//------------------------------//
// 1: Day One 
// Story: Core 
// by totallynotabrony 
//------------------------------//


Core
By: totallynotabrony


Chapter 1: Day One


Source


The evening was clear and the stars had come out.  The late summer weather in Newport, Rhode Island was pleasant and warm.
A colorful pegasus mare leaned back in her chair, looking up at the dark sky through the trellis that formed a pseudo ceiling over the open-air bar.  While the other, human customers had grown used to interacting ponies since the dimensional doorways had opened years previously, it was the first time any of them had ever seen one wearing a military uniform.
A gold belt buckle accented the pure-white trousers.  The shirt was made of the same material and sported black shoulder boards with a single gold star each.  Above the left breast pocket was a small ribbon colored red and yellow.  Above the right was a nametag that read DASH.
“What are you drinking, Rainbow?”  
The pegasus in the uniform looked up at a purple unicorn mare who had spoken.  She smiled.  “I don’t care, Twilight.  Surprise me.”
Twilight nodded and walked away to the bar.  Rainbow looked around at four other mares who had gathered at the table with her.  They were all her friends, and she’d invited them to come.
“Looks like a fancy place,” observed an orange earth pony.  She pushed her hat back and looked around.  The establishment was located at the edge of the bay between an assortment of yacht moorings.  The view was excellent, even if it was nighttime.  Somewhere, live music could be heard.
“Yeah, I found this place when we got weekend liberty for the first time,” said Rainbow.  She knew that all her friends, including Applejack, who had spoken, rarely visited the seashore.  Until coming to Newport for training, Rainbow hadn’t either.
“You’ll have to tell us all about it,” said a bubbly pink pony brightly.  “I bet you all partied a lot after spending so long cooped up.”
“Well Pinkie, we had to be back by midnight curfew,” explained Rainbow.  She grinned.  “But yeah, it was a good time.”
“I see that you’re certainly dressed for it,” observed a white unicorn with a styled indigo made.  She ran her eyes over the uniform.  “I’ve never had to modify human clothing to fit a pony, but it looks as if it turned out well.”
Rainbow rolled her eyes.  It was all about clothing with Rarity.  Still, at least she had something that fit perfectly now and didn’t restrict her wings.  The slits added to the back of the shirt were neat and unobtrusive.
Twilight returned accompanied by a waiter who was carrying their beverages.  The man picked a glass off the tray he held.  “Here’s some water for…Fluttershy, was it?  I need to see some ID for the rest of you.”
The ponies showed various forms of identification.  The man seemed surprised that Rainbow had an Indiana driver’s license.
After everypony was served, the waiter departed.  Pinkie took a gulp of liquor and thunked her glass down.  Without preamble, she prodded, “So are you going to tell us all about the party?”
Rainbow grinned.  “I could try, but it might be easier to start at the beginning.”
Twilight gestured for her to continue.  “That would be great.  I’d love to hear about the kind of problems they had to overcome to integrate a pony into the human military.”
“Day one was kind of tough,” agreed Rainbow.  She took a drink and started to tell the story.



The weather in Newport was beautiful.  Summer, 2012 had been warm, but not unpleasantly so.  The cloudless sky and comfortable  temperature would have put anyone in a good mood.  Or perhaps anypony. 
A pegasus mare colored the same hue as the sky navigated towards her destination.  She tossed her head, clearing her windswept rainbow mane away from her eyes.  The heavy saddlebags she wore covered her cutie mark, a multicolored lightning bolt.
It was midmorning on a Sunday, and traffic was light.  The pony had no trouble getting to her destination, a three-story brick building.  Letters mounted to the outside spelled out Callaghan Hall.
A young man in a khaki uniform stood on the corner.  His trousers were pressed neatly over polished black shoes and the matching short sleeve shirt had sharp creases.  There was a red and yellow ribbon above his left pocket and a nametag above the right.  His hat had a polished bill of black patent leather, a gold anchor, and an odd-looking round top that resembled a pancake.
“Good morning, ma’am.  Are you checking into OCS?”  The man smiled.
Nodding, the pony said, “That’s right.”
Gesturing to Callaghan Hall, the man said, “Go right in.  There’s someone at the front desk who can direct you further.”
The mare thanked him and walked by.  He stared after her.  As a brightly colored pony with wings, she was used to it.  As the first equine to enter United States Navy Officer Candidate school, however, the scrutiny piled up quickly. 
