//------------------------------// // Thank You For Making Me A Company! I Feel Better! // Story: Mares und Panzer // by re- Yamsmos //------------------------------// "Duck, wake up." It was less so the voice attempting to rouse her than the hoof violently—aggressively persistently—grabbing hold of her shoulder and shaking her awake like a dog trying to rid itself of lake water. Her head snapped up without a second's pause, and at once, her nostrils burned her up inside. Bringing up a hoof, she wiped first it and then the sides of her lips, knowing full well that she'd been drooling during her unrequested, insubordinate nap. "I-I wasn't sleeping..." The individual who'd stirred her from her slumber reappeared before her lazily-swimming eyes. They were a bespectacled Unicorn, her dirty face grinning a grin into a bunched up cheek and raising an eyebrow practically reaching into her olive green M1 helmet. Her earth-tan uniform, dirty, unkempt, and riddled with torn seams, relinquished one of its items as the Unicorn reached down with a shaky foreleg into one of her breast pockets and yanked out a small napkin that looked like it'd been taken off a dining table cover. Seemingly double then triple-checking it for any out-of-place stains, she flailed it free of loose dirt and lint and held it out to Duck just a bare inch from her nose. "Bullshit you weren't sleeping," she replied with a laugh. She tilted her head, and her dangling chinstraps went with her. "Come on, time to go." With that, the Unicorn rose from her position on the ground, her canteen, shovel, and other bits of field gear clanging their respective clangs and thumps with her body. Her trousers were newly tucked into her boots, as evidenced by their misshapen folds and—as Duck looked now and then immediately turned away from, burning—unzipped fly. She adjusted her backpack's straps with one foreleg, the other grasping what Duck noticed to be a worn-out M1 Garand by the foregrip. Stomping along bits of rubble, shattered window glass, and halved pieces of wooden structuring, the Unicorn beckoned Duck with a hoof. "Come on, Duck." Her voice was now a lot more stern. "It's been five minutes already. Nap time's over." Duck rubbed her eyes, coloring the ends of her grimy sleeve dark with tears. Nipping to nopony but herself—as her companion fled the scene by jumping outside through the large hole in the opposite drywall—she rose all to all fours and noticed much more weight attached to the movement than she was used to. Looking down, she booped her nose against a short, four-pocket bandolier sitting high up her chest from her left shoulder and under her right armpit. Lower still, around her waist, was a round-about of similar pouches, each bulging at the core and jostling something metallic as she shook herself idly. A backpack, heavy at the top of her spine, tried its hardest to fiddle with her posture and possibly break a few discs too; a pair of gaiters laced around her hindleg's boots burned much too tightly around her leg, mixing in with the discomfort of tucked-in pants and sweated-in hoofwear. And hanging off her left side by a sling, pointed straight ahead and bouncing up and down with each step, was her own M1 Garand. Duck rapped a hoof against her helmet to test its hold, then, satisfied, took a few hurried steps toward the hole her squadmate had fled through, ducked underneath the mess of wooden beams sticking dangerously outward here and there, and hopped back down onto the busy sidewalk. Her footing almost disturbed by the landslide of steel beams and collected rubble, she successfully steadied herself and looked around the street. Looking up gave her a feeling of betrayal. The sky was as blue as could be, with nary a cloud in sight to try and get in the way of Celestia's bright sun beating hard and heavy down on her now. If she shut her eyes, she could pretend she was back home, sitting down in the grass with a cute dress on and picking daisies out of the dirt with giggles parting from her lips. Instead, she was standing in the middle of a sidewalk, looking about at the neverending line of look-alike buildings, not a single one standing an inch out from the rest, with only a few brave oddities here and there that ended up smaller and shorter as a response, their battered signs only able to read out "beignets" and "café" in their current states. Some houses lay in crumbling messes, either sagging in one rubble-spewing corner, or flat-out open to the air, their roofs long gone and lying in jagged messes on the street's torn-up floors. The prideful regality of the window panes and trimming now held more sinister beings behind them with every casted glance upward, ready to lay waste at the drop of a hat and tear down devastating lines of unsuspecting people just trying to sort through the whole thing. Brick and concrete and wood and shingles littered the ground, sparsely and in large collected chunks at the same time. The smell of fresh smoke, and burning trees, and pumping gasoline, and lots and lots of gunpowder wafted into her nose and pounded at her chest ceaselessly. The low rumble of the two Shermans now passing by her—the lead an M4A3E8 and the rear an M4A3—tossed and turned what little sat at the bottom of her stomach and began to bubble up her gut like the impending volcano at the edge of a tectonic plate. Small groups of other ponies, numbering about six, seven, or eight, occupied both her side of the street and the other, their quiet voices now mindless puttering in her head that was barely legible with the distance between the two. In the distance, distinctive cracks and snaps answered each other, sometimes quick and separate, and other times slow and connected. Sweat poured down her brow as both her pregnant pause and her current position reached her brain, and she turned to her left quickly to find the rest of her squad cautiously moving down the side of the street, hugging a red-brick building with some of its windows still intact. Going into a bit of a crouch, she sprinted over to them and took the caboose like usual, licking her lips and finding them dry. She shook her left side more strongly than the right, and realized her canteen was still empty. She'd have to see about asking somepony else for a sip from their's, and quite honestly, she wasn't looking forward to it. "Place is a Godsdamned mess," somepony up front said, looking over to the Captain. "Yeah well why don't you go let our birds know? They might stop dropping three and go down to one. And then our feathered friends'll be more in number." "I'm just sayin', ma'am. Job like this? Probably best left to the Shermans." "Yeah well, where's the fun in that?" Their steps, though not in sync, matched pace. Something caught Duck's eye out of the corner of it, and so, shooting a glance to her left, she looked into the window of the red-brick building and found a Caribou mannequin smiling at her, dressed in an extravagant dress dirtied and torn by the absolutely wretched interior lying quietly behind it. Desks, cabinets, and bookcases were toppled over each other like poorly-managed dominoes; the floor was covered with burnt-up books, magazines, and assorted papers that swirled across the ground with each breeze that filtered in from the outside. The behinds of the window faded away, and a light brown Earth Pony, dressed in a pouch-infested uniform, lightly tossed her dreadfully long ginger mane flowing out from