//------------------------------// // 1, Summer // Story: Pony Tankers // by Michael Spruce //------------------------------// Summer Meadows sat looking out the window of the train car as the verdant Equestrian countryside, twilight in dusk, went by. She hoofed idly at a packet of papers sticking out of her breast pocket. The rolling hills seemed so green and full of life… looking at their picturesque beauty, it was hard to believe there was even a war at all, or that it had already been going on for two years. She sighed and pulled the packet out, then pulled a smudged monocle from the same pocket, breathed on it, and rubbed it on her uniform jacket to clean it some before setting it on her face. Squinting through one eye, she held the papers close to the fading light from the window and read through them again, one more time. The papers that concerned her were a set of orders; report to captain so-and-so, command of an element in something company in such-and-such battalion. She had read them at least ten times on this train ride, but she read them again, trying to make sure she wouldn’t forget anything when she arrived at the forward operating base. Back at the military academy her instructors had said she could expect to be there at least a few years more, and yet here she was, being sent to the front with only a year of officer training, and none in mechanized warfare. Summer wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It wasn’t for lack of motivation; she loved seeing the tanks in the propaganda reels, their cannons firing, their tracks rolling over all kinds of obstacles – it simply wasn’t something they taught at her prestigious unicorn military academy. She straightened the papers, folded them around her monocle, and slipped them back into her uniform jacket pocket, then sat back on the bench in the booth she had all to herself in the officer’s car to think. Her monocle eye ached from the strain of reading in the dim light. Her family was of the old unicorn charge-with-bloody-horn-outstretched tradition; leaders of other ponies, strong and stiff-lipped fighters of all of Equestria’s enemies throughout the centuries. Most of them didn’t hold with the shape modern war was taking. Summer wasn’t entirely sure that she did, either, but this assignment had been her idea. In fact, her BBBFF had to pull some more strings than usual to get her this posting. Summer had found that surprising, since she had specifically asked for a far lesser posting than she was otherwise entitled, as a pony of her name and standing. And it hadn’t been easy on her end, either; the rest of the family was aghast when they found out what posting she had set her sights on. Not only did she intend on being a greaseheaded armored officer, but she wasn’t even going to hold a commissioned officer rank? Her explaining that the role still involved a command capacity hadn’t mollified them. She had begged and pleaded as hard as she dared to be allowed this chance, and in the end, they had allowed it, on the condition that she accept a lieutenant’s commission, with all the status and insignia, even though she would be officially acting in the capacity of a sergeant. She had the lieutenant insignia safely stowed in her waist pocket for safekeeping and wore her sergeant tabs instead. Her brow furrowed, remembering. The car had grown mostly dark. It wasn’t that she didn’t deserve to be a commissioned officer from the start – she had gone to the academy, even if not for the full term, and she did belong to the old and noble Meadows family – it was rather that she didn’t feel entirely qualified to be a commissioned officer. Officers were responsible for far more ponies than themselves or their immediate squad, and she didn’t want to be someone that got ponies killed through her inexperience. She just wanted a chance to learn the ropes, dip her hooves into the workings of this relatively new branch of the equestrian military, and try command on for size with a smaller group, with bigger direct consequences for her if she made a mistake. She had heard that an ammo rack cook-off was mercifully quick for everyone inside; she shivered at the thought. When Celestia had finished putting the sun to bed in the western sky, and the light from the lamp in the corridor of the car crept under the door, Summer Meadows lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The pale light of a waxing moon washed over the rolling hills of the equestrian countryside as she fretted over the same things over and over again. Eventually, the rumble and click-clicking of the train lulled her off into sleep. / - / - / - / - / Summer suddenly sat up with a start. She looked around her, not knowing at first what awoken her. Sunshine filtered through the curtainless window in her private officer’s booth. She realized after a moment's wait that the train was slowing down. She scrambled to her hooves and quickly made sure she had everything she needed. Equestria new model slate grey uniform with red cuff-trim, all in order – a little rumpled from her nap, but she quickly smoothed the worst of the wrinkles, cursing herself for falling asleep with it on. Sergeant’s rank tabs, fixed; she touched them again, just to make sure they were really there. Sidearm, check, strapped in its holster just behind her left shoulder. She made sure she had her good Cloudsdale-made field glasses stowed safely in their dark wicker case on one side of her midsection belt, and her tall wooden map