nodded in acknowledgement, letting off a breath as I readied myself mentally. "I'll start slow since you are new to the game. Once you get the hang of it, we can pick up the pace if you'd like," he grinned, dropping the ball onto the table to let it bounce vertically once. As gravity's will took hold of the ball, Cordial gently smacked it toward me, bouncing across the center without issue. In a panic, I went to hit it back, only for the ball to slip under my hoof where I had moved the paddle too far to the right. Quickly I chased after the ball as it rolled under a nearby pool table, returning with it and a sheepish smile pursing my lips. Cordial chuckled. "Part of your movement has to do with hoof-eye coordination, and relaxation. You don't want to trigger those fight-or-flight instincts or else you will force yourself to miss. Because this is a training run, any misses won't count as points for me." I nodded again, gently tossing the ball back, where he caught it in his left hoof effortlessly. "Then let's try that again, shall we?" The greyish-blue colt grunted in agreement, holding the ball in the air and dropping it, letting it bounce once before hitting it my way. Just as before, I threw my hoof with the paddle out too far to my left this time, albeit missing with less space between objects. Whipping my head around, it became apparent that the ball had slipped under my radar quicker than anticipated, and completely out of view somewhere. I groaned in frustration. How many tries would this take? Surely I was doing something wrong here, because ping pong certainly was not this difficult to take by the handles. "Coooome on!" I threw my hoof up in reaction, probably drawing the looks of a few others in the rec center our way. "You can't take your sights off the ball, Anchor, not even for a second," Cordial began, taking a second ball to replace the first from the holder on his end. He shifted into position yet again. "Ready?" My hoof reached up, scratching through the back of my mane. "Ya know, I don't think this game is for me, Cord. Why don't we try somethin' else?" He gave me a look that spoke more words than his mouth for a good few seconds. "You're giving up after two attempts?" I shrugged. "I didn't exactly plan on spendin' more than fifteen minutes calculatin' out a damned ball's trajectory just correctly so I can hit it back repeatedly." Cordial rubbed his forehead, shaking it into his hoof. "You don't learn without practicing. Come on, third time's the charm." With that, I rolled my eyes. "Fine, fine," and settled into position. "Remember, eyes on the target, rookie!" uttered Cordial, tossing up and down the ball in his hoof. With that, my demeanor adjusted. This time, I could focus. Time seemed to slow as his paddle whacked the ball my way. It bounced once, narrowly clearing the dividing net at the center of the table, where it would bounce again shortly after as it rapidly approached. I failed to remove my sights from the ball as it leaped upward a second time, swinging my hoof around just in time to smack it back at Cordial, where time seemed to resume at a normal pace. He almost seemed surprised, and was barely able to hit it back. "There you go, Anchor! Not so tough, is it?" Between him speaking and my response, I had smacked the ball back at him twice, a grin pursing my lips. "Heck no, this is fun!" The two of us managed to get a few hits back and forth, exchanging misses to tie up our first official game. But then, the entire rec center atmosphere took a sudden one-eighty. Cordial's eyes opened wide, and he seemed to almost turn into a statue as the ball bounced off his blouse. Everypony swiftly shifted their focus in one direction. Taking notice, I swiveled myself around to see what the fuss was about. And there he was. Lieutenant Commander Reveille, stood just beyond the doorway, a thin frown curling his lips downward. "Seapony's Apprentice Anchorage," he addressed, monotone. Confusion spread as he set his steady gaze right upon me, and a tinge of suspicion permeated the air as a result of the disconcertingly grim edge to his tone. "I need for you to come with me at once. It is urgent." Eyes turned to me, particularly puzzled in nature and strangely quiet. Out of everypony present, no one could have been more bewildered than I was in that instance. Had I done something wrong? My grades were decent, I didn't pick fights... if anything, I was probably among some of the best attending Junior Officers. Calmly I set the paddle down and looped around a pool table to the door, where the stallion who typically wore a neutral expression instead concerningly donned a non-wavering countenance of sorrow. I hadn't broken eye contact with him until he stepped aside to let me exit the room first, then ensured to close the rec center door behind us. "Sir?" I said lowly, blinking, watching him start down the hall. Not a single word emerged from the lieutenant commander, not even a request to follow. I simply did, going to show how accustomed I was to how things ran around here. If you are told enough to do something, eventually you start to do it out of habit and saves authoritative ponies' time, energy, and patience. We didn't stop until his office sat right in front of us. A sailor posted beside the door