Inside the building, a woman clothed similarly to the greeter outside asked for the pony’s identification.  The mare presented it.
“Rainbow Dash,” the woman read from the card.  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get an Indiana driver’s license?”
The pegasus smiled.  “Well, I came out of doorway number one, but also that’s where my college was.  I had to get a degree somehow.”
The uniformed woman nodded.  The first portal to Equestria had been opened in a research facility in Indiana a few decades previously.  She handed the card back.  “What did you study?”
“Aeronautical Engineering,” answered Rainbow.  “I want to be a pilot.”
“The best of luck to you.  Head up the stairs to the third deck.”  
Rainbow smiled her thanks and followed the woman’s instructions, noticing a blue line of masking tape on the floor.  It guided her to where she needed to go.
Stepping out on the third floor, another smiling person in uniform directed the pony to the first of several numbered areas.  People in civilian clothes were around, moving through the stations.  Rainbow figured they were going to be her OCS classmates.
The dimensional doorways had been open for about twenty years, so ponies on Earth were not a strange sight.  Once again, however, finding one at Naval Station Newport, or any US military base, was out of the ordinary.  
Rainbow carried her luggage to the first station.  She noticed a sign that read HYDRATE.  Someone gave her a full canteen that had a sticker with her name on it.  She took a sip to comply with the sign.
Another person in uniform inspected the pony’s things.  He remarked, “It looks like you studied the list of items required for females carefully.  What you’ve got here is exactly what it said.”
“Well, I did leave out the sports bra,” commented Rainbow.  She grinned as the man’s face turned red in an effort to suppress his laughter.
The pony’s saddlebags were emptied and her things were placed in a tubular duffel made of heavy green nylon.  A sea bag, the man called it.  Rainbow carried the duffel to the next station.  She noticed more HYDRATE signs.
After dealing with her baggage, Rainbow filled out paperwork for the next hour.  A lot of it was medical information.  There were other agreements and forms to sign.  Her mouth hurt from using the pen.
A couple of civilians from the records department watched over the proceedings.  Rainbow had seen a few other people hanging around who looked like they had military haircuts, but wore informal clothes.  They only observed.  
The next station was a room full of computers.  Electronic records were needed.  Ponies without magic sometimes used dexterity enhancers fitted to their hooves.  The simple devices, usually nicknamed claws, had hooks that protruded for holding onto things.  Rainbow had found they worked pretty well for typing, albeit hunt and peck.  Even here, drinking water was encouraged.
The next station was the last.  A projector connected to a computer displayed a PowerPoint presentation.  The first slide read Naval Orientation and Vocabulary.
A group of people were gathered in the room waiting for the presentation to begin.  Rainbow took a seat.
A man in khaki walked in and stepped up to the computer.  “Good afternoon.  This presentation will teach you basic Navy language and terminology.”
He clicked the computer mouse and the next slide appeared with a list of words.  “We call things differently than civilians.  A wall is a bulkhead.  The floor is the deck.  A post or supporting pillar is a stanchion.  The ceiling is the overhead.  A window is a porthole.  The glasses on your face are also portholes.”
There were a few laughs from the back of the room.  The speaker did not join in.  Rainbow thought he was more serious than other khaki-wearers she had interacted with earlier.
The presentation moved on.  “There are three people who are very important to you.  They are your class team.  One is a Marine Corps Drill Instructor.  One is a Navy Recruit Division Commander.  The last is a Navy Class Officer.”
The next slide came up.

Class 19-12A
Drill Instructor: Gunnery Sergeant Johns
Recruit Division Commander: Chief Valdez
Class Officer: Lieutenant Crossing

The presenter pointed to the first line, Class 19-12A.  “This is pronounced ‘Class one-nine-one-two Alpha’.  This is your class for the next twelve weeks.”
Indicating the next few lines, he said, “These three people, your DI, RDC, and Class Officer, will be in charge of you.  You will address them all as sir.  Members of other class teams may be female, so be careful and don’t address a ma’am as a sir.”
Another slide came up.  “Upperclassmen at OCS are called Candidate Officers, and will also be addressed as sir or ma’am.  I am one of them.  We are in the last three weeks of our training.  We are responsible for you.  Underclassmen are called Officer Candidates.  If you complete the first week of OCS, you earn that title.  Until then, you are Indoctrination Candidates.  Any questions?”