tube suspended from the other side, strapped down tight so it didn’t bang against her legs. Her pack went on her back, the shoulder straps running down over her chest and the bottom of the pack secured to her midsection belt to prevent it sliding forward. She was glad of being a unicorn when putting it on; her magic came in handy for doing up the straps she couldn’t easily reach with her teeth. When she was sure she had everything in order and in its proper place, she took a deep breath and set her black-brimmed field cap on her head, lowering it carefully so her horn found the hole made for it. With the train almost at a complete stop, she shouldered out the door and into the corridor. She hurried anxiously down the length of the car, dodging around an older unicorn stallion, a captain, just then emerging from his own booth; she tipped her head at him respectfully and moved on, jumping off the steps at the end of the car without looking. Her hooves splashing into cold mud shocked her out of her singleminded rush to disembark, and she paused a moment and looked around. There was no station; instead, the train had stopped at a seemingly random section of track along the line, around which seemed to have sprouted a small tent city, with dirty white canvas stretching on in any direction she looked. She had been told to expect this, but in all her overthinking her report to the company commander the previous night, she had somehow forgotten. No one seemed to be waiting for her arrival to show her the way to her unit, though, which she felt was strange. She checked her pocketwatch; it was ten minutes to ten. Swallowing nervously, Summer stepped with care around the mud puddles and entered the forest of tents. Their canvas walls hung heavy with the fresh moisture of a recent rainfall. Among them bustled ponies going to and fro on their various business, the pulse of the camp running through the whole organ. So, Summer thought, dodging out of the way of two sweating stallions carrying a crate between them, this was the northern front’s section six command headquarters… She wandered for a while, confused by the way the camp was laid out. Nothing seemed to make sense, and every dirty tent and muddy lane looked very much like another. Eventually, Summer gave up on finding the way herself and stopped a young mare carrying a box of machine gun ammo, the handle in her mouth, and asked, “Excuse me, but where can I find Captain Havoc, with the 5th Equestrian Armored Battalion?” The mare’s eyes flicked from the cap on Summer’s head to the unicorn’s rank tabs and she set the box down before answering. “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” she said, with a carefully deferential dip of the head, “The 5th is over in that part of the camp. This area is for the 17th signal corps. Excuse me.” She indicated a general direction with a forehoof, picked up the box again, and hurried off. Summer felt a bit miffed. Those directions weren’t terribly helpful, but she reigned in the urge to call the mare back. It was important that ponies respect her, and that wasn’t going to happen if she came to be known for grilling ponies who obviously had important things to do, no matter how well within the rights of her rank it was to do so. She might never see this pony again, but she should make it a habit with all her inferiors she met. She shook her head and set off in the direction indicated, thinking. They were recruiting them young now, weren’t they? That mare had seemed a sight younger than Summer herself, and she was only nineteen… She picked her way among the identical-looking tents, asking for directions ever so often. The enlisted troops she saw were nearly all, without exception, earth ponies, and officers were almost always unicorns. The only earth pony officer she saw, while wandering through one infantry regiment’s area, was a pony she knew, vaguely; he had been a forepony on their neighbor’s vineyard estates. The few unicorns she saw in enlisted rank uniforms were either aides to command elements, or, in a few memorable cases, sorry-looking ponies doing menial work, demoted for some offense or another, the collars of their field jackets still showing lighter-colored where their rank tabs had been ripped away. All was as things should be. After all, the more civilized, refined, and powerful unicorn race deserved to be above the muckraking earth pony masses, even in war. Whoever heard of an old noble family of earth ponies? The very idea was absurd. It was a unicorn’s natural role to lead the others, and in turn to strive to be worthy of leading. It was their job as unicorns to serve as an example to the little ponies under their charge, not lower themselves to those ponies’ level. There were few pegasi to be seen, but that was not a surprise; Celestia had deemed their talents necessary elsewhere in the war. They were given work as couriers; as factory workers, where their floating facilities could turn out war material with less risk of disruption; and, of course, they helped ensure Equestrian air superiority in the skies. With so many pegasi called away to such important duties, though, their control over the weather these days was spotty at best. As she found out, after asking one older enlisted stallion about it, the previous night’s rain had been entirely unscheduled. He had shook his head and muttered about what the country was coming to when even the weather wasn’t under control, and Summer had to privately agree – at