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// 27. Setting the Sail 
// Story: Millennia: Eye of the Storm 
// by Thunderblast 
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My eyes opened wide as adrenaline abruptly coursed throughout my body. For a moment, I was blinded by the bright of day, staring skyward at an ocean of blue, growing lighter in hues surrounding the sun that held high above. Very few clouds floated about, and the air was warm. It smelled of burning metal and cloth, and... flesh?

I threw myself into an upright position off of the dusty ground and examined my surroundings attentively. Remains of stone and wood littered the unpaved street. Two shops beside one another were missing enormous chunks along the upper portions of their second floors and roofs, where small fires crackled faintly inside them in a few of the rooms exposed by an impact force of some sort. 

In the midst of the destruction sat severely-battered remains of a helicopter fuselage, its main rotors still somehow rotating ever so gradually with the blades either trimmed down from having struck the buildings it came smashing through, or were lodged into a wall, or broken and hanging from the engine stem. The tail section sheered itself off completely and sat upside down through a house window, where a gaping hole had been formed as a result. Smoke billowed from the hole and any other opening in the structure, but there was no other sign of a fire.

Rolling over and pushing myself to my hooves, I peered back toward the wreckage, honing in for a brief moment to take it all in. I could not believe my eyes the longer I stared, soon finding more than just the destruction to be on the ground. Both pilots sat perfectly lined up beside each other, flat with their faces down on the ground, both with bullet holes in the backs of their cracked helmets. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't only the pilots... 

What I previously thought to be just pieces of the chopper was instead something far more sinister. More uniformed bodies—some charred beyond recognition—lined along the side of the helicopter or were strewn about, left behind after an altercation. All suffered a similar fate: a single bullet to the head.

My hooves grew weak and I collapsed, turning myself to face away from the horrid sight. I began to gasp for air as if I were choking, but it was hyperventilation. I couldn't catch the breath I needed to keep my composure, let alone the courage to get a closer examination. What I hoped to keep far from my mind was the possibility that my friends were among the casualties.

I found myself staring at the dirt I pressed against, hooves tucked close to my chest and digging into the dusty surface. With each heavy breath, my sight grew blurry with each attempt to desperately focus on something. A pebble, a granule of sand, anything other than what should not have been there.

Then, it hit me. My gaze lifted a few inches, still fixed on the ground in front of me, but my breathing calmed in that instance. Above the somewhat calming whistle of a breeze and the rolling of rock bits and pieces pushed about at its will, it was as if somepony could drop a pin. For a war zone, it was far too tranquil.

I heard a voice in my head say, "This... isn't real." It was my voice, preceding my own realization on the situation unfolding. My heart still quivered and a crushing tightness gripped my chest, yet I was calm, collected. "You aren't here. You are home. This is a dream."

With a meager bit of strength mustered from the revelation that allowed me to regain control over my body, I pressed myself up steadily. My uniform was covered in tan and grey from the dust that collected on it, something I hadn't noticed before this moment because it wasn't important. The edges of the collars were tattered, scraped off by a skidding impact on gravel that knocked me unconscious. Perhaps I was thrown from the helicopter when it came down. Somehow the only damage done by the gravel was on parts of my clothing and heavy gear. Without it, I may as well be walking skin and exposed meat.

But this was not reality. I knew I was home. In Manehattan, safe in my bed in the same dorm as Nightpath where I last remembered. Is this what it is like to become self-aware in dreams?

Then, I jumped, taken by surprise when a sharp metallic streak whisked past my ear. It moved so quickly that it had probably gone by long before the noise, and it flew so close that the lingering heat from it firing radiated and singed strands of fur and a pebble-sized patch of skin for a split second, and that is what startled me. There was no pop of a gun firing to warn me otherwise. Nevertheless, it yielded a fine reason to rush for the nearest corner and dive into it for cover. Reality or not, I am certainly not about to take chances with my life, especially knowing the pain can easily be felt regardless.

The weapon I had on me laid somewhere in the chaotic scene. Perhaps it didn't even survive the crash, or I dropped it in the impact and it wound up in the wrong pony's hooves. Or they presumed I was deceased and came and took it. Memory wasn't in my favor for the time being, nor were the prospects of escaping this place alive.