underneath a corked olive drab helmet. Duck blinked, and it seemed that the Earth Pony blinked as well. She hoped they were doing better than she was. She sucked in a breath, practically gulping it. TUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD-REEEEEEOOOOO! She practically choked on her attempted words, ducking her head down and diving for cover behind the large, wide tree reaching up into the sky on her right. Her ears gave her only a long, drawn-out eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee as a flurry of holes made their marks in the red-brick building, going on a straight left line and blowing the mannequin-displaying window into smithereens. Her heart crawled up through her throat and stayed right there, cutting off her oxygen as she tried to suck it in and out greedily. Shutting her eyes tightly for a full two seconds and lifting her chin up, she clenched her teeth and felt half a dozen weights fall onto her, then rise once more. Opening her eyes again, she saw her squadmates sitting at low crouches, weapons raised and a few already barking loudly. The Captain, standing behind a large wall of brick illuminated by a bright green glow, moved her lips in the shape of a popular curse, shook her head, and looked at her subordinates. A sickening noise roared up from the depths, and the street came back into recognition. "MG, up in that building!" Somepony yelled, jabbing a hoof at the one in question. "Light 'em up!" PING! PING! TFF TFF TFF TFF! CHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Duck shot out a hefty bit of air, then threw herself out from her tree's cover, whipped about, brought up her Garand, and flicked the trigger. POWWWWW POWWWWW POWWWWW! Her shoulder took the brunt of the recoil, and she set her iron sights back on the target building's window before firing once more. Large clouds of dust kicked up as her entire squad unloaded into the position, tearing into the mass pile of sandbags Duck could barely see in the shadows. POWWWWW POWWWWW POWWWWW POWWWWW POWWWWW! PING! Her en-bloc clip sounded on the ground, and she reached to one of the pockets on her waist, fished for another full one, and held back the operating rod on the right side of the rifle. Shoving the clip into the chamber, she held the rod back, let her other hoof free, and released it. CLANK! Raising the rifle up, she took a step to begin firing once more, only for the Captain to open her mouth and roar, "Daisy, River, Duck, keep them pinned!" She stopped, clearly swallowing a lump down her throat. The other soldiers on the opposite end of the street, not really knowing what to do, were either bracing their sides against the building they stood against, or looking at them to see if they wanted something specific. The Shermans as well had stopped, with the M4A3 in the rear aiming its turret up to help look. The Captain waved a hoof. "All right, Hail, show your moves! On me!" Duck moved out of the way as an oddly familiar Earth Pony, her cheeks smathered with black under-eye, brushed past her and joined the Captain's side. Leaning out of cover, she aimed her Garand at the building and sent a few rounds its way. POWWWWW POWWWWW POWWWWW! In the corner of her eyes, she watched as the Captain lifted their makeshift brick wall from the ground and began to move it into the middle of the road, she and Hail making sure to stay right behind it so as to not get hit by the MG42, which was still steadily burst-firing them and kicking up dustclouds that swirled lazily into the smokey air. TUDDDDDD-REEEEOOOOO! TUDDDDDDDDDDDD-REEEEOOOOO! Their cover fell back to Earth, and the Captain felt around her chest for something out of Duck's sight, found it, and threw it to Hail. Hail, catching it, sank low to the ground, reeled her foreleg back, stuck out her tongue, and chucked the object clear across the street and right into the window of the offending building. The MG's spraying halted at once. "Scheiße!" BOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The window, and a bit of the wall it was attached to, blew apart in a heavy cloud of dirty smoke that billowed out like a house fire. Duck realized she was hyperventilating, and lowered her Garand to try and calm her and her drum-soloing heart down. The Captain and Hail slowly rose back to all fours, still staring up at the grenaded building for any signs of movement. The former brought up a foreleg and patted the latter on the nearest shoulder. The M4A3E8, believing all to be all right, began to slowly crawl forward once more, its counter-shaded 3-inch gun facing forward once more. Duck's ears twitched. POO-OOF! Her heart dropped at the same time as the Easy Eight's frontal plate burst into flames and smoke, immediately setting its rear engine block ablaze and stuttering the tank to a halt. The M4A3 in the rear, newly alone, stopped as well, and began to reverse out of whatever had hit the E8's sight. The other ponies situated on the sides of the street ducked down and began to take cover behind whatever they could use: a mailbox here, a street sign there, and even a flipped-over automobile with its wheels bent in impossible angles toward the heavens. PHOOO-OOOMMMMM! The flames bursting from the E8 increased in ferocity, and its crew finally began to throw open their hatches and escape. The Driver and Machine Gunner, raising themselves out of the front hatches, were the first out, and slid down the front glacis carrying their emergency rifles over their backs. The Commander, practically jumping out of the turret, stopped once her four legs hit the sideskirts, turned back, and grabbed hold of the violently quivering hoof of the Loader, who collapsed into the Commander's hooves and was swiftly dragged away from the fuming tank. Questions about what had happened to the Gunner escaped Duck's mind as it was suddenly assaulted with the telltale crackles and snaps of little filly fireworks coming from down the street past the large pile of rubble and cement that made an odd, elevated border wall between the two parties. Loud, punctual jabs sang through the air in between each firework, accompanied by three-round bursts of chattering teeth. "Panzerfaust!" The Captain, having stayed on the street as Hail ran for the others, lit her horn. The 149mm warhead, its sole objective being the remaining Sherman, hovered in the air as if dangling from an immovable string. The Captain grit her teeth, sweat pouring down her brow, then hissed like a wild animal. The warhead slowly, shakily, began to turn around. Once it faced the way it came, the Captain let go of it, and it zoomed away in the blink of an eye. BOOOOOOOOF! "Consider it yours, you Godsdamned pigeons!" The Captain shook her head, her horn lighting up her M1 Thompson. She looked back at her squad as she approached them once more. "All right EP, get on my ass and follow me!" She brought up a hoof and pointed down an alley way prior blocked off by a black gate that now lay in ruin. "We're hangin' a left, through this backalley!" Though every bit of instinct in her practically leapt up and screamed at her not to join them, Duck nodded her head, adjusted the front of her helmet, and jogged around the corner with the rest of her squad. The bright, if still ruined, colors of the main street gave way to the dark shade of a tight alleyway, back doors leading into houses, restaurants, and little shops that Duck was absolutely sure she would've loved to peruse