//------------------------------// // Three: Summer // Story: With Her Majesty's Coast Guard // by SockPuppet //------------------------------// Captain Crescent Blue leaned to the Admiral and whispered in her ear. "What did you say to him at that dinner?" Admiral Gale Glider looked up. The wind pressed the canvas and hummed in the rigging, water rushing past the Borealis's hull as it slowed toward rendezvous with the anchored North Star.  A cracking teenage voice sounded above the din: "Bosun, prepare to take in sail and drop anchor." "Aye aye, sir." Blue looked nervously toward the other galleon, sitting at anchor in the center of the channel. The flooding tide pushed a four knot current past it as Red Sky brought the Borealis onto a converging course. The oldest chief in the entire Coast Guard was on the Borealis's wheel, her eyes watching her own sails and the lanterns that marked the other ship's position in the moonless night. "Sir," whispered the helmsmare, "won't be long now." Officer-Cadet Red Sky smacked her back with a wing and nodded. Crescent Blue swallowed nervously. If the colt crashed his cutter into the North Star— "Now, milord," whispered the helmsmare. "Bosun!" Red Sky shouted. Orders snapped out and sails furled, spilling the wind. The ship slowed, passing the other ship, within mere yards. It made it another few hundred yards before the swift current halted it dead in the water and pushed it backwards. The anchors dropped, biting into the muddy channel bottom, and two petty officers at capstans played out the anchor lines carefully to allow the current to back Borealis next to the North Star's position. Grappling hooks flew out and the two ships were hauled together, rubber bumpers grinding. Officer-Cadet Red Sky flapped up to balance on a boom, thirty feet above the deck. "Away rescue and medical parties, find the wounded! Away carpenters and pump crews, staunch the flooding! Fire fighting crews stand ready!" Enlisted and petty officers swarmed over the bulwarks to the North Star, lanterns gripped in their mouths or levitation. Sailors and officers from the North Star lay on the decks, portraying wounded or dead. The Admiral looked at Captain Blue. "All I told him was that I had high expectations for him, and that I had been disappointed." "His maneuver was sloppy, but adequate," Blue conceded. "Had North Star been a passenger galleon in need of rescue, he would have succeeded." "It's a lovely summer evening. Can we be ready for the autumn storm season? Much less winter?" "I don't know, Admiral." "I shall ponder what we do next. Extend my compliments to Officer-Cadet Red Sky. I see room for improvement, but that was a job well done." She turned and went below deck. Officer-Cadet the honorable Red Sky hustled across the drill fields, rushing from a trigonometry lesson with Captain Blue to a boat drill at the breakwater when he paused, watching. The admiral—the princess—was outside her small bungalow with a tall stallion and a small filly. She and the filly flew circles around the stallion, tossing a ball back and forth. The stallion leaped for the ball, trying to snatch it in his forehooves, scrupulous not to use his magic to catch it. The filly giggled in glee as she and her mother played keep-away from her father. The princess smiled broadly and so did her husband. She flipped the ball up and punched it with a forehoof, sending it back to the filly. A nanny pushed a baby in a pram. From his pram, he watched his parents and sister play, his horn sparking. Red Sky narrowed his eyes. The stallion was a duke and several ways an earl by his marriage to Princess Gale, but he was also a baron in his own right, his peerage earned—along with a Distinguished Service Order—in combat, although Red Sky couldn't recall the details. He served as a company commander in one of Celestia's household regiments. The admiral's daughter kicked the ball and her father captured it from the air, foiling the game of keep-away. The filly flopped onto her back on the ground and moaned. Red Sky looked at her and thought about what the admiral had said about the curse of the Honor of the Crown, about how she wondered if it would strike her own foals. That had been abstract to Red Sky at the time, but now, seeing the princess lift the filly onto her back and fly a loop-the-loop to make her squeal in delight, it became concrete: either of them, or both of them, even the infant in the pram, were more likely than not to find themselves broken or destroyed in Equestria's service. The princess herself had earned her title of Countess North Cape with cannonade, cold steel, and blood, in addition to