I threw myself completely up on my hinds and propped up against a wall, shadowed by the adjacent structure shielding this alleyway, not that I could properly camouflage myself with the uniform I wore or the natural color of my coat anyways. Not in daylight, that is. Whose marvelous idea was this to give us dark uniforms in the bright of the afternoon?

In the few moments after taking cover, a minuscule bit of confidence raised inside that I was safe for now. I recognized that would not be the case for very long, not out here. Whoever it was that shot us down was clearly nearby. I hadn't a clue where, but I knew they were somewhere, watching, listening, waiting for my next move.

Perchance it was merely my apprehension of the realm trapping my thoughts, understanding that this was, after all, just a dream, so I knew exactly what was going on around me. It felt bizarre to be in control for once despite the overbearing yet sedating sense it provided. Maybe it is a sign of improvement, that the war is finally in my favor. It sparked inquiry as to why this change has come.

I picked up the muffled thumps of hooves on dirt approaching rapidly from my right. Before any reaction could be made to turn and look, a powerful lash to the shoulder by something long, hard, and metallic forced me to the ground. I flailed immediately in alarm, hoping one of my hooves might cuff the assailant somewhere. That didn't happen. Instead I found myself being towed by the rear of my collar, the lower of my body scraping along the ground roughly until I fell flat on my back where I had first come to.

My breath quickened as adrenaline kicked back in, boosted by sudden fear that took a deadly hold and refused to let go. Thoughts raced by too fast for me to comprehend as I scrambled to roll over and stand back up, only to be forced into the dirt by a hoof pressing itself onto my chest. The gear I wore hampered the ability to squirm, and what I could certainly was not enough to escape whoever had me pinned. Looking straight up, my eyes met the cold, sinister gaze of a masked stallion, dressed in what appeared to be old, raggedy combat clothing.

"This... this isn't real, Star. This isn't real! You're dreaming!" I vocally insisted to myself with a shaky breath, and was no longer just a voice in my head. The stallion didn't react other than to raise his other hoof in signal to observant others in the surrounding buildings, before he took his rifle by the barrel and raised it like a baseball bat in the air.

I begged and pleaded, repeating to myself in a growing panic that this was just a dream. With each passing moment, I began to think otherwise, up until the butt of the figure's rifle came swinging at full force and cracked into my jaw.

A strong blow to the cheek threw my head to the side and I shot up onto my elbows, chest heaving. It didn't take long to figure out that it was my own hoof that slapped me to wake myself up. I couldn't be more thankful that it did to save me from that nightmare, but now I was in pain from having hit so hard. Ow.

A sudden pressure on my chest compelled me to immediately look down, finding it to be my other hoof gripping over my heart and watching the faint twitch of it in rhythm with my pulse. Sweat slicked my forehead and down both my back and chest, the sheets on my bed now drenched where I laid. 

My chin dipped a couple inches and a deep sigh dribbled out of my maw, though quiet while Night continued to sleep soundly, wrapped up like a burrito in his own blankets and snoring pleasantly. A sight such as that never failed to bring a chuckle out of me, or at least a smile. It was relieving to say the least.

I eased myself slowly, wings shifting with a brief shiver running up my spine when my back touched the sweat-dampened material. Each time I would move in the slightest way, the sheets clung to my back unless I peeled them off. That made the first thing to put on the list when we come back: strip the bed and wash everything!

What areas of the bed that had not been drenched simply were not large enough of a space to lay comfortably in. Then again, the idea of those in charge of furnishing these dormitories didn't include beds to occupy two ponies per, meaning there wasn't another side I could slide over to, thus trapping me with the hardly-tolerable wet sensation.

Tired, half-lidded eyes that itched of drowsiness stared directly at the dark ceiling. Only a sliver of orange from a lamp outside stretched through the window between curtains. Faint and blurry little grey spots dotted along it, a few of which rolling gradually in an uneven pace down the smooth glass surface before reaching the end.

Outside our window whistled a breeze as it whipped between our building and the one beside it, the nearly-undetectable low roar of rain on the roof, and the gentle pitter-patter of droplets on the window sill made up for the normally-silent ambience of our dorm this time of night. It makes for a soothing atmosphere actually, one that is appropriate for sleeping. At any rate I expected to be back in a slumber in no time. But that never happened. 