during more peaceful times. The clacks of their boots and the shuffling of their gear echoed as they went, mixing in with the soft breathing of six weighed-down mares. The alleyway opened up a tad, with the trail they'd been taking leading a curve further down and onto an open road, and another way taking them someplace else closer to their right. From the main street, the battle was still, though a bit more quietly, raging on. The 9-cylinder engine of the M4A3 growled hungrily as it rolled up, the low whine of its turret sounding out as it looked around for enemy armor waiting to send it and its crew to oblivion. Duck, feeling a lot safer about the closer exit, began to softly trot over to it, her backpack bouncing up and down brutally on her back. Two others joined her and lined up behind her back, while the last two readied their weapons and followed behind the Captain, who, moving her hoof as if telling off a dog, raised her Thompson once more and carefully stepped toward the open road, now out of sight of Duck as she pressed her right shoulder against her own wall. Her heart was going double time inside her, almost drowning out the voices she—and seemingly the rest of her squad—could barely hear from the street. "Bewegen, bewegen, gehen." "Lass uns gehen." The Captain went into a leaning crouch. She moved her Thompson's sights up to her face. The sound of something heavy rolling along the floor began to increase in volume. Short huffs and puffs clearly dragged it along. Someone made a short noise, and Duck wasn't sure who it was. CHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! The end of the Captain's submachine gun spat out smoke as she hyperventilated. SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Duck's eyes burned. She could hear voices again. "M-Mutter! Hilf mirrrr!" "Nein, nein, bitte... oh Gott rette mich!" Duck moved a hoof to see what it was, but halted mid-step as the Captain's horn lit up the pile of brick and wood behind her, levitated over to the exit, and began to block it off in a makeshift wall. Without a word, but much shaking of her head, she finished up what she was doing, placed her Thompson by her side, and began trotting over to Duck's position. "Captain...?" "Captain Hill?" "Cap'n are you all right?" The closer Hill got to Duck, the easier it was to see the wideness of her eyes. They closed, only temporarily, then shrank back to normal size. She shook her head, more vigorously this time, and muttered something under her breath. "S̨ͦ̐̒ͨ͊̚͏̛̜̯̰̺oͬ̈́ͪ̑̒҉̢̬̺n̸͙͍͖̮͇̫̻̺̿̊̀͋ͣͤͪ͝u̎ͦ̾͂͌̉̾҉̶͚̮͝v̫̙ͪ̽ͩ͟͡ả̵̰͎̔ͥ̉̇͐͟b̻̠̐̓̏͜i̧̻̣̣͉͉̠͕̗̓͟͠t̺̥̯̹͉̘͈ͥͬ̋͋̐ͭ͟c̴̣̝͉̦̱̖̬̑̂̿̒̅̚͜ͅh̵̞̩̫̟͇̖͔͒͆͗͘ ͓͈̱̖ͤ̌̒ͣ̚ͅc̡̘̙͛ͨ͊o̡̙̱͈̦̺̘̰̐ͬ̋͑̍́͗̚ͅu̳͎̻̪̻ͬ̌ͧ̽l̯̝ͩͭ̚d̤͉̳̖̝̥̖̗ͣ͋a͇̣͓̤̠͇̯̓̇̅́ͯ̐̊̽ ̢͚͕͙͖̝̼ͩ̍̀̿͢͟ḇ̴̸̛̫͉́̅ͮ̅ͨę͍̯̩̳̟̟̝̃̅̽͟e̥̪̻͇͎͌ṉ̝ͥͦ͊ ̷̨̡͇ͣ̎̊ͬ̎̚m̯̟̮͕̫̣̆̂͒̀͘y̢͈̺͒ͨͯ͛̎́̚ ̙̼̼̳̱̯͆ͤͩ̓͆̒̎͜ṡͥ҉̫̣͉̼̰͚͖o̞̗̻͓ͦ͐͘n̘̯̺̺̯̫͔̫͑͒͂͐̊ͦ̂.̟͓̉͊̈́̊̑͆͞" On the main street, the M4A3 fired its gun, collapsing a building at the end of the road. Stopping right next to her, Hill brought up her Thompson, held it barrel-up, and released the empty magazine into her waiting hoof. Cocking the bolt back, she turned to Duck. "W-We're going this way. Duck, how's it looking?" Duck looked for words, but her throat was desert-dry. Before she could even reach for her canteen, a hoof held one out to her, which she gladly took, tipped back, and took a lengthy swig from. As if the world finally reached clarity, she spoke, "Th-there's a gate at the end." She passed the canteen back to its owner, mouthing a quick thank you. The owner, placing it back in its holder, piped up, "Looks locked. Don't doubt we'll be seeing feathers when we blow it open." Captain Hill nodded. She brought out a fresh stick magazine from her chest, deposited the dry one, and stuck its replacement into the waiting mag well. "All right. Daisy, be ready to give Hail some cover. Hail, hurry up and kick it down." Hail, giving a short response, shouldered her BAR and stepped down the alleyway, the aforementioned Daisy pulling up her M1 Carbine and clutching it ready by her breast. "Everyone count your rounds. Sounds like it's not over yet." Duck trotted over to the alleyway Hail had disappeared into, pulling back the bolt on her Garand slightly to count her remaining rounds. Roused by a noise, her head darted up to watch Hail simply push the gate open. The fellow Earth Pony, clearly not expecting the ease, went right into alert, pulling her BAR back down into her hooves and pressing her back against the wall on her left. Slowly, carefully, she leaned forward and took a glance around the corner, only to pull back an inch. As if stopping herself, she went right back to peeking, and, narrowing her eyes, looked to be finding something she found odd. It was as if Hail had just soiled herself, judging by the noise she made. Duck's heart skipped a beat. Hail's BAR fell to the ground as she turned tail in an instant and sprinted back toward Duck, her wild eyes wide as could be and her teeth grit tightly. She was whimpering the whole way. Hail hadn't even reached her, and yet Duck felt as if she'd just been tackled hard to the ground by some impossibly able force. Her ears would have caught the sounds of Hail screaming as she flew through the air and collapsed onto the ground in a heap, but the ringing had returned and now seemed to be the only lonely sound she could make out. Bright orange, yellow, and red flowers sprouted manically from the open gate, sending with it a cloud of shattered brick and mortar that flew high into the air and pitter-pattered back to the ground. Duck hit the ground hard, her helmet flinging off her head and bouncing onto the pavement behind her. She shut her eyes as a burning hot sensation took her over, pulsing and coursing through her hollow chest to the point where she could barely breathe. Her head was sounding off dully; her nostrils breathed smoke; her whole body felt like a thousand pounds over. She shot up, forehead wet as rain and her throat aching ravenously. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Her head was as cold as ice. Huh... ...huh... ...huh... ...huh... ... She caught a whiff of something, like she had while looking for the Cruiser a couple weeks back, just barely legible and at the bare end of her thoroughly boggled senses. Sniff, sniff. Was... was that the smell of freshly baked cookies, or was it just her...? Was this what ponies talking about with smelling burnt toast? That usually came with dying, though... or was it having a stroke? Neither of those were very good things to her—really... at all honestly—so she... oh. She was in a room, now. For a second, she thought it to have been stripped of all its color, and her world as well, but as her eyes became more and more used to the bright light in the middle of the ceiling above her, the assorted potted plants in the corners that desperately needed more than just a bit of her love and care, and the navy blue blanket lain neatly over her body, she realized that whoever had painted the interior walls just decided that white was their favorite color for the long, winding session. Her visual recognition of her surroundings had her bodily sensations beat by a landslide, and only after a solid half a minute of softly—laborously—breathing did Duck take full notice of the warm hoof rubbing tenderly against her right shoulder nearest the door. Her hearing finally came to her as well as she turned her head to face the source