Back and forth, like a pendulum. That about describes how this unofficially established ping-pong competition went between Anchorage and another sailor in his division, Gallant. Ash and I soon declined into boredom about ten minutes in, and that itself was somewhere near twenty minutes ago. Who would have guessed the two most prominent players on the boat could keep a match ongoing for this long?
Gallant was a relatively chill stallion. I had seen him around a few times in the past, though never on break time, and he is usually accompanying Anchorage. Even on duty, he maintained that poised image of his and overall was a surprisingly laid-back pony.
The marmalade stallion, born and raised in West Fillydelphia, was at one point an athlete prior to the Navy and typically played basketball outside his school. Only two and a half inches taller than Anchorage—who is a couple centimeters taller than me, mind you—it isn't difficult to note the muscle he still packed. Not huge of a pony like Night is, or many other average draft stallions, though one can undoubtedly determine it is best to pick a fight wisely with him nearby.
Then again, when compared side-by-side to one other earth pony we know, Ash still dominates as far as height and muscle goes. But you are also talking completely different origins that play enormous roles in who or what they turn out to be today. Ash was raised on a lumber camp owned by his father, so he practically spent his entire colthood lugging sticks and tree trunks until he one day ventured to Ponyville to enlist, like I did, albeit a few years after the fact.
I can't say the color Gallant's coat took didn't somewhat jog my memory of Solar, apart from the blatant distinction of the latter having a bright yellow coat and dark orangish-brown hair, around the same shade of orange to be precise. The more substantial difference that stands out most is that Solar was a unicorn, shorter in height, and was more scrawny to an extent—and younger. Significantly. I wasn't about to be the pony to comment on it, however.
It has been a little over sixteen days since we left port back in Manehattan. Like expected, each day on the ship went by smoothly without any hiccups, and my shifts were no longer full time as they were formerly. It felt off not having to be on the bridge seven days a week for thirteen or fourteen hours a day, so my days off were particularly slow and tedious. Not even mother nature was willing to throw a stone in our path to make things interesting, or a boulder, whichever suits best.
That sailor that fell overboard on the evening of the second day? He was treated for hypothermia the moment the rescue dinghy was brought up to the aft of the ship and hastily evacuated. To the best of my knowledge, he has since been released from sick bay and is back to his regular tasks after a few days spent resting and recovering from such a traumatic experience.
Seriously, had he not equipped his chemlight or nobody spotted it, he might still be out there. He could have become a shark's lunch, or simply just drowned of exhaustion or body heat loss. Either way it could have gone would not show well in anyone's favor. For one, the media would be all over it like flies on a tipped trash can. There would be chaos all over base, and not just Marines or sailors, but civilians would be all over us asking questions, too. It's already appalling enough recognizing that some refer to us as 'foal killers'.
In itself, knowing such serves a sufficient reminder to keep my mouth shut in the steadily-becoming likely occurrence that I may one day encounter a pony who enforces those beliefs and will go to the lengths to make my day a living hell. But I also have to worry about the ones who may notice based on posture or speech, since there are some who make it their nosy duty to read ponies and determine who they are judging by a mere glance. Like that pony in Canterlot at the cafe. Oh, wait, that was a dream.
To be fair, they had considerable points to support their reasoning. It was the last major war involving Equestria that took place beginning approximately twenty-eight years ago, in 1987, which lasted for two more years afterward. As a result, this shaped the mutual image of Equestria's armed forces worldwide and not limited to just our citizens. While relations have improved over the years, and once deteriorated last year over a misunderstanding that led to hundreds of casualties, they never truly healed.
Of course, the disbandment of the Great Gryphon Constitution garnered the support of not just the Eastern Kingdoms, but virtually everywhere affected specifically or indirectly by their vengeful, terrorizing reign. It wouldn't surprise me if a few of their loyal troops remained in hiding, but on a larger scale, thankfully, they were no longer a threat due to us.