In fact, the longer I lay there motionless, the further alert I became, and eventually it turned both frustrating and exhausting to the point where I reached over to our shared desk that doubled as a nightstand and picked up my new phone to check the time, flipping it right side-up in my hoof and pressing a button on top that lit up the screen. The sudden brightness of it shining on my face made me wince heavily and I squinted hard enough to where somepony might believe my eyes were closed should they notice.

The time displayed on the lock screen in huge numbering read thirteen past four in the morning in typical twelve-hour format. I still needed to change that to twenty-four hour format, wherever the setting may be. Perhaps Anchorage would know where to find it, or somepony I knew.

We needed to be out the door a ways before 0600 and be at the ship at that time precisely. At least, I had to be. I'm not so sure about Night seeing how he is not bridge crew. Knowing now that it is raining brought a groan out of me, though soft enough to prevent waking my roommate. Assuming it ceases by that time—which was far too unlikely—there would still be mud everywhere, stuff that collects on your hooves and clothing. 

I can't help but feel for the sailors, though, seeing as they always donned their dress uniforms today. Their whites, especially. We weren't required to for the sole fact that Marines played less of a role on ships and also don't ever stand out on the flight deck when the ship leaves port, which probably made some or most sailors envy us as such.

I tried laying down once more, shifting around or rolling over every once in a while to find a new sweet spot to doze off in for at least another half hour before it will be time to get showered, get dressed, and head out. No time for breakfast. Man, another deployment so soon. All I can think about is what's to come in the weeks ahead.

Risk aside, the sense developed when stepping hoof on such a mighty machine worth tens of thousands of tons of steel and wiring every time never ceased to send a cold chill up my spine. Not due to the eerie, tingling feeling of being a part of a warship, but the grasp of being in its presence. Hearing the roar of its three main engines come to life and the vibration it sends upon startup, the groan of steel as it slices through even the most violent of surf, as well as watching jets be catapulted off the flight deck and be caught by hook wire as they land all at the same time is enough to send an under-powered enemy running for the high hills.

Any ship sailed by the former Equestrian Navy and the current Lunar Navy accomplished wonders, both in the defense industry and the overall nautical community. Sure, they weren't nearly as luxurious as most modern cruise liners or airships (if those even still exist), but damn, there is no denying how powerful they are.

That's one thing I am proud of myself about; that I can say I have served and are serving on the Eclipse. Seeing as it is currently the only carrier in the Lunar Fleet as of right now and the title of its own class of carriers, few can say similar. It had been brought to my understanding that Equestria used to have four carriers. Smaller than the Eclipse, that's for sure, but they were around. Two were lost in the last major war with East Griffonia, one with an almost full-crew loss, and the third was sunk in a century storm. Due to low demand for an advanced military and funding cuts, there never truly was talk of building new ships. 

That all changed when Luna came back, reformed and rebuilt, and took the helm of what we now call the New Lunar Republic. She wanted a powerful military, and boy, did she create just that. Then, like the royal guards that you see around Canterlot during the day or at night, the uniforms of the Navy and Marines vary from the Army and Air Force as far as colors go. The latter sticks with lighter colors, whilst we go for darker shades. Then again, the Navy has always had their uniforms, and us Marines only stand out because our camouflage is two tones of grey instead of blue.

I suppose it makes sense as to why half or more of all ponies around Equestria don't use 'Lunar' when referring to our titles. They either call us Marines or sailors, like soldiers and airponies. Many prefer the original way, and that I can understand. Just like how Lieutenant Snow Storm has his thoughts on how basic training has changed over the years. I don't have any preference as long as somepony does not ask what the difference is between branches around me.

Speaking of the lieutenant, he must be elsewhere on an assignment. Haven't seen him for a minute to say the least, and he is typically not a reclusive one around base. He had a say in my promotion a short while ago evidently, but no sign of him anywhere. I'm not about to question it for his and my sake, especially since most of what he and his platoon do is classified anyhow and is best kept that way.

As more dull, uneventful minutes ticked on by without any further occurrence and the likelihood of falling back asleep diminishing, I released another smaller sigh and threw the covers off my lower half and maneuvered out of bed as quietly as can be, easing first my hind legs followed by my forehooves to the carpet, where they sunk under the weight of my body placing pressure on them. Taking one glance over my shoulder to my roommate to make sure he hadn't woken up because of me and breathing a silent breath of relief, I soundlessly continued to the kitchen.