admittedly cautiously. "Shh, shh, it's okay Duck, it's okay. Just a dream, Duck, just a dream..." Flurry was hunched over the right side of the bed Duck now noticed she was helplessly situated in, her heavenly blue eyes half-lidded as she quietly cooed into Duck's ear and ran her hoof gently along her shoulder blade. A chill ran up and down Duck's spine, causing her to shake. Flurry, clearly believing herself to be the culprit, pulled back for a second before realizing the truth, mumbling something to herself, shaking her head, and going back to what she was doing. Arco, peeking out from behind Flurry, made an O-shape with his mouth, puffed out his cheeks, and blew out a long breath of air. "Bonnie Zacherle, that sounded awful." Oh... oh Gods, how much of that did they hear? Better yet, what did they hear? Duck's green eyes blinked, then found Bluebell positively quivering, despite the immense, practically insufferable heat wafting around the room. Or maybe it was just her. Bluebell muttered something publically incoherent under her breath, but she either hadn't realized how well-tuned Duck's ears were, or was just too frazzled to clearly remember at the present moment. "I didn't know that's how it would've been..." A soft hum that came out as more of an affirmative grunt. Candle Light stepped forward, muzzle scrunched up as a hoof reached toward her face and adjusted her glasses. "Must've been inner Prance. Griffons would've loved those hedgerows." The mare took a peaceful step aside as Sweet Tea, flower crown and cardigan still as pristine as ever, hurriedly brushed past with something teetering atop her blonde mane. She dipped her chin and presented it to Flurry, who turned around, took it from its makeshift perch, whispered a quick thanks, whipped back about, and passed it to Duck. She hardly took a second to acknowledge that it was a little cup of water before practically wrenching it from Flurry's grasp, taking hold of it with both hooves shaking, and tipping it bottom-up to greedily drink from it. Flurry, as if trying to send Duck back into her possible, temporary coma, tackled her in a bone-crushing hug before she finished with her swig, not caring in the slightest as Duck let out a little indescribable noise and almost dropped the half-empty cup onto her unsoiled sheets. There wasn't a hint to be taken, but something inside of her quietly dissolved... ...and she brought up a hoof, lightly—ever so slightly—pushing Flurry back. She smiled. "Hey... I'm okay, Flurry. I'm okay." Flurry giggled half-heartedly, rubbing at her cheek. "I know, Duck, I just..." She sucked air in through her nose, then shot it out her mouth. "...I can tell when dreams get really scary. Call it a family inheritance." What first appeared to be a floating, ethereal lunch tray aptly revealed itself to be a normal one carried in Graham's hooves, who trotted around the foot of the bed to Duck's left side, saying, "We got you some food, by the way. Lily and them went out to McDuckle's since they didn't want anything in the cafeteria." Duck sat up as Graham slowly lowered the tray onto her blanketed lap. Rehearsing for a possible waitress position in the future, Graham brought up a hoof and pointed it at the food as she went along her relatively short list. "Mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and peas." She stood up straight, flashing Duck a toothy grin and scratching the back of her head. "I hope I made a good choice." Duck bunched up her cheeks. "No, that's... perfect. Th-thank you." She gave Graham a crisp nod before dipping her nose down and looking for her hopefully provided utensils. At first met with some difficulty in the search, she was just on the cusp of looking up and awkwardly asking Graham for help before suddenly finding them on the right side of her mashed potato bowl, underneath its lip. Coiling her hoof around the spoon, she took a serving of carrots and dumped them on her potatoes, ignored the weird look on Arco's face, and began to chow down. Her stomach instantly felt much, much better. She may have been stuck in a dream for little less than an hour or so, but her body felt like it had eaten nothing but K-rations for the past few weeks. Not to say a nice baggie of ham and eggs disgusted her, but... maybe if it was pretty much the only part of her diet. Maybe not. Between spoonfuls of vegetables—mashed or steamed—she took gulps of her water, which Flurry kindly refilled for her before it was even empty. Besides the scraping of her spoon, the subdued crunching of her food in her mouth, and the little sighs she let out after each successive drink, the room was... comfortably tranquil. It actually reminded her of her little apartment, to be honest, oh, wait, there was another, constant noise, that being the long strip light running parallel to the end of her bed above her and everypony else's heads. Her ear flicked at the new arrival, but soon diminished its role to a faint hum, and so she let loose a squiggly little smile and almost absently giggled to herself. The warmth that had plagued her earlier was gone now with the arrival of the hots of her food and the cold of her drink; the constant ringing in her mind seemed to nestle way, way back into nonexistence as the explosions, fire, and combat met the same anti-climatic fate. Though wary of her dream still, the others she now realized to be in the room returned to the pleasantries and idling of their choosing. Sweet Tea, having gone back into a chair by the water cooler—which looked to have been dragged into the room if its orientation and slight tilt was any indication—was wrapped in an upright burrito with a fluffy blanket, eyes shut and closed lips humming wistful notes to herself that left a big goofy grin on her face. Candle Light, sticking close by Duck's bed, reached into her uniform's breast pocket and whipped out her notepad, thereafter pulling a pencil out of her mane and beginning to scribble words down onto it as if her life depended upon it. Vanilla Pudding, settling back down in the middle of getting up, dropped her rump to the ground, rotated about at her waist to reach into the backpack at her right, and fished out a large book labeled Canvas Paper, which housed a sketch that she resumed work on. In the far corner at Duck's left, Pine Needle lay draped over a spare chair, mouth wide as she ferociously ripped apart logs with a chainsaw, three empty cups of coffee—actually four—sitting in discarded positions on the floor beneath her. Bluebell, sitting by the curtain-drawn window in a chair of her own, ignored Graham as she took a seat next to her, and puffed out her cheeks and moved away as the Pegasus brought up a foreleg and attempted to place it on her shoulder. Though she was still shaking, her trademark pout took over the clearly exhausted frown, which seemed to please Graham, but definitely pleased Duck. So was she so preoccupied with eating and... a lot of other things, that she didn't even notice the door to her hospital room opening up, almost tipping the poor water cooler over and ending its days of being surrounded by office workers, and shutting just as quickly as Mrs. Red's face and then full figure appeared from behind Flurry. Seeing Duck, Mrs. Red shut her eyes, sighing, and gazed at the ceiling. "Oh thank the Gods, you're awake. Any longer and we'd have to leave you overnight?" Duck blinked, almost spitting out her peas. What time was it? What day? Mrs. Red