That said, if it also weren't for us, they would not have made it to shore. They would not have breached Equestria's coasts to take Manehattan. Yet they did, all thanks to misguided data and a well-conceived diversion. It could have all been prevented. Despite their internal assistance and firepower, no matter what, they lost, and they would have lost whether or not they succeeded in distracting my fellow Marines. I suppose their vision, regardless of outcome, was just to wreak havoc on the economy and infrastructure as revenge, and piss off every soldier, sailor, airpony, and Marine from here to San Dineigho as a result. Fairly weak logic in my opinion, although it succeeded to a degree.
We didn't stick around for the offensive's conclusion due to the orders we were given, though I imagine no clemency was given to those that surrendered, if any did, probably against commands, too. Who wouldn't go against a leader's instructions to exact violence against those who struck your homeland with intent for spilling blood of the innocent and defenseless and smashing stone into dust everywhere they trampled.
I won't fully agree with such for the sake of avoiding sounding like scum rebelling against his military. There are, of course, boundaries with such. But I cannot accept any lenient action shown toward the enemy in their capture, even if they were later executed discreetly. These days, the public can never be happy, for execution has become less common in the law world. Then there are the judges that lock away minor offenders for an eternity and dust off the felons to perform heinous crimes. I just cannot fathom how ponies firmly concur with them anymore!
Alas, the judge to indict (and wave off) the second lieutenant for his shocking deeds had the correct mindset, and while I hate to inflict any such punishment on anypony I know, the injury and death caused was deserving of justice. He did murder in cold blood, even if it turned out to be his 'alt-ego' as arbitrated by the court, backed by the countless medical records on his file. That may very well be the sole reason he was let off the hook so quickly. Arc Nobis' acts were inexcusable, nevertheless him being within his own jurisdiction.
Deep in thought, I suddenly blinked into realization of the moment. Was I just persistently agreeing to harm of ponies? Is this who I have become as repercussion of enlisting? No, the military does not promote hate, I knew that. Ash knew that. Anchorage and Silver, too. That is not us. That is not who we are.
But when it comes down to such brutality shown against those we swore our lives to protect, all of that gets thrown out the window. We stop at nothing to achieve the destruction of whoever dare threaten our country and its inhabitants, as terrible as that sounds.
It was not until the voice of Ashfall to my right yanked me back to reality, where the match still had yet to find an end. "So, Star, I heard you spoke to Silver?"
Thankfully he failed to notice my jolt of surprise, leaving my muse behind. "Yeah," I replied, flatly at first. "He's doing well, by the way. Still trying to get accustomed to the Navy and all of that fancy shit."
"Well, that's a relief. I actually thought he was caught up in some conspiracy with the Manehattan mafia or something, heh. As long as he ain't..." Ash said, shifting in his particularly uncomfortable metal chair. "Man, why'd he do it?"
Before the words emerged, Anchorage chimed in between swings, "Because that is what he wanted to begin with, to join the Navy."
In the spur of the moment I snapped to him and outstretched my hooves up over my head apprehensively, yelping out, "You knew?!"
"Uh huh!" he nodded, not once removing his focus from the game in front of him. "You didn't? He told me months ago."
"How many months ago?" my brow arched in perplexion, eyes honing in on and studying Anchor thoroughly now.
"Four, five? I think?" he replied, whipping his body full circle and still managing to hit the ball across to Gallant, who grew moderately peeved in response. The look plastered on his face spoke more than he did, and it showed his annoyance toward Anchorage now, who simply kept going with a devious sneer of wits.
Bewildered as ever, Ash stared in question along with me at his best friend. "So, you knew all this time?"
"Of course!" countered Anchorage, bouncing on his hooves and acting like a pumped hoofball player ready to tackle. A ball. With a ping-pong paddle. "But he told you, too!"
I blinked in confusion, asking, "When was this?" cocking my head to the left.
"Four, five months ago," he said in repeat of himself. "Or, at least, he tried to."