all the titles showered upon her as matters of Court intrigue and Royal infighting. No wonder the princess seemed to take joy in life whenever she could find it. She grabbed her husband in a four-legged carry, her daughter still on her back, and flew a low lap around her brick bungalow, all three of them laughing in delight at the joy of a warm summer morning. It was a month later when Captain Crescent Blue, several armed sailors, and Officer-Cadet Red Sky escorted a bedraggled unicorn in fine silks into the Admiral's office. Blue looked around. Proper Place stood to the side of the Admiral's desk, and East End near the door. One of the sailors gave the silk-clad unicorn a kick in his rump and he stumbled into the center of the office. He stood up straight, brushed himself off, and glared around. Captain Blue smiled and waited to see what would happen. Raising his nose, the unicorn proclaimed, "You should stand in my presence to show respect for my station." Admiral Gale planted her elbows on her desk and rested her head on her forehooves. "Captain Blue, may I assume this... individual... has some business with Her Majesty's Coast Guard?" "Indeed, Admiral. Officer-Cadet Red Sky can relate the story best." "I will not stand accused by a mere child!" the unicorn shouted, glaring at Red Sky. "You will show respect to any Crown's officer," Gale snapped.  The unicorn turned his fulminating expression to Gale. "May I have the pleasure of your name, sir?" Gale asked. "I have the honor to be Vice Admiral Glider, commander-in-chief of Her Majesty's Coast Guard." "I am the Honorable Venal Galdhoof, heir to the Earldom of Gladmane, and nephew of the Countess Gladmane, and I will not stand accused by commoners." "Then good news!" Gale said with a clap of her hooves. "My Lord Officer-Cadet, please tell us your story." Red Sky smirked at Gladhoof's shock and took a step forward, bracing to attention. "Admiral, Captain Blue ordered us to stop and inspect a caravel coming into the Manehattan roadstead through the fog just before dawn, as no reasonable ship's master attempts the shoals when they can't see the channel marker buoys." "I told you!" Gladhoof shouted, "I had a schedule to keep!" "Silence," Captain Blue snapped. "The Captain," Red Sky continued, "ordered me to take a boatload of sailors and compare the ship's manifest to its cargo. They chose not to heave-to, so I led a team of armed pegasi to board it forcibly, as is authorized by the Enabling Act of Parliament for the Enforcement of Maritime Law." "Indeed it is," the Admiral said, staring at Gladhoof. "Her Majesty's Coast Guard may board any Equestrian-flagged vessel, at any time, in any place." "We took the ship and spilled her sails and dropped anchor," Red Sky continued, "allowing the boats to tie alongside. Petty Officer Sharp Nose found a false bottom in the cargo hold and beneath that false bottom were several tons of Sombran black crystals submerged under bilge water. This individual had already announced himself as the owner of the vessel, so I placed him under close arrest and returned him to the Borealis. Captain Blue put a prize crew on the freighter and brought us to you." Gladhoof, now visibly sweating, turned to the Admiral. "You can't imagine I knew there were Sombran Crystals hidden in the hold." Crescent Blue rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, My Lord. Every unicorn who went below deck could feel the dark magic." Gale's face was noticeably pale. "Several... tons?" "Yes, Admiral," Red Sky confirmed. "Transport of Sombran crystal is highly regulated," Gale said. "Mere possession requires licenses from the Ministry of Thaumaturgical Research." "Indeed, Admiral," Blue said. "Very well, put this... individual... on the next Manehattan ferry to the city and hand him over to the Ministry office in town. When the prize crew brings the ship to anchor, see that the legitimate cargo is transferred to lighters to the city docks for its consignees. Then interrogate the crew. I imagine most of them will have been unaware of the contraband. Offer them a hot meal and try to convince the competent-looking ones to stay here and take the Crown's Bit, and put the rest on the ferry to town." "What about my ship?" Gladhoof snapped. "My ship," Gale said. "I have no doubt an Admiralty court will condemn it and impress it into the Coast Guard's service. Smuggling Sombran crystals is no mere ear-slap of an offense." Gladhoof turned red and sparks flew from his horn. "You listen to me! When my aunt hears about this, you jumped-up feathery whore of a strumpet, your uniform doesn't even begin to have the weight to protect—" The