Rainbow wondered if there were abbreviations for those long names.  As it turned out, Candidate Officers became Candios.  Indoctrination Candidates became Indocs.
A man raised his hand.  “Sir, when will we be introduced to all these people?”
“Don’t worry about it.  I’ll bet you’re a nuclear engineer here to work on submarine reactors, right?  I know you were trained to overanalyze things, but just relax.  Don’t nuke it.”
Rainbow saw the faces of nearly everyone in the room react to that.  Were all of them here for the same thing?
The instructor gestured to the room.  “Pick up your sea bags and form a line.  A Candidate Officer will take you over to Nimitz Hall to get started.”
As told, Rainbow strapped her bag on and lined up.  Considering she had an extra set of legs, her place in the formation was a little irregular.  Another person in khaki led the group downstairs.  Outside, he suddenly snapped, “Don’t talk, don’t look around!” and set off at a brisk pace.  Rainbow had to break into a trot to keep up.
The sidewalk ended and they all shifted onto the street.  After passing a building called King Hall that had a very tall flag pole out front, they veered back onto a sidewalk.  Out of the corner of her eye, Rainbow saw a building labeled “Ney Hall Galley” and another marked “Nimitz Hall.”  The Candidate Officer led them to a back door of Nimitz.
“Put down your bags.  Are they correctly labeled with your name?  Double Check!  Go through that door.  Don’t say anything.”
The windows in the door had been covered with black paper.  Rainbow and the group she was with filed in to a small alcove at the bottom of a set of stairs.  It was small and dark.  A few people wearing boots and blue Navy Working Uniforms stood silently.
As soon as the door closed, they came to life, shouting commands.  “Put your feet on those tape marks!  Stand up straight!  Hands at your sides!  Tuck your pant legs into your socks!  Double knot your shoes!”
Being without clothing, Rainbow was able to ignore most of the commands, and of course had to use two sets of tape marks.  After perhaps thirty seconds of shouting, the Candios fell silent.  From somewhere above, a slow drum beat started.
Four more people in blue walked down the stairs in time with the drum.  Rainbow wasn’t sure if it was serious and formal, or overly silly.  She didn’t dare smile, however.  The four came to a halt and the drum stopped.
One of the men in the lead began speaking in a loud, commanding tone.  “Here at OCS, you will learn to be an officer in the world’s finest Navy.  You will be pushed hard, but you must not break.  You will be exhausted to your very core, but you must keep going.  Everything we do here is for a purpose.  Everything we do will improve you.  Everything must be done with speed, volume, and intensity.  Do you understand?”
There was a general chorus of yes’s from the group of civilians.
“Outstanding!  Welcome to OCS!”  The drum began again.  The four turned and marched back up the stairs.  As they departed, a Candidate Officer roared, “Speed, volume, and Intensity!  When you speak, you do it with ballistics, which means as loudly as possible!”
Silence reigned.  He glared at the group that stood before him.  “When I say something, you say something!  Do you understand?”
Most of them got the hint.  “Yes, sir!”
“Not loud enough!  You should be hoarse by the end of today.”  His eyes flicked to Rainbow.  She braced for a horse comment, but instead the Candios began herding them all upstairs.  “Single file!  Stay on the right side!”
From the few glances Rainbow was able to catch, she could tell the building was old.  The green tile floors were caked with years of wax.  The block walls were painted stark white, and many of the ceiling tiles were stained.
More masking tape decorated the floor.  A dozen or more blue-clad Candios lined the hallways shouting directions, sometimes contradicting each other.  Rainbow’s ears kept twitching back and forth trying to pay attention to everything.
The man ahead of her turned the hallway corner, following the tape.  A Candio shouted, “No!  You make square corners by pivoting!  Go back and do it again!”
Rainbow backed up, giving him room.  He planted his foot and spun ninety degrees to make a perfectly square corner.  While it was a little difficult for the pony to figure out how to make the same movement with two sets of legs, she pivoted correctly and was not yelled at.  Or at least, not for the corner.
A woman started screaming in her ear.  “Tell me your name!”
“Rainbow Dash.”
“What?”
“Rainbow Dash…ma’am.”
“Not loud enough!  Speed, volume and intensity!”
“Rainbow Dash, ma’am!”
“We don’t care about your first name!  You are an Indoctrination Candidate, and will speak in the third person!  Try again!”