The white pegasus tossed his paddle into the air and dropped his hoof to the floor. All of our jaws dropped, including Gallant's, when Anchorage proceeded to catch it by the handle between his wing feathers and deliver a final, powerful, and rather clamorous swat that sent the little plastic orb sailing narrowly over his comrade's dodging head and into the wall across the room.
"Shouldn't have dropped your guard, mate," Anchorage declared with a victoriously-taunting and cunning smirk, slapping his paddle down on the table edge lightheartedly, "Chalk another under my name. If you all will so kindly excuse me, I've got priorities to attend to," before he snatched up his predominantly-consumed can of cola and headed out, all while the majority of the sailors and two Marines—Ash and I—watched him leave.
Turning back to his friend, still stood at the head of his end of the ping pong table, Gallant's head lightly tilted and one of his eyes stared half-lidded, even after Anchorage had rounded the corner. Despite this, it was I who broke the silence. "Did... he just win on a wing?"
Ascending to his hooves and shrugging in a long, relieving stretch, Ash, in proud manner of the pegasus he referred to as his best friend, he proceeded to add rather cockily, "Without the prayer."
***
Shadow picked up the receiver for the ship's intercom system and pressed down on the speaker button, addressing to the crew, "All aboard Eclipse, heads up. We are on steady approach to a last-known position of a radio frequency disturbance; latitude thirty-nine degrees north, thirty-four minutes, longitude minus forty-one degrees west, thirty-one minutes, north-central Antlertic Ocean. This is it, everypony, our first attempt. We don't find anything out here today, we'll try again tomorrow or move on," setting the wire-attached device down in its slot when he finished.
"Think we'll find anything interesting out here?" casually questioned the bluish-green quartermaster, Sea Watch, hunched over a table with a large map rolled out across it and a pencil tapping against his hoof, mentally running by his own questions in relation to his job. This was typically what he looked like day in and day out, and somehow his back never misaligned in his three years of being in the Navy.
"Sure hope so, otherwise this is all just an enormous waste of resources and everypony's time," answered Vernon, sliding his headphones down to let them sit on his shoulders as he then took a large swig of water from his bottle to quench his apparent thirst.
"I hear you there," Shadow said, heading back to the coffee pot at the rear of the room, behind my station and to the right. Much to my contentment, it had been replaced with a newer model since our previous voyage, where the last one shattered after being knocked off its counter in high surf. "For how much I love to set sail, an unnecessary deployment is never a good one."
"Aye, Captain," I commented with a nod, relaxing into my chair to sprawl out my hinds and stretch them. Hours spent sitting in one spot can be taxing on one's muscles.
Supposedly by remembering I was there, Shadow strolled up to my station after refilling his mug. "What's it looking like, Corporal?" putting a faint bit of pride in the emphasis of my title, which I offhandedly noted but ignored.
As requested, with a few clicks and taps of the mouse and keyboard, enlarging a couple of windows on the screen to read off a report, I leaned forward. "No different than yesterday, sir. Winds at thirteen knots, waves under one meter, light precipitation clusters to our immediate south and west."
"Good, good. Nice to not have piss-poor weather for once," he remarked, returning to his anterior seat to kick back, but not before imposing a brief, benevolent pat on my shoulder; his way of giving a silent gesture of appreciation to crewmates.
Even though we all looked to him as our commanding officer and respected him as such—at least, in my case, that is what he is to me on the ship, less so back in Manehattan for that remark—he maintained a friendly character, much like Gallant, barring the difference in rank between the duo.
Beneath his stoic, top-dog veil, Shadow's home mannerisms assumed him the title of a family stallion like any ordinary, primarily here, always striking leisurely discussions when they came to mind, and everypony tried to relate to one another in certain aspects. Consider him the father figure of us in addition to the subtle, between-the-bridge-crew notion that we were all equal members of his so-called second family of sorts. A type of brotherhood solely the military can forge.