cast a glance at Flurry, then Graham, then, finally, Candle Light, who perked up as if realizing the pair of eyes fixated on her. "Was she still in Prance?" Candle nodded, once again adjusting her glasses even though they didn't seem to be in a better position afterward. In fact, they might've been in a worse one. "Inside a town, from what it sounded like. Scattered platoon, two Shermans, one road." Mrs. Red took a second to actually cringe. "Ugh. Sounds like Cologne." She straightened up. A small, teasing grin took form. "Glad she had some armor to watch over her, though. You can always depend on a Sherman crew." She turned to Duck, now. "Are you doing okay? Never War dreams aren't too uncommon, but that's mostly in ponies of age." Not to remember how long the Never War was projected to last, according to the Hearsay Conference... Duck looked away, tugging at her lower lip with her teeth. "My mother was... very descriptive during story time." It was quiet for awhile, and Duck was equally quick to realize her mistake in such a divulgence. She cleared her throat and adjusted her posture, then picked up another spoonful of her peas. She looked up at Flurry. "Um... are the others still around?" Flurry smacked her lips, tossing her head to and fro. "Well, Lily and them went to McDuckle's a few blocks down. Probably making trouble and peeing on fire hydrants or something." "I passed Puddinghead and Platinum Team in the main room," Mrs. Red informed them, putting a hoof to her chin. "Think Busy Body's having a chess match with Blank Check, and Bit Rate, Autumn, Primrose, and Plastic are doing what they usually do." "What time is it?" Duck half-croaked, almost choking on her water. "About six or so." It was all beginning to come back to her. It was about six or so, clearly something had happened to her for her to be in a really hot and now that she thought of it damp hospital bed, and she'd earlier been... ... ...what was she doing before this? Why was she in a hospital bed? The last time she'd really felt like she'd needed a visit to such a place, she'd been having some kind of panic attack at her house, and since she was by herself—and she usually defaulted to her solution—she'd simply let the awful time pass as she hugged the wall by her kitchen with her shivering spine and moved the back of her head up and down against it. Duck grumbled a bit to herself, taking a look at the small table near the right side of her bed. A little bouquet of flowers sat atop it, filled with flowers she wasn't too well-versed in, considering she didn't know anything about flowers, really. Like, at all, really. She shut an eye tightly, tilted her head, and scratched an itch near her scalp. "Um... where am I?" SLAM! "Still in Baltimare, lass!" Duck flinched involuntarily—and kind of voluntarily—as a large figure brushed past Flurry with a sweep of their foreleg, threw a hoof against the door's adjacent wall, and, in one swift motion, pulled off their black tricorne and tipped it like a tea kettle. Graham sat up, practically falling off her chair as she smiled, "Oh, it's...!" ... Graham's hoof, previously raising with her observation, faltered, then fell. It clipped onto the ground audibly. The figure laughed, the assorted belts and holsters on her extravagant outfit shimmying and shaking. "Powder Keg, Overall of the Baltimare Galleons!" As the ponies still awake in the room gave drawn-out "Oh's" of their own length and enthusiasm, Keg (oh yeah!) took a nice, polite bow, almost slamming her nose right into the foot of Duck's temporary bed. Returning to a properly standing position, the overly enthusiastic Earth Pony continued with a glance at the young mare in question. "Good t' see ya 'live 'n' kickin', lass. We was all a little worried 'boutcha after the match end. Once I found out we'd injured ya, I personally volunteered to give you and your friend Flurry here a quick ride back into town. Lucky for you, the ol' BT was still in excellent condition." Keg flashed her teeth, cheeks turning a bit red. "Just eh... just don't mind the smoking heap of metal sitting in front of the hospital. We'll take care of it." So Powder Keg herself drove her back into Baltimare when she got hurt? And Flurry was by her side the whole time? Duck took a second to crawl under her covers more, feeling at fault for taking up Flurry's time like that, but dared a glimpse the Alicorn's way to see her giving Keg an odd look. There were words on her tongue, but... maybe they were best for later. Instead, she gave them to Keg as a bit of a safety net. "Th-thank you." Keg giggled, "Aw, it be my pleasure, little one." A quick hum later, and Keg promptly slapped a hoof against an empty part of Duck's bed, seemingly overexaggerating her height. "Now! It's time for you to get some rest! You and your team have got another match to prepare for after this, and I would be damned if I was the one who stopped you!" Wait, what? "But, we lost," Flurry told Keg, as if both the pirate pony and everypony else in the room needed the sore reminder. "Thought that meant we were out," Arco added, scratching his mane. Keg shut her eyes and was quiet for a while, an odd smile on her lips. She turtled her head into her neck, giving a big, feign shrug. "Well... ya did." Keg licked her lips. "But the thing is, we Galleons aren't just a Tankery team. In fact, we got ourselves a little letter the other day, and we'll be switching over t' Naval Combat by the next week to get ready for the Seeschlacht in a couple months. As such, with, well, most of the team out doing that, the Galleons Tankery team wouldn't be able to fully participate." Candle Light, sitting in the corner still, tried to pipe up, "So you're saying–" "Which means," Keg stopped her with a hoof, "the Ponyville Horsepowers have got another chance. It's either that, or the next team gets an instant win and goes onto the Equestrian Tournament, and that's a bit flaccid, don'tcha think?" As everypony else's eyes widened—Duck included—and looked around with the realization, Keg's gaze dove to her two forelegs, which she began idly rubbing together. "Also, we uh... kind of cheated." Mrs. Red perked up, pulling out her clipboard out of sight to probably try and write down what Powder Keg was about to say. "Y'see, me and my crew had been screwin' around one day during our practice session. We'd finished up our maneuvers fer the day, and wondered a wonder to ourselves..." As if reenacting the scenario, Keg placed a hoof at her chin, scrunching up the end of her muzzle as she monologued, "'What if we took one 'f our here cannonballs... and put it into one 'f our tank shells?'" Probably very bad things. Very, very bad things. Keg straightened herself on the floor, then proceeded to push the air in front of her with both forelegs. "Whole thing went beautifully, might I add. Big ol' hole right in the side of our shipyard, think they're still figuring out how best t' fix it. Anyway, it turns out the crew had forgotten to take the shells we created out before today's match, and before we could realize our mistake, we'd already put two punches int' th' side of yer Comet. Explains how hurt ya got, and how ordinary-lookin' shells punctured the regulated armor and all. I'm very sorry about that, by the way," Keg fessed up, taking another bow and frowning. Going back up, she clutched her tricorne in front of her chest like she was at a funeral, which probably wasn't too far a