“Indoctrination Candidate Dash, ma’am!”
One by one, all the Indocs were filing through a storage room and emerging with various items clutched in their hands.  They were quickly ushered down the hallway.  When it was Dash’s turn, she stepped in.
“Face this whiteboard,” ordered a Candio.  “Read it.”  Dash began to look at the words written on it.  “Out loud!”
Dash opened her mouth.  “At OCS, you will speak only when spoken to.  When a senior says something, you say something.  Your responses will be Yes, No, or Aye Aye.  ‘Aye, Aye’ is used as a term of understanding and compliance.”
“Keep moving down the line.  That’s Aye, Aye Sir!”
“Aye, aye sir!”
The next Candio gave Dash a green jumpsuit and a fiberglass helmet with faded silver paint.  “This is your poopy suit and your chrome dome, do you understand?”
“Yes sir!”  She thought, poopy suit?
Carrying the things, she was directed down the “kill zone,” or main hallway, once again accompanied by shouting voices.  She made a corner, still following the blue line.  She was directed, “Go down the passageway, the p-way, until you find the door with your name on it.  Put on your poopy suit, leave your chrome dome, and pick up the gouge pack on your desk.  Bring your canteen.”
Dash hurried down the p-way, following the blue line and looking at the names taped to each side of the doors.  This part of the building resembled a college dormitory.  Each room had two each of desks, chairs, beds, and wardrobes.  The sea bags they had carried over to Nimitz had been placed on the beds.
She found her room.  The nametag read:

Dash, Rainbow
1390 - Pilot
Class 19-12A

The other nametag had the name Leest, Tamara on it and the mysterious code 1160 - SWO(N).
The pony entered her room as ordered and put down the helmet.  She unfolded the old one-piece jumpsuit, noting a few rips in the legs.  Dash never wore clothes save for a party dress now and again.  This looked like it would be very restrictive, clinging close to her body—not to mention being made for a different species!  There was no provision for her wings or tail and she glumly flattened them against her body as she pulled the suit on.  The legs were too long and she had to roll them up.
On her desk was a small booklet.  It appeared to contain important facts about the military.  Since it was the only thing on her desk, she figured it must be the gouge pack.  She picked it up, slipping it into the hip pocket of the suit before going out the door.
“Don’t cut the deck!” shouted a Candio as Dash stepped out of the room and tried to cross the p-way.  “Go all the way to the end and wagon wheel around.  Do not leave the blue line.”
Dash did as ordered, wondering why she had to do something so silly.  It seemed like a waste of time.  When she finally reached the kill zone, she was ushered into a room marked NAPS Classroom where a group of people wearing green jumpsuits sat on the floor.  They were all reading from the little booklets.
A Candio handed her a plastic Ziploc bag.  “This is to protect your gouge pack.  Now sit down and study your knowledge.”
He looked around as Dash took a seat.  “For those of you who just showed up, study as well as you can.  By your fourth week, you need to know that knowledge verbatim.  Who knows what that means?”
A man near Dash raised his hand and was pointed at.  “Sir, verbatim means—”
“Stand at the position of attention when you speak!”
The Indoc quickly got up.  “Sir, verbatim means being able to recite something word for word.”
“You sound smart; are you a nuke?  Don’t answer that.  Sit down.”
“Aye, aye sir!”
Dash opened her gouge pack.  It contained the Navy and Marine Corps hymns, a chain of command consisting of fourteen people that ran from her section leader to the President of the United States, ranks, warfare devices, chow hall procedures, leadership traits, Sailor’s Creed, and dozens of other small pieces of information.  I have to memorize all this? 
Time passed slowly.  Occasionally a Candio would order them all to take a drink.  Dash could hear more shouting as another group of Indoctrination Candidates were ushered through.
Eventually, one of the people in the room raised his hand.  “Sir, I need to use the restroom.”
“First of all, you didn’t request to speak.  Second, you are not yet allowed to say ‘I’ at OCS.  Third, this is the Navy, we call it a head.  Say, ‘Sir, this Indoctrination Candidate requests permission to speak to a Candidate Officer’.  After I tell you to speak, you say, ‘Sir, this Indoctrination Candidate requests to make a head call’.”
The Indoc managed to stumble through the proper lines.  Nodding, the Candio said, “All right, all of you get up.  If one goes to the head, we all go.”
