//------------------------------// // Chapter Two: First Muster // Story: Storm Over Vegas // by Alden MacManx //------------------------------//                 Early Monday morning, the whole of the Nevada Aeronautical Survey, Greater Las Vegas Metropolitan Weather Control Flight, Colorado Territories Air Control (CTAC) Station Victor, gathered in a hangar at the former Nellis Air Force Base, all two hundred fifty plus of them. They were arrayed in ranks of ten, recent reserve call ups and volunteers up front, more senior veterans farther back. They had heard the song and dance before. After the roll was called, Colonel Stormcloud mounted the dais, with a projection screen behind him and a pointer strapped to a foreleg.                 “Ponies of the Aeronautical Survey, it is time to get to work. Many of you have not been under training since last monsoon, and we will need to function as a team, both in small and in large, if we are going to get through this season. It has already started, and all of you know we have had two near-misses already. Two is three too many. No more!                 “As I call your name and squadron assignment, you are to go to the areas designated for your squadron. We will be organized in twenty-six groups of ten, with thirty of us being in senior command, coordinating different flights. All of you are cautioned to listen to your commanders, because your commanders have earned the right to be listened to. I’ve been doing this for over thirty years as a pony, and twenty years before that, so I do know what I am doing, no matter what you think.                 “Major Turbulent Air, command of Flight One.                 “Major Strong Wing, command of Flight Two.                 “Major Snowcap, command of Flight Three.                 “Major Parseval, command of Flight Four.                 “Major Roaring Storm, command of Flight Five.                 “Major Hal Sleet, command of Flight Six.                 “Captain Stern Gaze, executive officer, Flight One.”                 Hal jumped a good six inches off the floor when his name was called. “What the hell is he thinking about?” he thought to himself as he landed abruptly. “Giving me command of the Training Flight! I’m a storm breaker, not a teacher! I hate teaching!”                 As the colonel droned on down the list, Hal walked to the mustering area for Flight Six. There, he was met by the training flight supply adjutant, Master Sergeant Paper Chaser. The dark blue coated and dirty-yellow maned and tailed earth pony, with the cutie mark of a manila file folder, had a thick bundle of shirts and papers next to him. “Congratulations, Major Sleet. You deserved some recognition from the Colonel.” the burly pony said.                 “Chase, what the hell is going on here? I’m not suited to be an instructor, I’m a storm breaker! I don’t know anything about teaching my talents to any pony!” Hal hissed quietly, his wings unfurling some.                 The career admin sergeant didn’t bat an eye. It was rumored that the only thing that would shake the earth pony’s calm is someone messing with his paper work. Only a few ponies knew for sure that it was not a rumor. “Bring it up with the Colonel after muster. Here’s your command shirts, and a list of those under you. You do have good instructors as Captains and Lieutenants. All you really have to do is coordinate and command.”                 Hal slipped off his NAS undress shirt and put on his white command shirt, with a silver oak leaf on the front along with his name, and the NAS Weather Control logo on the back. “You bet your sweet bippy I’ll talk to the Colonel later. Who I got with me here?”                 “Swift Rain, Screaming Breeze, and Sam Perkins as captains, and as lieutenants, Sandy Jackson, Harper Tune, Filter Tip, Bill Marks, and the Twister Twins, Orion and Aquila.” Paper Chaser reported.                 Hal’s ranting thoughts immediately calmed down by three quarters. All the ponies mentioned he either knew or knew of, Sam and Screaming Breeze having been two of his own instructors when he started in the monsoon control team six years before, Harper Tune also working at Retro Radio Three, the big band and classical station, as well as being a member of the Dippy Hippies. She does play one mean lead guitar. The others he knew slightly, but what he knew of them included the fact that they were all excellent teachers. “Damn. Maybe the Colonel does know something. But why me as Commander of the training flight?”                 “Because Colonel Hard Ass hates your bloody guts, Hal. He hates you, but respects your talent.” Screaming Breeze said as she walked up. The black and tan pegasus exchanged hoofbumps with Hal followed by the other two captains. Paper Chaser issued the captains their shirts, order and training books, and roster sheets. The new Major conferred with his Captains and Lieutenants, when they arrived, on how to best start training their rookies.                 Once all the rookies had arrived, sorted themselves out by squadrons, and had met their officers, Hal decided to give them all a bit of a pep talk. “Ponies, if you don’t know me by now, I’m Hal Sleet, weekday afternoon deejay on Retro Radio Two. I’ve been named your Flight Commander by our esteemed Colonel Stormcloud, who could really do with a lightning bolt up his ass, if I can arrange it.”                 After the snorts, laughter, and hoof stomps died down, Hal went on. “Now, I’m not much of a teacher, but your other officers here are. Listen and learn from them and me, and we’ll get through this monsoon season safely with our hides and wings intact.                 “We will be trading duty shifts daily, first Squadrons twenty-one, twenty-three, and twenty-five, then Squadrons twenty-two, twenty-four and twenty-six. On duty, you are to remain at your assigned outposts, ever vigilant to the weather, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Off duty, we train in different formations and weather manipulations, ready to assist if called in case of need. However, off duty squadrons can head home, so long as you keep in contact with us by phone or radio. This cycle will stay up for the first four weeks, or until I’m assured you all have enough training not to lay waste to half the city.                 “I’m not as ferocious or military bound as Colonel Hard Ass, but one thing he and I agree on, and should be imparted to you, is that when we are working, discipline is necessary. We are the city’s defense against bad weather, and it’s up to us to keep our homes safe.                 “Over the next three months, we’ll get to know each other well. If you have any issues, take them to your officers. If that don’t work, find me. If THAT don’t work, I’ll call my wife. If you survive that, you won’t HAVE any more problems, y’hear?                 “Okay, ponies, let’s get to work. Lieutenants, I want squad reports to your Captains by lunch. Captains, we meet in my office at three. If you find my office before I do, just wait. I’ll get there, eventually. Ponies, I take my JOB here seriously, and so should you. I don’t take YOU or anypony else seriously at first. You gotta earn it. Shouldn’t be hard.”                 Hal stomped his hoof on the floor twice before rearing up and spreading his wings. “Nasser Ho!” he shouted.                 “Nasser Ho!” came a ragged response.                 “Okay, I’ll have to work on a better team shout. I’m open to ideas. To the classroom!”                 Once his Flight was in the classroom, his officers took charge with the first day training, while Hal hunted for his office. Once there, he started in on the paperwork. He loathed paperwork more extensive than the radio logs, and now he oversaw sixty-four ponies, almost a third of the NAS Weather Control team, the ones who knew the least about what to do. By lunchtime, he had managed to read everypony’s file once, checking their test scores. He also had three mugs of coffee, four aspirin tablets and half a dozen donuts, supplied by Paper Chaser, who was at his desk in the outer office.                 For lunch, he asked Chase to send out for some hayburgers and fries while he started on initial reports he knew the Colonel would want by four. By three, when the Captains came in, Hal had the reports made out, barring any additional reports from the officers. Just because Hal hated the rigmarole didn’t mean he couldn’t do the job. At four, he headed for Colonel Stormcloud’s office to make his report.                 Hal found he had to wait until the other flights made their reports before he could make his own. He knew roughly what to expect here, but he had not been a senior officer before, and was not sure how all the minutiae went. So, he handled matters his own way.                 “Well, Major Sleet, what do you think of your Flight?” The colonel growled out.                 “Colonel, I have some good ones, some bad ones, and some I can’t describe yet, because I have yet to really see them. Just going off the papers, we should not have much trouble, but to answer your question, ask me the same question on Friday and I’ll have a better answer for you. Right now, I can’t answer you in your terms, just in mine.” Hal reported, not intimidated by the colonel’s glare. “I may not like you, but I refuse to hand you a line of bullcrap.”                 “Okay, then, Major, what is your description?”                 “I can be wrong, but we have four complete dunces in the Flight. I wouldn’t trust them with weather control duty any more than I would trust you with a bent paperclip.” Hal said calmly, looking right at Colonel Stormcloud with a perfectly innocent look on his face before naming the four ponies in question.                 The colonel’s tan face purpled some, but he took a deep breath or two before speaking. “Sleet, I gave you the Flight not because I am a big fan of yours, but that you are honest, reliable, and dedicated. You run the Flight as you see fit, within Regulations, which I know you know, and leave me the hell alone until I call on you or you do need advice. Got it?”                 “Oh, I got it, Colonel. I have a wife and a foal on the way. I will not let them down, no matter what stands in my way.”                 The colonel’s expression softened a bit. “There, I know how you feel, Sleet. I have a new grandson, and I want him to have a good life here.                 “You are dismissed for the day, just stay by the phone in case anything comes up. Be back here by seven tomorrow.”                 “Muster’s at eight, right?” Hal asked.                 “Officers start early and finish late. Get used to it. I can, so can you. It’ll just give you more to bitch about when you get back on the radio.”                 “Point made, Colonel. Until tomorrow.” Hal waved at the Colonel, did an exaggerated about-face, and marched out of the office.                 When the door was shut, the colonel muttered “Damn comedian…” before picking up his phone, dialing up Turbulent Air. “Turb, just had Sleet in my office. He’s sharper than we thought. We may lose our ringers in Flight Six.”                 After some feedback from Turbulent Air, the Colonel continued. “Just be ready to lose our main intel sources on him. Start leaning some on the officers, but not too hard. We don’t want the wrong word getting back to him.                 “Right. I’m going home. You have the watch, Major. Good night.” Stormcloud hung up and prepared to head home himself.                 Hal flew home, stopping once at a store to pick up something for his wife. Just as his hooves touched the grass in the courtyard of the villa, a shrill voice rang out from the kitchen. “What took you so long? Did you bring me any pickles?”                 Hal walked into the kitchen. “Colonel Hard Ass had a surprise for me.” he said as he put the big jar of pickles on the counter top.                 His wife, the heavily pregnant Raven Blacklight, a black unicorn with lavender mane, tail and horn, let out a squeal of joy when she saw the jar. “You remembered!” she squealed happily as the jar opened under the influence of her purple magic and a pickle rose out of the jar, to be chomped by the unicorn.                 Hal rapidly got upwind of the open jar. An aversion, if not downright allergy, to pickle juice had carried over from before the Event. “If I forgot, you would make my night hellish. Hard Ass already did that to my day.” he said as Raven chomped the pickle down.                 Raven then looked at her husband and best friend from before the Event. “What’s with the oak leaf on your shirt, Chuck?” she asked, using his pre-Event name, which was Charles Anthony Corso Junior, or ‘Chuck’ for short. They only used pre-Event names when alone with each other or with the third person on the vacation trip, Wordsmythe (birth name Carl Jones), a dark red earth pony with a rust orange mane and a typewriter cutie mark.                 Hal explained about what happened at First Muster while he prepared dinner for himself. “He gave you the Training Flight? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Raven snorted.                 “Like hell you will, Jan! Do that and we’ll have to move past Tucson to get away from him. Either there or Yellowstone, and I’m not one for living in snow!” Hal snapped, referring to her birth name, Janet Byrd. “Besides, the pay is better as a Major than as a Specialist in Squadron Five, right?”                 Raven immediately settled down, levitating another pickle from the jar. “You have a point there, Hal.” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll send him a nasty note.”                 “You write it and seal it, I’ll deliver it. So long as I do not know what you wrote, I won’t get dinged for it, right?” Hal said as he built not one, but two Dagwoods.                 “I’m sure he’ll try, but he is too much a soldier to let it affect him. He gave you a Flight command for a reason. To him, a good one. Let him have his fun. If he gets mad, let him get mad at me, not you.” Raven told him, giving Hal a nuzzle, dosing him with pickle fumes.                 “If he gets mad at you, you’ll fix his little brown wagon, and he knows it.” Hal managed to gasp out. “Especially after year before last.”                 “He hasn’t forgotten the hotfoot I gave him after the awards ceremony two years ago, when you got passed over for the Weather Control Pony of the Season award in favor of his crony, Turbulent Air, has he?”                 “Forgotten, no, but he still has a grudge against you and me. Not that he would ever do anything against a leading mage. He’d piss off almost all the unicorns in town if he did anything to you, and it could be traced back to him.” Hal told his wife, nuzzling her neck to stay away from the pickle fumes.                 “So, I’m able to innovate most of the tricks we used to talk about in our game sessions, Chuck. The Ten-Thousand League Step, the sensory enhancements, the Voice…” Raven said wistfully, remembering the days when she and Chuck would just sit on the patio, going on and on in their old RPG, which he ran with her for eighteen years, and continued on even here.                 “But not the flight or the vampirism, and thank goodness not the Family…” Hal said with an eye roll.                 “Yes, Ma Bell would be a little much for here.” Raven said, stepping aside to pull out another pickle, fortunately downwind, so Hal could eat.                 After Hal got the first sandwich done, he asked, “How did Fred work out today?”                 “Lester Bestertester is giving him all sorts of hell as his new producer. Malone is having a rough time with him.” Raven reported.                 Hal nodded as he took a bite from his second sandwich. After swallowing, he managed to say, “All according to plan. Lester will make Malone look like a fool the first week, then starting next week, Malone will ‘get a handle’ on Lester. They’ll go back and forth like that until I get back, or until I make a guest shot or a phone call, when I’ll read them both the riot act for being so stupid.”                 “Wait until they pull something extremely boneheaded, then have Stanley bust in and threaten to call you. When they do it again, you drop in a while later.” Raven suggested.                 “I’ll bounce it off Fred and Stan when I get the chance. I like it!” Hal said with a smile.                 “Let’s settle down and listen to the news, okay?”                 “You get comfy, I’ll join you when I’m done. Wordy leave any beer?” Hal asked.                 “Should be some in the cooler, Hal.” Raven said as she made her ponderous way to the living room.                 Hal dug out the beer and returned to the living room, snuggling next to Raven, sipping from the jar. Raven had the big cathedral radio tuned to the news station in time to catch Norbert Smallword’s six pm newscast. Of course, the top story was the Nevada Aeronautical Survey’s annual Monsoon Call-up. They listened to the story together, Hal nodding at the points made until they heard Norbert say, “This season, Retro Radio Two’s Hal Sleet has been named the commander of Flight Six, the training flight. Why Colonel Stormcloud would do such a thing is honestly beyond my understanding. Major Sleet is well known for his stormbusting capabilities, not as an instructor.”                 Raven giggled at Hal’s reaction to the report, as Norbert moved on to another story. “Looks like you got allies in strange places, Hal.”                 “I didn’t know the old unicorn had it in him.” Hal replied. “Guess I owe Norbert an interview, if Colonel Hard Ass doesn’t slap the sense out of him first.”                 “The colonel won’t. If he does anything to old Norbert, half the town will be after his ass big time. The other half will be lying in wait.”                 “Not to mention the Mayor, the Secretariat, and the regional Mayors will want him as well.” Hal said, nuzzling Raven. “Just where is Wordy tonight?”                 “He said he was going on a date with the Secretary of Energy’s chief aide. Sure pays off, working at City Hall in the archives.” Raven told him.                 “If he comes home and busts the courtyard wall again, HE’s fixing it this time.” Hal snorted.