comparison at this point. "I do hope yer hours here weren't too hard. Only reason I wasn't around was for calming my crew down. Everybody felt terrible fer what we did." Duck blinked, first looking into Keg's eyes, then to her far left side at the floor. "I-it's okay." Keg hummed again. "Still, once I found out 'bout the shells, I reported it to the match's Overseers, who disqualified us and overturned the victory." Putting on her tricorne and making sure it was tight around her head, she added, "Crew an' I aren't happy 'bout it, but rules 're rules, and the Galleons always play by them." Flurry snorted. "Even if it means making a sailboat out of your tank, right?" Keg belly-laughed. "Hah! Of course, you haven't any idea how much went into ol' Betty outside. Put so much into her, they had to reclassify her as an M-class!" Turning to Duck as Flurry, clearly not understanding what the lingo meant, continued forcefully laughing, Keg returned, "But anyway, the Horsepowers 're set on two fronts t' take part in the next match and continue on in this year's Tank Warudo!" Duck opened her mouth to give Keg a soft, probably stammered word or three-hundred of thanks, but Keg, sensing this somehow, waggled a hoof. "Ah ah, save yer words lass." A hoof flew to the rear of her uniform, which jingled and jangled with the swift movement. "Whole crew pitched in for this, by the way." Sweeping a hoof across the nearby table and sending Duck's bouquet onto the floor—which caused Flurry to frown into her cheeks and just stare at Keg—she dropped a rather large wicker basket in the newly emptied space. Questions about where Keg had put the certainly much-larger-than-her basket on her were stowed away as Duck strained her eyes to read the piece of paper haphazardly attached to the front with white painter's tape. Get Better Soon! it read, but the exclamation mark was much bolder and slanted than the other parts, and she was pretty sure somepony had painted over the S at a much different time. Mainly because it was a dark gray, and everything else was a stark, jet black. Duck narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Bought ya some of the finest chocolate in town." Wrapped in gold and shaped like coins. "One o' those eye... thingies for when you sleep." What looked to be two eyepatches stapled together, one higher than the other. Keg reached far into the basket for the next one, and pulled out what it was with a little flip and a hearty laugh. "And o' course, a congratulatory flintlock." Duck craned her neck back as Keg spun the grip around on an upturned hoof, went the other way with it, than simply placed it atop the rest of the basket. "Queen Anne: elegant, smooth, and small. Fits ya to a T." Duck didn't know whether to blush at the kind remark, or feel weirded out by the fact that she was smiling. It was a losing battle on both fronts, a Griffonian Empire kind of situation. Mrs. Red made a noise, probably to get a word in, probably about the actual weapon somepony had just given Duck. "Anyway," Keg started up again, turning tail and swishing her coat around like a blanket, "I best be goin'. The crew always has a feast after a match, and it doesn't start until the Captain makes landfall. Think we be having duck tonight, in your honor." Duck swallowed a lump down her throat. Keg, reaching the door, stopped herself with a hoof against the frame. "Good luck, Ponyville. Whoever you face in the next match is a cunning one. Best be ready, and willing. Gods' speed, Commander Duck Bill." Finally, she was gone. The room was quiet with the disappearance of the other Overall. Candle Light, her mouth wide open, shook her head, parted and smacked her lips a few times, then went back down to her notepad without a word. Graham's expression hadn't changed since blanking on Powder Keg's name. She smiled at nothing. Or maybe she just really liked the outlets the hospital used for the rooms. Arco was looking away, a hoof covering his mouth as if in the middle of a cough. Flurry was sitting, casting a straight-lipped frown at her tarnished bouquet on the floor. Vanilla Pudding was tapping the ends of her hooves together idly. Mrs. Red hadn't even scribbled anything on her clipboard; there wasn't a pencil in sight. She simply stood, blinking rapidly. Sweet Tea still sat in her chair next to Pine Needle, happy as could be and shut off to the rest of the world. Bluebell, reacquiring her usual mindset, jostled her poofy mane about and broke the silence. "Wow." Arco snickered at once. "No kidding." "Looks like we're back in it, huh guys?" Graham asked the room, looking over at Mrs. Red, who flexed her chin with a grunt. "Looks like. Good news for us, but it means that we're gonna be needing some reminders about things we learned in this match." Duck flinched. She didn't like the sound of that. Judging by a few of her other classmates' like reactions, they didn't like it either. "Like what?" Vanilla dared a voice. Mrs. Red turned like a hawk, startling Vanilla, who squealed. "Like the rest of the team disobeying orders, and speaking out of turn! Bickering and arguing is not how matches are won, and especially not when your Overall is trying to focus." Mouth still open, Mrs. Red lingered on her last word for a few seconds before shaking her head, closing her eyes, and clamping her jaw shut. "No matter. It can wait for later." She blinked, then fanned her sights around the room with a frown playing at her lips. "I will go and see how much longer they mean to keep Duck here, and after that, we'll go and hook up our tanks and head back home. If you would, Flurry, Arco, Graham, Bluebell, and Pansy Team, please stay with Duck to keep her company. I'll be right back." She took a few steps to leave through the doorway, then stopped just as Powder Keg had at the threshold. She gave one last look into the room. "I don't want to do what I have in mind once we return to school on Monday, but it's necessary. We lost because we were too cocky, and you all need to learn your lesson." Flurry cocked her head. "What do you have in mind?" Mrs. Red smirked slightly. "You'll see once we return to Ponyville." "It's miles, and miles back to Po-ny-ville, but we raise our heads and smiiiiiiile!" "SHUT IT OFF!" "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" "For we know that we will see it soon–" "–we'll just have to fight forrrrr awhiiiiiiile..." Sweet Tea, blissfully, completely, oh-so-unfortunately unaware, sang along. WOWWWW-WOWWWWWWW... Pine Needle's soft buzzing on her harmonica rang out, piercing everypony's hearts and bringing the whole mood way down into the mud caking, sloshing, and splashing about beneath their hooves. Biting down on her little instrument, she raised the business end of her mop toward the sky, trotted over to the large collection of buckets lining the side of the wall, took a few seconds to tightly wring it out, then turned tail and rejoined Sweet Tea's side, who seemed to be completely ignoring the heavy torrent of rain beating mercilessly down upon the class' heads. It was especially worse for Duck, with the length of her hair combined with its love of frizziness only causing her to become a wretched mass of ginger hair that shifted and shimmied in absolute discomfort. "Sugarcube Corner, we'll be vis-it-ing you, sharing ice cream and laughs–" "Woohoo!" Sweet Tea chirped, raising a hoof and almost slapping Candle Light in the face with her mop. Candle, grumbling under