Dash rose with the others.  A bathroom break sounded simple, but what would the Navy do to complicate it?
All the Indocs were made to line up on the blue tape.  They separated by gender and filed into their respective restrooms.
“Five minutes, and then get out of the head!” shouted one of the Candidate Officers.
Dash had spent enough time on Earth that human facilities were no longer a mystery.  There were showers, toilets, and sinks.  She used the time to introduce herself to the other female Indocs.
The woman she had been assigned to live with, Leest, was tall and thin with shorter than average hair.  She made a point to mention her home state as Texas.  Her chosen duty was Surface Warfare Officer with a Nuclear designation—SWO(N).  In fact, all the women were on that career path.  Dash felt a little more separated from them, not just with species but now also with job.
“So why did you join the Navy?” asked Leest.
Dash had been asked that a number of times while doing the massive amount of paperwork it took to get such a feat accomplished.  Her practiced reply was a nonchalant shrug and, “I just wanted to be the first.”  The truth was somewhat more murky, and while Dash had put in a lot of effort, she'd started to have doubts, especially now that she'd seen what OCS was like.
A fist slammed into the outside of the door.  “No talking!”
The five of them fell silent for the next few minutes.  From the other restroom, they heard a shout, “Say the Discipline Ditty!”
A crowd of male voices faintly responded, “Discipline! D-I-S-C-I-P-L-I-N-E Discipline is the instant willing obedience to orders, respect for authority, and self-reliance.  Freeze, Candidate, freeze!”
“Not loud enough, not fast enough, and not together!  Let’s see if the females can do any better.”  Someone beat on the door.  “Say my ditty!”
The Discipline Ditty was printed on a piece of paper that was taped to the wall.  The five females recited it, although still not good enough to meet the standards of the Candio.  “Get out of the head!”
Once the class was regrouped, they were given orders.  “Go back down your p-way to your hatch and stand on line in front of it.  Prior enlisted, help out.”
A few older-looking men seemed to know what that meant and the rest followed their lead.  They took the class back to the rooms where they would be sleeping and stopped beside where their respective names were taped to the wall.
Dash looked around.  Everyone stood on the blue line facing towards the center of the hallway.  She realized that her body was blocking the p-way and considered turning sideways, but eventually decided to rear up on her back legs and stand still.
From the end of the hall, a Candio called, “Indoctrination Class one-nine-one-two Alpha company, upon receiving the command of execution move you will fly into your hatches, dump out your sea bags, and bring them into the p-way with your war belt and chrome dome.  Whenever you are commanded to move, you say kill.  Ready, move!”
“Kill!”  Dash turned into the room with Leest.  She didn’t know where to dump the contents of the sea bag, and just upended it on the bed.  After collecting the rest of her gear, she left the room again.
“Indoctrination Class one-nine-one-two Alpha company, upon receiving the command of execution move you will put on your sea bag and war belt, put your canteen in your war belt, and carry your chrome dome.  Ready, move!”
“Kill!”  Dash did as she was told, wondering if all orders would come in such complicated language.  After reporting back on the line, all the Indocs were made to face to the right and follow the blue tape in a maneuver that was called a wagon wheel.  It was more organized than if they were all crowding towards the door at once.  So that's why they wanted me to do it.
With more shouting from Candios, the group was led outside.  They were all ordered to put their chrome domes on when leaving the building.  The helmet didn’t appear to fit any of them well, least of all Dash.  There was no lining or chinstrap, which made it sit on her head like a loose bucket.
The class was led to King Hall and given instructions before going in.  “No ballistics in front of civilians!  Hydrate before entering.”
Dash was grateful for the opportunity to stop shouting for a while.  She followed the line of green-clad people through the door and down a flight of stairs to a basement shop.  Clothing, toiletries, and other items lined the shelves.  Each Indoc was required to hold their sea bag out in front of them and proceed down the line to get all the required items.  Blue sweatshirts and pants, blue shorts, yellow t-shirts, socks, undergarments, and everything a Candidate would need for basic hygiene and attire.  The sea bag was nearly full by the time Dash was done.
Next came haircuts.  Males were required to have their heads shaved.  Females were allowed to have hair no longer than their collar.
“I’ve never given a pony a haircut before,” said the plump older woman with the hair trimmer.  “Er, manecut?”