shifted sideways, opening it for the two of us. Reveille waved his hoof, signalling I enter first. Without a second of hesitation, I strode inside in respectful manner. My eyes flicked at the guarding sentry briefly, and in spite of his own deadened expression, nothing could block the overbearing sense that he silently judged me. Chances are he had as much of a clue as I did, although it isn't hard to imagine that he is used to observing troublesome ponies come and go from that office. My mind raced as it struggled to piece together every possibility for Reveille's reason for bringing me in here. Every. Last. One. But, as per usual, there was a single scenario I simply could not—and would never—expect. ⚓ "Th-th... This is a joke, right?" I deadpanned, a toothy grin widened across my muzzle. Despite it, my ears gradually lost their perk. Tears started to gather, glassing over my icy blue cores. "Who—who put you up to this? Cordial? Tidefire? 'Cause, excuse my language, but this shit ain't funny." Seconds of silence ticked on by without the older stallion's expression changing. After that long, his gaze dipped to the desk surface, and his posture in the chair was no longer straightened. The grin quickly flipped upside down. "I'm sorry, Anchorage," Reveille continued softly. "The word came this morning around 0600 from the Gander Cove Naval Command via local first responders." "No..." I shook my head as the first stages of denial took flight. "No!" My hoof slammed down on the edge of his desk, then recoiled both in pain from striking the hardened wooden lip, and half anticipating the lieutenant commander to scold me for the rather sudden aggression against his office furniture. However, he didn't. Swallowing heavily, my ears begun to fold back. "He wouldn't... do that, Lieutenant Commander... My father... wouldn't kill himself. I know him. He would never do that." A low sigh escaped the superior officer's lips, gaze drifting to the desktop between us. Part of my mind continued to perceive this as false reality, attempting to pinch myself below his field of view. No matter how hard I squeezed flesh, no matter the pain produced, nothing changed. I remained standing here, in Reveille's office, surrounded by the same silence as prior. That is when the reality of it all hit like an oncoming train. My entire world came crashing down in the blink of an eye, with a veil of darkness taking my essence by its sharpened claws. Going from a thousand thoughts, to a few, to absolutely none. None at all. Normally my mind would have something moving through it, but nothing came up. My form took on the slightest of trembles, becoming notably cold all of a sudden. Illness plagued my stomach in seconds, and I felt as if I could just throw up my lunch right here, right now. "I have personally arranged transportation for you to head home as soon as tomorrow. We would let you go today, but the weather between Alderneigh and Gander Cove is not in our favor, so the ferry isn't heading anywhere until 1400 tomorrow." I gave the gentlest, slowest nod, sniffing heavily. Deep down, I fought hard to keep my emotions at bay. Now wasn't the time to break down. Although I don't think it really mattered anymore. "Th-thank you, sir." Reveille returned a firm bob of his head. "We ensure every one of the Juniors are taken care of in times of emergency, and we move mountains to achieve such. This is the least we could do for you, Anchorage." My hooves wobbled as they threatened to just give out from underneath me, and I think it was apparent enough to the lieutenant commander of how I truly felt. All it took was a knowing glance from him to acknowledge that I was dismissed, and that gave me all the liberty I needed to slowly make my way to my compartment like a mindless zombie. ⚓ The five-hour boat ride home seemed to last an eternity. The grayscale skyline of Alderneigh vanished, placed by an endless horizon of a light and dark tone of grey. Seas were particularly calm in the wake of the most recent system to blow through, and it made for a rather smooth journey to the island. It wasn't until five past seven when the ferry's crew members informed myself and the eight other passengers aboard this evening of our approach to Gander Cove Marina. Exhausted throughout the trip, I found myself unable to sleep the entire time, despite the comfortably heated cabin. Upon announcement, I hurried out to the bow weather deck to anxiously witness the steady increase in proximity of my home town. Even from a distance, I read the distress on my mother's countenance as she stood patiently among a pair of pier workers waiting to moor the ferry for the night. It was of some relief to see her now, though it ultimately altered the circumstances none. I hadn't given time for the ferry to fully reach the dock, leaping clear above the gate and planting all fours on the edge of the jetty a whole eight feet away, inadvertently startling both those on the boat and the dock by my swift actions. I wasted no time, galloping straight into my mother's hooves where we intertwined in a mutual death grip, sobbing uncontrollably into the other. In that precise bittersweet instance, though I would have expected no different under normal affairs, we needed each other's shoulders to cry on.