For somepony as far from being a bat pony as I am, the ability to see properly in the dark wound up a trait of mine going back to my colt years. On the contrary, it only seemed to work under calm conditions. A stressful environment distorted any born ability I had—which, in reality, were not that many.

Normally I would wait until I am on the ship to have coffee, especially early in the morning before dawn. But, that was still just under two hours off, possibly three if that is when we are due to depart. With that, I grabbed a tub of hazelnut-cherry coffee grounds and filled our machine with them and water, before pressing the switch that begun brewing.

My maw widely parted to yawn, only for it to come out silent as an exhale while my gaze lowered to the coffee pot as brown watery drops trickled down and began to collect at the bottom. It would be at least a few minutes before it will be fully brewed, not that time mattered right this minute. I had all of it in the world.

It wasn't very long until the kitchen filled with the wonderful scent as the pot steadily replenished, the machine emanating a barely-detectable hum while it went to work. Over the course of a five minutes, it surpassed the half-line printed onto the side face of the glass next to the handle.

Our maker was not the fastest in its job, not that either of us cared, because it served its purpose. Actually, Night preferred cafe-bought coffee over homemade anyway. Once in a while though he didn't mind a cup to enjoy at home. Few ponies I knew did. Hell, few around here don't run on coffee day in and day out. Exhausting shifts that can last for up to twelve or thirteen hours a day calls for caffeine to keep one alert and running smoothly. It is just part of the way I am, that is.

I decided I would no longer wait and headed for the bathroom to shower, and when I come out, the pot should be full and ready for consumption. I am certainly going to need it to get the day started and tide me over until we leave port.

My hoof reached past the curtain and took hold of the handle, twisting it and starting the flow of water through the shower head. I kept that hoof held under the frigid drizzle until it warmed, before stepping carefully inside. The entirety of my mane lost its form as soon as the water hit it, laying flat atop my head and even covering over my eyes, prompting me to wipe it out of the way with a hoof.

I rotated myself under the water to wet down every inch of my body from head to hoof, taking a bottle of shampoo afterward and running it through my mane until it transformed completely to suds, before rinsing it out thoroughly.

While I did, leaving my eyes closed during the time, I went into thought. Since the second briefing ten days ago, no one had spotted Silver anywhere. Some of us thought he might have moved dorms, or his shifts have changed to where no one can catch him at the right time. He seemed to have been in a hurry after the briefing because he was one of the first out of the room and gone by the time I made it out into the hallway without a clue of where he had gone.

None of it added up. Although, I suppose, nothing anymore did. The earthquakes, the signals at sea, the second lieutenant going completely bat-shit crazy, and now Silver, who is a sailor now? What the hell is going on? Surely this is all just a terrible, puzzling nightmare where there is no opposite to the equal sign.

If I can track him down when it comes time to head out to the ship, perhaps I can finally talk then. I imagine his transfer was occupied with countless consequences as far as a workload goes. That would involve a change of rates altogether and the training necessary to carry out newly-assigned tasks. If that is his excuse, I will buy it. My question is just why.

At some point after the last of the soap slithered down my hooves to the floor and down the drain, the water briefly surged a colder temperature, throwing me from contemplation for now. With heavy thought comes the rapid passing of time. Evidently I have been thinking long enough to where we were running out of warm water. That, or our dorm's heating tank was going out of commission, which would not surprise me in the least.

With that, I hastily finished up and dried off, and was now thirsty for caffeine. Upon carrying my towel out and leaving it in a basket beside the fridge, I took aim straight for the coffee pot that now sat full to the brim, releasing steaming through the lid hole. I poured myself a cup and took a spoonful of sugar to mix in, before raising the mug to my lips and cautiously slurping up a small sip into my mouth. 

Undoubtedly was it scorching hot and it burned the tip of my tongue upon first contact, but there was no hesitation with the second swig I took that ended up with a larger gulp than the first. I craved this to fully wake myself so early, and boy, was my yearn quenched. Had I not woken in a shock, I would still be in bed for another thirty or so minutes, or until whenever Night wakes up to get himself organized, and without question I would not be standing here enjoying a fine, scalding beverage like I am now. So, a plus for that, I guess.