her breath, adjusted her glasses and returned to the duty shared by the rest of the team: mopping up the ramps leading up to the tank garages. Nopony had fully remembered that one of their own races held the ability to change the weather with the kick of a few hindlegs until it was way too late. The thunder that only served to scare Duck at the moment let loose another heckish roar in the distance. The rain had just become a constant, ambient noise to her now, like the tinnitus she'd been able to shake a couple years ago. She whimpered, making herself small to try and conserve warmth. She bit her lip, then felt her ears pin to the sides of her head as the crowd, watching them a little ways away on a row of benches specifically laid out for today and clutching forbidden umbrellas over their heads, giggled and laughed, pointing now at Blank Check and Busy Body, the latter of which was kicking up little bits of mud onto the places the former had just cleaned up. The former, taking a second to look at the ladder sitting against the garage's walls intended for maintenance, growled at the actual latter and scrunched up her nose. "...and we know thaaaat, she'll feel it tooooooo...!" The dreaded March continued to play over the loudspeakers situated high above their heads next to the flagpoles, blasting into their eardrums and making them regret ever being born into the same country the March had been made in. Pine Needle, trying her hardest to drown it out with her harmonica but too beat to actually put forth effort, shut her eyes and moaned against the instrument, drawing out another long buzz of a note that sounded like it was playing two at the same time. Duck attempted to look for a way out of looking at the grueling event in front of her, and found an opportunity in Graham's sucking in of air. She looked at the Pegasus, who simply said, "Gods, this is just awful..." Mrs. Red didn't miss a beat. "It's necessary, Graham. They'll see in a second." "But why aren't we over there?" Bluebell asked, tempting fate for sure. Mrs. Red raised an eyebrow, only her eyes darting toward the Unicorn. "Tempting fate, Bluebell?" Bluebell shrank. "Guh! No!" Mrs. Red looked back at the team, her umbrella sending the rainwater above it onto the area Flurry and Bluebell had earlier stood before they realized why they were getting twice as wet as everyone else. "I don't know what your decisions and ideas were inside your tank, but you did no wrong and followed your Overall's orders. Flurry drove, Graham recited, Arco fired, and Bluebell loaded thereafter. There's no reason to punish you for doing your jobs. But they," she continued, nodding her chin at the others, "went in blindly, and without ears. If they were actually in battle, they would've been dead on the spot." At that exact moment, the thunder exploded overhead. Both the inclement weather and the terrifying word sent a chill up Duck's spine that came back seconds later with twice as much energy. Hurricane Team, their collective work appearing much more lazy than the others—possibly bar Platinum Team's—kept giving each other quick glances and little grins here and there. Their mopping and overall cleaning grew more and more sparse as they continued, until, finally, Hail Mary set her mop on the floor and walked off the ramp. Mrs. Red took a step forward, but stopped halfway there, droned a note, then took the step back. All six of them watched as Hail, leaning over and scooping up a hoof full of mud, snickered mischievously to herself. She wasn't... no... was she? Winding up, and arching her back, Hail let loose her ball of mud. It soared through the air, passing over Puddinghead Team's assigned lane and the whole team's head as well, and splatted right across the back of Busy Body's head. Duck gasped. Bluebell giggled. Somepony else made a noise that sounded vaguely like, "Oh no." The separated teams suddenly piped up, whispering and murmuring as they stopped their work to look over at Platinum Team. Blank Check sat, arms against her hips and a sly expression on her face as if to say, "Told you so." Forest Fire stood, a hoof over her mouth, then a glare on her brow. Busy Body, seemingly in shock, slowly turned around and slid a hoof down the back of her neck, sending the mud projectile onto the ramp beneath her. Quickly, she reached down off the side, scooped up her own ball of mud, and threw it hard down the way... ...and right over Candle Light's head, past Sweet Tea's—who was still singing along—shoulder, and right in the back of Pine's head. Pine, in the middle of buzzing another note, croaked like she'd just choked on a massive piece of food, doubling over and making the most Godsawful harmonica sound Duck had ever heard apart from her own attempts upon finding one at her doctor's office. Pine, stuffing her harmonica into one of her flannel's pockets, slowly turned around as the rest of her crew did the same, a snarl tugging at her lips. Candle adjusted her glasses; Sweet Tea smacked a hoof into another; Vanilla popped her neck to and fro. "The warm-est coat, the tall-est hats, and a kitchen sink on tooooop of thaaaaaat!" Blank tried to look for a way out. Forest took a step back. Busy stepped forward. She cleared her throat. "Ahem." She bunched up her necktie's knot. "My fellow Equestrians..." "AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!" Puddinghead Team jumped back, allowing Pine complete, easy access as she practically flew past them with a mighty roar, picked up a yiping Busy Body in a Firemare's Carry, and tackled her right to the ground, where the wet, sloppy mud splashed up and covered the both of them in an instant. Still sitting atop Busy, Pine grabbed a hoof full of mud and slapped Busy across the face with it, grinning to herself until both Forest Fire and Blank Check rushed her and threw her to the ground. Forest Fire, the first to stumble back onto all fours, breathed heavily at the oh-so-strenous exercise, turned around at the sound of something, then fell to the floor with Candle's hoofleg connecting with her gut. Blank Check, taking notice of the new body next to her, rolled off the top of Pine and onto the muddy ground as Sweet Tea attempted to grab hold of her from behind. Taking a second to groan in disgust, Blank skittered to her hooves sprinted as quick as she could away from the hipsters, who sent Sweet Tea after her in a fit. Hurricane Team, seizing the moment, grabbed balls of mud in their hooves and began throwing them across the way... ...until their collective volley was encased in a heavenly yellow glow. They only needed to look Duck's direction to find Flurry, her horn glowing as she began trotting over to them. The mud balls exploded onto the ground as the aura fell, and Flurry found herself joined by Arco, Graham, and Bluebell, though Bluebell seemed to be eyeing up Arco more than anypony else, even if Hail was within striking distance now. Duck's jaw fell slack, and she looked up at Mrs. Red, her throat dry. Mrs. Red minded her, but suddenly perked up and nonchalantly said, "Ohp. On your nine, approaching in two." Duck, mind immediately kicking into high gear, turned. In the few seconds that she'd looked away, her crew and Hurricane Team were wrestling and pulling at ears and tails on the mud, their manes and hooves already caked in layers upon layers of mud... ...and charging her, teeth bare, was Field Goal. Duck spat out a quick breath, then sidestepped Field as