sudden silence that descended upon the office was so total that it stopped Gladhoof in the middle of his diatribe. Face still red, one hoof still pointed at the Admiral, he looked at the other faces, puzzled. Eventually, it was East End who broke the silence, "Milord, do you realize you just called Her Royal Highness a feathery strumpeting whore?" Gladhoof's face went from red to pale as he studied Gale. Captain Blue smiled as he watched the thoughts swirl around the young idiot's mind as Gladhoof studied the pegasus with the Canterlot aristocrat's fine facial bones and tall, slim body. "Are we comparing our aunts' authority and influence?" Gale said, grinning broadly and leaning back in her chair, clapping her forehooves again. "I do love that game. Aunty Celestia hates it when I play it though, but she might make an exception, just this once." Gladhoof lowered his leg to the floor, unable to speak. "Your Majesty?" said the Palace majordomo. Celestia looked up from her dinner, a fork spearing a piece of pineapple cake levitated just in front of her mouth. "Yes, Mister Sparkle?" "A messenger from Coast Guard Station Manehattan." Celestia frowned. "I wonder what's so time-critical my niece sent a messenger?" "Shall I show him in, ma'am?" "Of course." A minute later, a young petty officer strode into Celestia's dining room in his dress black and jade uniform, his feathers rumpled from a long flight. He snapped to attention. "Your Majesty! I bear a sealed message from Her Highness the Admiral, for your eyes and your eyes alone." "What's your name, Petty Officer?" "Your Majesty, I am Petty Officer Third Class Post Card, of Her Maj—of Your Majesty's Coast Guard Cutter North Star." "Have you eaten, Petty Officer?" "Yes, your majesty. About two hours ago." "The message, Petty Officer?" He pulled a parchment envelope from his shoulder bag and passed it over with a deep bow.  Celestia took it from him, broke the wax seal, and read. After a few seconds, she burst out laughing. "Y-your Majesty?" said the petty officer. Celestia passed the missive to him: Dear Aunty Celly, Keep a straight face and betray no emotion. This petty officer's wife just gave birth to their first foal. She lives in Canterlot, not far from the Palace, so I've sent him to carry a message to you. Please tell him you will need a few hours to compose your reply and he should return at ten tomorrow morning to pick up your return message from the Palace's staff and that he should find lodgings for the night. He'll know what to do. Please don't let him know I sent him on a boondoggle just so he could see his newborn. ~𝒢𝒶𝓁𝑒💙 The petty officer looked up from the message to Celestia. "You sent us a right fine Admiral, you did, ma'am." "Don't let her find out I told you." Some weeks later, as summer began its slow turn to autumn, lightning peppering the southern horizon, Officer-Cadet Red Sky snapped to attention in front of Gale's desk. "The admiral summoned the officer-cadet?" "Sit, My Lord." If she was calling him My Lord, it probably wasn't Coast Guard business. Best to use her Court titles and not her rank: "Yes, Your Highness." He sat, stiffly, in the chair placed directly in front of her desk. Proper Place placed a large tumbler of bourbon in front of each of the two nobles and disappeared out the back door. Red Sky considered that. They would each get a stiff drink—a single stiff drink—and there would be no servants or bodyguards privy to their discussion. Interesting. He balanced the tumbler on his hoof and sniffed the smoky-woody aroma. It was the same brand of bourbon that his mother had used for her slow-motion suicide. He placed it back on the table, untouched. "Princess?" She tapped a black-bordered envelope on the blotter of her desk. "A message from Canterlot. Your grandfather has passed away, Baron MacIntosh Hills." Red Sky collapsed backwards into the well-padded chair. His eyes began to water and he clenched them shut. He hated himself for it, but he bowed his head and hid underneath his wings, as if his feathers might block out the world. He could hear the Princess sipping her bourbon. "I am sorry, My Lord Baron. I met your grandfather, once, when I was about your age. It was the fifty-year rededication of the statue of my great-aunt in the Gardens. He read his Lay aloud. 