Dash sat in the chair.  Her mane was not really long.  Unlike a person, however, it grew all the way down the back of her neck.  She heard a suspicious amount of trimming going on as the woman worked.  Her fears were confirmed when a pile of multicolored hair landed in her lap.
“Er, sorry,” said the woman.  Dash stared at the mirror in shock.  Her distinctive vibrant mane was no more than two inches long.  She started to get up, but the barber called her back.  “I should probably do your tail, too.”
Barber?  More like butcher, thought Dash as more hair was hacked off.  Hers was added to the growing pile on the floor.  Also, they made her pay for the cutting.  The woman wasn’t sure if a mane and tail counted as two haircuts or one.  Regardless, it was only a couple of dollars from the money every Candidate was required to bring to OCS, cheaper than a civilian haircut because it seemed that price was directly related to quality.
Dash joined the rest of the class and studied her gouge, occasionally drinking water as ordered.  Leest glanced at her, and looked like she was trying to suppress a giggle at Dash’s haircut.  When her own turn came, however, she walked out of the barber shop sporting an even shorter style.
Leest ran her fingers through her meager hair and grinned.  A Candio commanded, “No smiling!”
It took a while, but the whole class received their haircuts.  They were marched back to Nimitz Hall, where the full sea bags were dropped off.  After that, it was back outside for evening chow.
Each of the Indocs were made to put down their chrome domes and war belts in a convenient place on the grass beside Ney Hall Galley.  Candios herded them into a line facing the entrance.  There, they ran through a rough practice for the marching maneuver they would be required to learn soon.  The formation twisted ninety degrees to the right in a dancing shuffle while shouting the Discipline Ditty.
There was a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall next to the doors.  “Indoctrination Class one-nine-one-two Alpha company, upon receiving the command of execution move you will apply hand sanitizer.  Ready, move!”
“Kill!”  Following orders, each Indoc dutifully pumped a squirt of sanitizer.  Dash had to stand awkwardly to rub it on both forehooves.
The first two Indocs in line held the doors while the rest trooped in.  The interior of the building was well-lit, with large windows that faced the bay.  The carpet was new, although incredibly ugly.
“Ears!” shouted a Candio.  “Listen to me!  This is no place to get quiet!  You want the whole chow hall to hear you.”  He pointed to a couple of long tables.  “When you get through the chow line, go here.  Do not sit down and do not eat until ordered to.”
The class began to move through the line.  The servers were civilians, and looked at the new Indocs with sympathy.  Dash wondered how many classes they had seen come though OCS.
The mare had never used silverware in her life, and neglected to take any.  On her plate, the servers piled rice, potato wedges, sliced carrots, and something that looked like a vegetable quiche.  Others around her got chicken.  She followed the line back to the tables.  There was a large bowl with lettuce available for the taking, but Dash decided she had plenty of food already.
At her place, Dash set the tray down and stood awkwardly with the others.  As the rest of the crowd arrived, one of the Candios explained standard meal procedures.  “After arriving at the table, you will study gouge by holding the packet with your arm straight out in front of you.  You will put it away and take your seat when ordered.  You sit down by approaching your chair from the right, and get up to the left.  Take one bite at a time, and take a drink between each bite.  We will teach you how to eat by the numbers later.”
Dash looked at the two glasses that had been set in front of her place.  One had water in it, the other contained some kind of sports drink.  She sat when told to, only to be ordered back up.  One of the other Indocs had sat from the wrong side of the chair.  The process was repeated, and they all got it right this time.
A few of the people sitting around Dash stared as she casually took bites directly from her plate.  Among the military order, it seemed strange to have one member of the group out of sync.
As told, Dash took a sip of the blue-purple liquid in front of her.  It had an indeterminate artificial flavor, and had been mixed thickly.  She had a hard time keeping her face from puckering due to the syrupy taste.
The food wasn’t bad overall.  Dash wasn’t sure what she had expected from the military, but she could get used to this.  There seemed to be plenty, too.
“You have fifteen, that's one-five, minutes left to eat,” called a Candidate Officer.  “The time is now seventeen thirty, five thirty p.m. civilian time.  The next time you eat is six in the morning.  Make sure you eat everything.”
Well, if that was the case, the meal might not be enough after all.  Dash was unused to going so long without at least a snack.  She ate a little faster.
Most of the class had finished eating when time was called.  They were marched to the scullery—the tray return—and then back outside.  After collecting gear, it was back to Nimitz.