she blew past her, clutched the Hoofball player tightly around her stomach, ignored her sudden cries of shock and awe, then promptly bent backward and engaged in a trust fall with Field's head, sending it to the floor with an ear-shattering thump! that mixed in with Field's grunt of pain and body splashing in the trench she'd carved. Stumbling back onto all fours, Duck's ears caught the sound of another quartet of hooves storming her way before she did Flurry's voice calling, "Duck, watch out!" It was Peanut Brittle this time, who, true to her name, swiped at empty air as Duck dove to the ground onto her stomach, took a two-hoofed hold of the mare's tail, then, hissing like a venomous snake, pulled Peanut over her head and onto the ground in front of her. In a daze, and with birds chirping in circles around her head, Peanut gave Duck a kooky-eyed stare before Lily appeared, intending to tackle Duck out of the corner of her eyes. Duck, realizing the ambush, only held up her hooves as Lily's outstretched legs glowed with yellow, then suddenly smacked her upside her own head. Flurry ran up to the downed Lily, then widened her eyes, turned left, and blinked out of existence as Hail found nothing but air. Flurry, reappearing a few feet away, yelped out in surprise as Bit Rate, fleeing the vengeance-seeking Pansy Team, tripped over her and sent the two of them onto the ground. Arco was, oddly, being pinned by Bluebell at the moment. Autumn Leaves, sending a strong elbow into Forest's ribs, looked to whip about with the aid of a slap of mud, then, rubbing her cheek, was hurled to the ground by Sweet Tea, who simultaneously shoved Forest down as well and pulled at Autumn's cute mane. Sitting down by the ramp further up and sharing a large blanket were Graham and Plastic Beach, who observed the fighting quietly and seemed to be listening to Plastic's music. As Pine seemed to be busying herself with Blank, and Candle Light gripped Busy in a chokehold, Vanilla stood separate from the pack, making squares with her two forelegs, eyes narrowed and tongue sticking out. Primrose was nowhere to be– "Oh, um... hi," Duck said, feeling a glow of warmth behind her body. Primrose stood there, shaking and pulling at Duck's dirtied jacket. Oh Gods was this what it felt like to be with her? On the floor still lay Field Goal, her face up in the mud as she tried to pull herself free to no avail. Peanut Brittle, holding the side of her head and seething, swatted at Duck as she stretched out a hoof to help her. Ears slapping against the sides of her head, she watched as Peanut, grumbling under her breath and letting out a few out as she looked at her hoof, took a seat by Mrs. Red as if she'd been announced "out" at a dodgeball game. As the fight raged on, the March relentlessly did the same. "...and we'll bid adieu with one ooooof, our guuuuuuuns!" Duck finally found words. She gave them to Mrs. Red as she brushed mud and grass off her uniform and mane. "You're not going to stop them?" Mrs. Red shook her head. "Not yet. This is how you build a team." She fanned a hoof around at the battle still waging. Bluebell now held both Arco and Hail in a headlock. Pine flew into the air and hugged Lily to the ground. Flurry pushed Bit Rate off her, then dove to the ground and swiped at the flanking Busy Body's legs. "Sure, they'll want payback..." Mrs. Red brought Duck back with a shrug, reducing the fight to a mere blur in her peripherals, "...but they'll also want to prove themselves to each other. Work harder to win. Just..." she tilted her head, biting on her lower lip, "...try to turn down comms this week." Duck nodded. For sure. Sucking in a breath and dipping her head, Mrs. Red bit down on a trench whistle, flexed her chin, and blew hard into it. WEEEEEEEEEET! Field, who'd finally gotten her head out, clutched her ears at the sharp noise. Primrose and Peanut did the same. "Line up, and stand up straight Horsepowers!" The three next to Duck slowly trotted over to their limping, stumbling, very obviously drained classmates. Their school uniforms—collared shirt, jacket, and all—were muddy, wet, and dripping. Manes were sticky and sopping with dirt. A few of them rubbed their bruises and bumps absent-mindedly. The Ponyville March, on its last verse, suddenly cut off and sent the grassy field into a genuine hush. The rain raged on; thunder boomed, first here, then all the way over there. It was getting closer. Even the audience on their bleachers was quiet. Mrs. Red turned her head left and right to look at the class before her. Lined up in respects to their crews, they gave each other dirty glances before shaking their heads and paying attention. The apple in Mrs. Red's throat quivered. She sucked in a long breath. "I do hope this day's activity isn't meaningless in your minds." The class was quiet. "This is a punishment on all fronts, for not listening to each other like you've been told time and time again." "We thought we could do it ma'am!" Mrs. Red raised an eyebrow. Hurricane Team's line parted to reveal Peanut Brittle, who appeared to be gritting her teeth hard at her own loud noises. In turn, Mrs. Red was quiet for a few seconds. Finally, she frowned. "And there's nothing wrong with feeling sure of yourselves. But there is with being too sure. You underestimated your opponents the first second you saw them, and you paid the price... but this is a good lesson." A few murmurs went about in the crews. "Because this is what we'll do to them." She practically spat out that last word. "All of them." She scanned the faces before her for any reaction, but, seeing none, lifted her forelegs and began to lightly pace to and fro. "You know it by now that Ponyville's Tankery team is a laughing stock, one to the entire world at this point. We're the underdogs to them, the ones who will, time and time again, fail, and secure defeat by nothing but our own crews. We're destined to lose." She stopped on a dime, and faced the class again. "But I never believed in destiny anyway." Mrs. Red paused, mouth still open. A voice suddenly clamored out from way, way down. "We jumped the gun with Baltimare. We didn't find it possible for them to win. But they did. And we're not out yet. And we'll show the rest of the world just what's the matter with underestimating Ponyville. This is a harsh lesson to learn... but it's an important one. Keep your ears open and listen to each other, but above all else..." Duck lifted a hoof to her chest, ignoring the wide-eyed look of Mrs. Red and the rest of her classmates. "...you listen to me." The rain tried its hardest to drown out the sound of her heart, beating against the hoofmade mud crates marring the ground like the moon's surface. "My family may not help my case, but I'm nothing like them. And if you all expect to get a win, I think it's best to know that." Duck glared, then suddenly sucked in a large gasp. Her face burned, and she looked away before anypony could make eye contact with her. Mrs. Red stepped forward, saving her with a small smile. "You all have another match up next a few weeks from now. On Saturday, the Appleloosa Tumbleweeds were beat by the Cloudsdale Storms, who we will be facing. I've prepared you all for the weather expected during the fight, reflecting the ways our Pegasi would have fought in the Never War." She straightened up and gave them all a crisp salute. "Stick together; listen to Duck." She threw her hoof down. "Dismissed."