'To every mare born to this realm, Death cometh soon or late, And how can mare die better, Than facing fearful odds...' His voice... I'll always remember his voice. Everypony cried. I bawled my eyes out. He offered to fly with me, and we alighted on a tower at the top of the Palace. He could hardly fly, with his arthritis, but he forced himself, so that we could have privacy. He told me about the Battle of the Bridge. For a few minutes... for a few minutes, I felt I knew my aunt." Red Sky sniffled and coughed, drowning in snot as he fought against tears. "It is unbecoming for a Crown's Officer to cry like a little filly, Admiral. I apologize." "You're a Crown's Officer, but you're also a sixteen-year-old colt who in less than two years has lost his father, mother, and now grandfather, and just had a Barony thrust upon you." A single wracking sob escaped Red Sky. "A Crown's Officer may request, from their commanding officer, to honorably resign their commission when a peerage is thrust upon them, that they may return to their fief and take up those duties as a Peer of the Realm. Do you request relief from your oath as an officer? Think carefully—this offer is extended once only." "Your Highness, I do not. I wish to remain in the Crown's uniform." "Good. I would have hated to lose your service. You will be a fine officer... perhaps not soon, but someday. I will accept your Oath of Fealty on Celestia's behalf. You are still a year and a few months from your majority, so I will also communicate your nominations of regent and proxy to Canterlot." "Yes, Highness." "Since you have chosen to remain in the Crown's Uniform, you must also nominate a steward for your barony, in addition to the regent for yourself. As soon after your eighteenth birthday as the exigencies of the Service allow, you must travel to Canterlot and swear fealty to Celestia." Red Sky lowered his wings and then slid from the chair and genuflected. Gale stepped around the desk and stood tall, her wings flared and her face blank. "I am your vassal," Red Sky said, flaring his own wings. "Accept my service." She nodded grimly. "Technically, you should have said, 'I am Your House's vassal,' since I'm not Celestia, but close enough." He stood on shaky knees and she hugged him, wrapping a foreleg around his short, skinny frame and pulling him to her chest. His tears wet her coat. "I presume you nominate your cousin as steward in your barony, and your uncle as your regent and as proxy in the Lords?" "Y-yes." "I'll send messengers on your behalf to Canterlot and MacIntosh Hills." She released the hug. "The duties of a new baron being fulfilled, I suggest you go find some privacy and have a good cry, Baron MacIntosh Hills. Red Sky. You're a sixteen-year-old colt who just lost the foundation of his world. But you're a Crown's Officer and I expect you prepared for duty in the morning. Dismissed. And again... I'm sorry." In a raging thunderstorm, Red Sky sat alone on the belfry of Coast Guard Station Manehattan. His oilskins kept everything but his wings and face dry. He watched the storm lash Manehattan Harbor, wind and pelting sheets of rain. Lightning strobed, brighter than the late-afternoon sunlight that filtered so weakly through the thick clouds. He sat in the rain so that his tears would remain hidden. Dead. Grandfather was dead. Red Sky knew this had been coming, but no warning! He was scheduled for a week's leave soon, had planned to go home and see Grandfather one last time, but now, now, now, now he would need to request leave to attend the funeral. Oh, Celestia, he was the new Baron. He would be expected to throw the first torch on the pyre. He had vomited after he lit Mother's pyre last winter, could he do this ag— A distress flare streaked up into the sky on a pillar of white flame, high over the harbor, and exploded in bright green fire. He squinted, judging its location.  He flared his wings and leapt, landing on the soggy parade grounds with a single flap, and stormed into the enlisted ponies' mess hall underneath the belfry. Cozy warmth hit him in the face, fires burning in several hearths and spells flickering over the windows to hold the thunderstorm's cold outside. "Officer on deck!" shouted the master chief, with a fair bit of annoyance in her voice. Ponies stood from their meals, snapping to sloppy attention.  Red Sky understood the annoyance: the enlisted mess was supposed to be a sanctuary from those capricious and unfathomable beasts called officers, and officer-cadets were reputed to be the worst of the lot, after all. Well, little did they know how ruined their meal was about to be. The master chief double-time trotted to him. "Sound the scramble, Chief. Distress rockets over the harbor. I think it's one of the civilian ferries, caught by the storm. Send your fastest runner to the Admiral's quarters and tell her." "Sir, milooooorrrrd, the crews are just sitting down and the cooks right outdid themselves." "I didn't say this was a drill, chief," he snapped, his voice cracking but eyes firm. "Distress rocket over the harbor. Sound the scramble." The chief's eyes widened as she realized that she wasn't dealing with a young officer trying to throw his authority around and make the sailors run a drill in the rain, but rather, that a ferry full of innocent lives was in mortal danger. "Aye aye, sir!" Fifteen seconds later, the first deep bong of the bell rang across the storm-lashed grounds.  