Him and I had already packed our bags the evening prior, so that was out of the way thankfully. All that is left is to resume cleaning up, get dressed, then lock up for the month. Simple enough. Knowing he will wake to his own alarm dealt reassurance that we aren't to be late in any way, shape, or form. At least, I will not be. Again, he is not truly required at the pier for another hour after me, though it wouldn't be much of a surprise if him or the tens of hundreds of sailors start gathering ahead of schedule, either to please their superiors or spend a little extra time with friends and family by the ship.

Mom was informed fairly soon after the announcement came, and while I understood her reasoning behind being unable to drop by for goodbyes, I knew we could keep in touch one way or another during deployment. Above all else, though, I made my request quite clear that Dad is to not find out for her sake and my own because, frankly, it is none of his business. Hell, he probably isn't even aware that we have been texting each other back and forth, and to keep that tradition will be splendid.

For Mom, though, as a matter of fact, it felt tremendously relieving knowing I can at last properly communicate with her and hear what each other have to say, something I have desired for years even before I abandoned them. It continued to pain my core realizing the hurt she suffered through the day she discovered the letter on my bed. 

Looking back on it, I only now fully comprehend the undeserving emotional stress that mounted on her since then, all caused by me. No, she was not worthy of such treatment on my part—far from, even, and it evokes some of the greater remorse that lingers today as consequence to my desperation of escape back then. Now came the obligation I felt more than ever to keep her filled in on my new life and compensate for the five years of inappropriate neglect dealt in response to the rage and resent I bore and strictly refuse ceasing to carry the seething envy that one pony, and one pony only truly merits: my father.

The truth is, I still loved her, and I never stopped loving her as a mother like I shouldn't have, even though I went about living life with the belief that she knelt to his bidding because her feelings were mutual to his, as opposed to the reality of things where she does so to retain a comfortable home, whether or not her life is made miserable because of him. Frankly, I do not know how she has tolerated him for this long, though I can imagine after our recent encounter that it will not be the case for very long.

It couldn't have been more than a couple minutes later when the creaking motion of a bed caught my attention, followed soon after by a set of heavy hooves thumping on the bedroom carpet. These thumps transitioned to clops on cheap tile flooring as Night strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen and saw me with baggy eyelids.

A tired smile crept across the brown draft stallion's face, his lids lazily blinking. "Hey, Star. Didn't think you were up so early," he said in a hushed, sleepy voice, pushing a strand of his messy mane away from his eye.

"I didn't think you would be too. Didn't hear your alarm," I replied softly in respect to the colt's groggy state.

He chuckled the most drowsy of laughs and rubbed one of his eyes. "Still a bit early. I smelled hazelnut-cherry and woke up."

I took a step to the side, making way for him just in case. One does not stand between a stallion and his coffee. Or is the saying just a lieutenant or chief and his coffee? "There's more than enough for the two of us."

His smile retained, and he resumed to the pot, still extremely plentiful of fresh coffee that continued to emanate vapor from its radiating heat that would scald to the touch. Night grabbed a plain mug from a cabinet, holding it in one hoof while he took the pot handle in the other, putting much care into pouring it without missing the mug entirely and creating a mess.

After a few small sips, he became a bit more functional and coherent. We stood around and talked until it was time for him to hop in the shower. While the water ran, the curtain parted and he stepped inside, and immediately after I caught the girliest of squeals that had me suddenly throwing my mug down on the counter so I wouldn't drop it. I covered my mouth with a hoof, silently laughing it out with chubby cheeks full of coffee before I could finally swallow and not choke over it. That would suck majorly to die right this second over something completely unrelated.

Night was only in there about a minute and a half before the water shut off and he stepped out shivering. By the time he exited the bathroom, he shot a glare of icy daggers in my direction as his mane still dripped damp flat on his head. I nickered quietly behind my hoof and wiped off the humor when he returned.

"So, that answers that about the water tank," I commented with a guiltless grin, having failed to disperse the amusement by merely glancing at him. His eyebrow arched and I put up my hooves in innocence. 

"You are entertained by that, huh? I'll make sure to shower first next time," Night added coldly as he dropped off his towel and returned to the bathroom. "You will get the last laugh!"