They were all gathered back in the NAPS classroom.  Dash still didn’t know what that acronym might mean.  For the next few hours, the class was grilled on proper marching and basic knowledge.  It was so much at once, like trying to drink through a fire hose.
The sun had gone down when a Candio finally announced that it was twenty-one hundred.  Dash did a quick mental conversion, nine p.m.
The class was herded back into their p-way to collect a change of clothing and hygiene items.  After that, they were given ten minutes to shower.  For the whole class.
There were only five showers per head.  For the small number of females, that wasn’t a huge problem.  Leest commented that the guys were probably “nut to butt” over in their respective showers.  Dash washed quickly, although taking the time to explore the unfamiliar sensation of a shorter mane.
Some of the women kept going right up to the deadline.  The subject of modesty was a little difficult with mixed species.  Even if she didn’t usually wear clothing, Dash gave the women space, glad to have learned from a few minor embarrassments in college showers before arriving at OCS. 
While she hadn’t shown up wearing anything, the Candios had insisted Dash start conforming to uniform regulations.  After drying off, she put on a yellow t-shirt and blue shorts, both with silver reflective NAVY tags on them.  This was the standard uniform for physical training and sleeping, and would be worn under the poopy suits.
The clothing did not fit particularly well.  Dash was reminded of some of the more conforming clothing that her friend Rarity had created in her dressmaking shop.  The shirt had to be tucked into the shorts, so her tail was once again pressed down flat with her body.
Once again, there was a pounding on the door and another request to say the Discipline Ditty.  Like before, no one was loud enough the first time.  Dash knew she was screaming as loud as she could, so she figured the request for more volume must be just another indoctrination thing.
Within a few minutes, the whole class was posted on line outside their hatches.
“Well, that’s one day down, twelve weeks to go!” shouted a Candio.
Dash gulped.  Three more months.
“Tomorrow you will all be going to Naval Health Clinic New England, or NHCNE.”  He pronounced it nick-nee.  “You will sit there doing medical evaluations for hours, so don’t miss the opportunity to study your gouge.  You need to know it verbatim.”
Continuing on, he said, “Everything you did today was terrible.  It was nasty.  You will learn to be more organized, and the sooner that happens, the better.  You will meet your Drill Instructor and Recruit Division Commander at zero-five Wednesday morning, and then things get serious.  The better you are in front of them, the less they will punish you.”
The monologue went on for several more minutes, explaining policies and procedures.  After that, the lights in the p-way went out and the Candidate Officers left.
Slowly, the Indoctrination Candidates gathered in the center of the hallway.  Unwilling to be heard, their voices were kept low.  One man took charge.
“Good evening everyone, my name’s Oberta.  I’m prior enlisted, so I know a little about what’s going to happen here.  OCS is a little different than boot camp, but a lot of it carries over.  All of us Indocs need to stick together.  They’re going to make it so that we have to rely on each other and build teamwork, so we might as well get started now.  Get to know everyone, but make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”
Dash had a few short conversations.  She learned that there were a few different types of people in the class.  Prior enlisted were sailors who were becoming officers.  There were only a couple of them.  The rest of the class was largely made of recent college graduates, although a few people had held jobs for a few years before signing up for OCS.
Most of the men in the class were going to be Submarine Nuclear officers, with a few Surface Nukes thrown in.  Dash met a small handful of other pilots, for which she was glad.
A man named Rodriguez was friendly and assured Dash that they would be awesome pilots together.   She kept the conversation friendly but short, due to the late hour.
It would be difficult to memorize so many names so quickly.  Dash only learned a few before the long day and dim light of the p-way forced her to yawn.  Everyone seemed to want to talk to the interesting pony, but agreed that it was time for bed.
Dash talked a little more with Leest as the two of them prepared for sleep.  “We’re probably supposed to make our beds,” suggested the woman.
“They’ll just get messed up by us sleeping on them.  I’ll just get up a little early and tuck in the sheets,” Dash told her.
“How are you going to do that?  None of us have a way of telling time.”
That was true.  Dash remembered seeing a clock in a small alcove off the kill zone.  With as much water as they had all been drinking, getting up in the middle of the night to use the restroom was a possibility.  She could check the time then.
Dash had very rarely been up at five a.m. and knew that with the additional stress of training it would be no fun at all.  There was no point in putting it off, however.  She sighed and climbed into bed.



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