Then there are the ones who fear him, and occasionally, us as well due to the fact that we spend time with him so often. Whoever does not see much of him or has not known him for this long would normally see him as powerful, demanding, and downright terrifying like any high-ranking officer can be conceived as. Truth is, at the end of the day, he can be. Within boundaries placed, that is. It gives an explanation for everything of his to be placed within his reach with nothing figuratively and literally between him. Like anypony else, he has his unfavorable days, and unless crucial, we tend not to bug him. Especially before he fills his mug in the mornings.
Of course, Shadow and I have known each other long before I even considered enlisting. The occasion itself and what we were doing that day is what remains vague in my memory, other than it wasn't long after I moved to Canterlot, and a friend had introduced him to me and vice versa, and that I practically quivered in his presence upon learning his occupation which, at the time, was fairly new compared to the present. There was just something about veterans back then that caused butterflies in my stomach merely being remotely close to them, let alone befriending one. Hell, I was skittish around my friend then, too!
Suddenly, the whole entire ship jerked up. I'm talking virtually every square inch of steel, asphalt, and whatever else went into constructing this thing, all of it lurched upward simultaneously and let off a bang that echoed throughout every corridor, berthing, and compartment from stern to aft.
Everyone on the bridge reflexively secured a sturdy hold of their desks or other bolted fixtures, or more simply the floor and put on their boat legs as loose objects such as books, pens, papers, and cups were jolted ajar and hurled everywhere. The force of it was enough to make a couple of us grunt in immediate response to having our lower bodies shoved up so swiftly. A distinctly shrill noise of metal grinding against metal pierced the air, and as if it were in synchronization with a vibrating motion coming from below the hull, everything—including ourselves—trembled and quaked for a full twenty or so seconds before it abruptly ceased.
Much gentler than before, the heavy stern eased itself almost unnoticeably back into the water comfortably. We all then snapped our immediate attention off to the port side, watching with both disbelief and mild oblivion as a long, thin silhouette passed beneath the surface of the waves and steadily became more visible, before the water surrounding it burst up in a white mist. Emerging from this geyser-like cloud splashed the nose of a thin, round black object that churned the water with whirlpools in its wake that rocked even our ship, slinking speedily in an well-nigh precise diagonal northerly track.
Without repressing his utter bafflement at the sight, Vernon shouted, "What the hell is that thing?!" standing completely from his chair and observing the somewhat distinguishable, black tube-shaped vessel along with the rest of us—even the flight deck crew, who from under our vantage point appeared as visibly startled as we were, hurrying to the edge and gathering to see what we had struck as it swiftly surfaced from the blue. A submarine.
Furiously, Shadow picked up his phone receiver to the operations room, calling down to it in search for answers. "Bridge to operations, this is the captain. What the fuck is going on down there? What can you see on sonar?" trailed by a silence of the other end speaking, and eventually Shadow's booming, exasperated voice. "Well, what CAN you tell me?!"
Though his question was not directed towards me, I took it as it was and fixed solely on my screens. No one on the bridge had the ability to hear the sailor's response on the opposite end of the line, leaving it up to me to answer for them. One empty sweep on both radar and sonar circled, followed by another. Then, instantly as the third scan looped around, my eyes grew wide as saucers.
The fur on my hooves turned pale with alarm, not for a moment separating my stare from the monitors in front of me as two—no, three—five—seven signatures appeared in a tight formation on steady approach from the northeast, with a course due to cross our own.
"C-Captain, we—" I stuttered, allotting a few seconds for the displays to update for further verification. "I've got seven—no, eight! Eight blips."
The moment I glanced up from my station, the look he tossed my way told me everything I needed to know that he did, and it was far from slack. Just then, Vernon peered at both of us from his station, reserving something of his to say next that would surely add to the rapidly escalating mayhem. Without hesitating he grabbed Shadow's attention and turned a knob on his radio communicator to project an incoming frequency through the bridge's speakers. Through it crackled a thickly-accented, commanding voice, unlike any I have heard before.
"Equestrian Fleet, zis is ze S.A.F Vulher, ze flagship of ze Sovereign Ajerstanian Naval Forces. You have crossed within our path. Zis is our final warning. Redirect your course at once to avert conflict, or we shall unleash our full fury!"