I suppose I will. He was a pony of his word a year ago, so that would not amaze me in the least. And I'll be trapped with him on the same ship for five weeks.


***


Under a light drizzle with the only light guiding us being lamp posts along street paths, Night and I hurried out to the pier with fifteen to spare before 0600. Our covers provided a bit of protection around our eyes and hair from the rain, but not the whole of our faces, and our uniforms fended off the droplets quite nicely thanks to the light waterproofing infused with the material. Had it been a downpour, however, that would be another story.

As usual for this time of morning, Joint Base Manehattan remained eerily vacant for the most part. Those with overnight-oriented rates made up the majority of the few out and about. Only a couple others here and there were on their way to the boat with us judging by their sea bags.

Upon arriving at the dock where the Eclipse was moored up against, we found the entry method had been altered. Instead of walkways sloping vertically up to hatches on the hull of the carrier, a temporary structure now stood on the pier aligned with the ship's aircraft elevator, which was lowered and led straight into the hangar bay.

The former mode of boarding made less sense, candidly. Narrow bridge-like walkways that could only fit one at a time, and if somepony stopped, the whole line is held up behind them. All in all, it meant less time spent waiting for the last sailor to walk the bridge and seal the hatch and will make for less stressful first days and pre-departure checks.

There were already tens of finely-dressed mares and stallions scattered about in no particular formation, and about twice as many civilian ponies who have come to witness their loved ones sail off for the next five weeks into dangers unknown.

It left a tiny bit of heartache in my chest knowing neither my mother nor Ray could be here, though I had known for weeks in advance that would be the situation. Some time after we leave, I am hoping to at least catch Ray's number on a Whynnie call so I am no longer reliant on the ship's amenities or forms of communication, especially now that I had a mobile phone to myself. That is still what shocks me to learn that it is not against regulation to have them on board as opposed to what I had been informed of, that using a phone for personal use could lead to security issues.

If I wasn't so damn preoccupied on these deployments, I might just take advantage of what the Eclipse has to offer like what the rest of my buddies seem to do when they aren't busy with what duties they employ. This included recreational compartments such as a gym, a television lounge or the traditional game room, a convenience store, and the less-interesting facilities such as the barber for those keen on keeping themselves well groomed. 

Most civilians might be dumbfounded to hear all what an aircraft carrier provides as far as blowing off steam. I certainly was on my first go whenever I wasn't puking my guts out from seasickness.

We came to a halt somewhere in the middle of everypony, where Night is to stay put until 0700, boarding time. Without sighting Anchorage, Ash, or Silver for some time, I turned to him with discernible repentance. "I would hate to leave you out here, but I'm afraid I cannot stick around. I am needed on the ship before boarding."

Night's ears pinned back in disappointment. "Aw..." his chin lowered, along with his saddened gaze.

I gave him a reassuring smile and reached up to pat him on the shoulder. "Hey. We'll be racking together like always. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he returned a small, genuine smile. "You go on ahead. I don't want to keep you from your duties."

I nodded, turning to walk toward the boarding platform. "Catch you on the flip side, Night."

"Likewise," he replied with a single nod, watching me leave from where he waited for the others to arrive.

My path took me through the tent-like open structure that covered up to the hangar bay, crossing by hopping across the rather hazardous five-inch gap between the cement of the dock and the steel of the ship's aircraft elevator that led straight into the hangar bay, only partially occupied by jets and helos shimmering proudly in their grey hues beneath the brightly-luminescent ceiling spotlights.

Carrying my bag across my back, I made my way to a staircase that led below deck to the crew compartments and to our assigned berthing to drop off my belongings on a claimed rack. Once done, I headed straight back out and up to the bridge where I needed to be.

A few sailors already on board carrying out last-minute checks gave greeting nods in my direction as we passed each other in the corridors, garnering one from myself in return. Only a couple of minutes spent on the ship, and the mildly refreshing, distinctive scent of steel, grease, and extremely faint asbestos sent a wave of relaxation to ease my tense muscles. It is peculiarly yet tremendously grand to walk aboard the Eclipse's finely-polished floors once more. 

It won't be long until we raise anchor and haul ass east to kick off another fine month at sea.