Captain Blue held a shield above his eyes, rain drumming against the spell. "That's dead into the wind, Admiral," he said as another green distress rocket burst over the harbor, about a mile and a half distant. "We can't use the cutters, they'll never even work off their moorings until the wind backs." "Boats is it, then," Gale replied. "Damn." Blue's snout curled in distaste. "It's dangerous." "Our job is to go out, Captain," she said. "Aye aye, ma'am. Who are you—" "I'll do it myself," Gale said. "No. Absolutely not. Small-boat rescues are no place for a flag officer." "What example do I set if I sit here safe and warm?" she replied. Blue stared at her. She wasn't even in oilskins, her coat and mane soaked, water beading on her feathers. "Admiral, we will ready the cutters and sail in an instant—sail under your flag—if the wind backs. But this is a small-boat rescue, and you will just take up room. You're not good with boats, ma'am. You're a galleon officer. You're at home on an eighty-gun ship of the line, not a boat." She began to snarl at him, and then cut herself off. "You're right, of course." They looked toward the stone breakwater, where Commander Full Larder, who ran the station's shore establishment, exhorted sailors to uncover and prepare three pinnaces. "Who do we send?" Blue asked.  "Volunteers only," Gale replied. "Real volunteers, not voluntolds." Blue nodded and strode towards the breakwater, bellowing over the storm. "All hooves! All hooves give me an ear." Sailors and officers turned to him. "I need two officers and thirty ponies." "Sir!" Red Sky shouted. Blue looked at the colt. The child. Gale had told Blue of the message from Canterlot, and surely the cadet—the baron—was still suffering from the emotional blow he'd suffered. But... Red Sky was good with small boats. Of the station's officers, possibly the best. And this was a job for youthful reflexes and audacity, more than age and experience. To top it all off, a pegasus officer would have a better feel for the weather. It needed to be Red Sky, the only pegasus officer other than the admiral herself. "Who's going out with him?" "Sir," said Sub-Lieutenant Sweet Salt.  The junior officer of the North Star, she was five years older than Red Sky and more experienced. A large earth mare, her physical strength would complement Red Sky's weather sense well. "You're in command, Sub-Lieutenant, the officer-cadet is your second." "Aye-aye, sir." East End abandoned his position at Gale's back. "The Young Baron will need a cox'n, sir, and I've been in boats since I was the size of a seagull." One by one, then faster, the crews of the three boats filled out. Coxswains and common sailors, two medical orderlies. Each boat had one petty officer. Lit by lightning and the waning afternoon sun through the thick clouds, three pinnaces of Her Majesty's Coast Guard left the sheltered anchorage, rowers straining their backs and the masts bare of sail, dead into the wind, toward the distress rockets that hovered in the mist above Manehattan Harbor. Proper Place brought the admiral's oilskins and helped her don them. Not that it mattered, since she was already soaked to the undercoat. At five minute intervals, green flares exploded over the harbor. That, at least, meant the ferry was still afloat and hadn't yet foundered. A yellow flare exploded over the harbor. A second yellow flare. "They've made contact," Blue said. Gale just grunted, shivering under her oilskins, the cold rain lashing her face. Ponies set up lamps along the stone breakwater and the sun set, the dim lamps and lightning strobes providing the only illumination. Surgeon-Lieutenant Soothing Wave stood in the rain with the others, ears flicking and tail thrashing, horn glowing softly. Transferred from the Guard, not the Navy, when the Coast Guard was founded, she was hideously susceptible to seasickness and looked a little green as she stared at the storm-lashed harbor. Half her orderlies were in the mess hall, rapidly converting it to a casualty receiving station, the other half at her side, ready to meet the boats. "An hour," Gale said. "They should be back soon. If they come back." "The wind has slackened," Blue replied. "Although it hasn't backed any. The cutters are still immobilized." Gale shook her head. "The wind's no better on the harbor itself." He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She was a pegasus, and clearly a pegasus of unusually strong magic, so he would not presume to question her weather sense, even if he had no way of confirming. Close by, near the stone breakwaters to the Coast Guard's anchorage, perhaps one thousand yards away, the white flame of a rocket arced up. "Don't be red," Gale muttered. "Don't be red don't be red don't be—" The flare exploded into bloody red brilliance. "—damn." The admiral leaped into the air, hovering above the hundred-some ponies in their oilskins. She bellowed, "You all saw the red flare. Wounded aboard! Crews to the shore, prepare to help bring fast the boats. Medical crews stand ready to take the injured from the boats!" Chaos erupted, over a hundred ponies surging into motion in the dark, but the petty officers' and chiefs' shouting quickly brought the chaos into order. Gale flapped, thirty feet high, squinting into the darkness. A lightning bolt illuminated the anchorage and three boats, piled high with huddled forms, storm-sails set to take advantage of the wind at their backs, ponies bailing desperately with buckets, appeared for just a moment in the strobing light. In that moment, she saw a pegasus colt hanging, forelegs wrapped around the mainmast of the leading boat, staring into the gloom and shouting down navigation orders, exposed in the most dangerous—and most important—single position.  Gale smiled. The Old Baron would have been proud. The evacuation from the boats went smoothly. Twenty-six passengers and nine crew from the ferry were taken to the mess hall, where the Surgeon-Lieutenant and her orderlies examined them. The civilians were wrapped in blankets, placed in front of stoves, and plied with hot tea. The ferry's captain reported to Gale with a salute: all crew and passengers accounted for, not a soul lost. The ferry had foundered and sank as the three boats turned for shore. Two cases of hypothermia were taken to the Station's tiny sickbay, along with an infant and his mother, just on general principles. Broken bones and cuts were treated by the surgeon and her orderlies.  Officer-Cadet Red Sky remained on the boats, securing them and ensuring they were moored, their sails secured, and their rainproof covers stretched tight, ponies working pumps to clear their bottoms of rain and spray.  Admiral Gale Glider stood in the shadows, watching her ponies and officers. She smiled. She had not given an order in over two hours. She hadn't needed to.  The grim seriousness of saving civilian lives had brought everypony together. East End walked up and stood in front of her, saluting with a wing. "Admiral." "Sailor. Perhaps you should be a Petty Officer Third Class, now, actually." "As you say, ma'am. You definitely need to speak to Mr. His Lordship the Young Baron, though." "Do I?" "Admiral, he was the last pony off the ferry just as it foundered. He walked the passenger cabin twice, even the bilge once, to ensure there weren't no single pony left behind." "What did Sub-Lieutenant Sweet Salt have to say about that?" "The ferry was caught in a gyre, ma'am. The sub-lieutenant was too busy with keeping the boats from smashing into the ferry. She let His Lordship run the evacuation." Gale was surprised. Although Sweet Salt was good with small boats, Red Sky was gifted. She would have expected the opposite responsibilities from the two officers. Under the other wing, she had delegated to them because she trusted them and expected them to use their judgment in the heat of the moment. Every life saved, none lost. The two officers had done well. Gale's eyes narrowed and she nodded as she looked at the officer-cadet. "Indeed. Thank you, Petty Officer, I shall consider your words. Well done. Back to your duties." Two days later, after The Manehattan Times interviewed the rescued civilians, the headline read, quite simply, RESCUE IN RAGING STORM. An etching of Officer-Cadet Red Sky standing on the bow of the foundering ferry accompanied the story. The sub-headline read, Coast Guard boats save all thirty-five on doomed ferry. Gale bought a thousand extra copies of the special edition and had them shipped to the Barony of MacIntosh Hills. Red Sky's cousin, his steward, would be sure to distribute them. Aunty Celestia had taught Gale Glider long ago that a little propaganda never hurt, especially for a young barony... or a young nation. She took a last copy, scrawled "Your grandfather would be proud" in green pencil, and dropped it in Red Sky's mailbox.