least as far as the weather went. Princess Celestia knew what she was doing; she doubtless had a genius plan to kick the enemy in the flanks and send them running before too long. After questioning one more soldier and confirming that she had indeed reached the area where the 5th Equestrian Medium Tank Battalion was located, Summer rounded a corner of a tent and stopped dead in her tracks. Before her was a tank, and there were more beside it. She had never really seen one up close, for all that she was assigned to command one. It was bigger than she would have expected from the newsreels and photos she’d seen, even the ones that were shown next to advancing troops. As for the ones she’d seen as a filly, well, everything seemed big at that age, and she had taken to downplaying the size in her memory as she grew older. She wonderingly circled around the one in front of her. Its rectangular body squatted low on two tracks, and its blunted cannon barrel protruding from the turret exuded an air of menace. It was painted a light grey color, with smears of mud mostly washed off by the rain and numerous scratches just above the mud guards. Summer could hardly take her eyes away from it, but she managed to look at the rest of the tanks too, and count them. In all, thirteen tanks squatted in a cleared area among the surrounding tents. Most of them she could only see by their turrets, hidden behind the bulk of others. Three that had bigger turrets and guns than the rest, and bigger hulls to match, were arrayed at the end of a gap in the tanks, a lane that ran down the middle of the collection and led straight to the edge of the camp. Near the end of the clearing was an open space with room for at least six more such machines; she figured those were out on a mission. “Something you needed, sarge?” interrupted a gruff male voice. Summer dragged her eyes down to a brown stallion in a disheveled uniform squatting and smoking in front of the machine she had just walked around. He gave her a stare that bordered on insolence, a look that said he would prefer if she was somewhere else. She felt like snapping back, but she stopped herself just in time. It wouldn’t do to make a scene or make enemies, and anyway, she had done some research on her post; as a commander of only one tank, and a sub-element one at that, the behavior of another commander’s crew was not her responsibility. Instead, she took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, in fact. Would you be so kind as to direct me towards Captain Havoc?” He grunted and nodded towards a large tent pitched next to one of the large machines, much larger than the one she had just been looking at. She stopped and stared at its huge, rectangular immensity and its big gun for a long moment before starting in its direction. She ignored the rude stallion; as an officer you did not let the rank-and-file know what you really thought of them. Who said that only a year at the academy wasn’t enough training? She stepped around the huge tank and pushed her way through the damp tent flaps into a warm interior, almost cloying with its heat. Three electric space heaters were positioned in the corners of the tent on top of boards to keep them off the wet ground. Close by, a ubiquitous army generator could be heard running. The center of the tent was occupied by a large wooden table strewn with maps and uneaten food, and in the corner was a canvas screen on a crude wooden frame blocking off a corner of the tent. Otherwise, the room was unfurnished, except for the scarred blue stallion sitting motionless on the opposite side of the table. Summer stood to attention and cleared her throat politely. He started and seemed to only just notice her, and she thought she saw a hint of puzzlement in his eyes, but he marshaled himself quickly. “Who are you? State your business,” he barked authoritatively. Her well-rehearsed speech deserted her. She felt that she had probably lost it somewhere between the signal corps and the engineering corps on the way here. When in doubt, salute and report. “S-summer Meadows, sergeant, reporting to Captain Havoc? I’m assigned to this battalion, sir.” He looked blankly at her. “Really? You?” he said, and Summer got the feeling he didn’t believe her. Just then, someone knocked on a tent pole behind her, and she turned to see that an earth pony courier had arrived. “Excuse me a moment,” Havoc said to her, and she nodded acknowledgement. The courier pushed past Summer, dropped a telegram on the table, and saluted. The stallion leaned over and read it, and as he did so, Summer watched a change come over his bearing. “This should have been on my desk yesterday,” he reproached the courier crossly. “Report this mishap to whoever’s in charge over at the signal station. Dismissed.” The courier nodded nervously and backed out, brushing past Summer on the way out. When the pony had gone, Captain Havoc checked quickly between her and the telegram slip with a carefully schooled expression. “Right. Summer Meadows. The new tank commander. Assigned to our newest machine. Hmm.” He looked at her closely, and Summer got the feeling he was counting the stitches in her collar. “And you’re a unicorn. How… unexpected.” Summer shifted and stammered out, “I-I have my orders right here, if you’d like to see them.” She didn’t like the way his eyes narrowed, and too late she realized she had spoken out of turn without thinking. So much for military school. She swallowed and slipped the packet of papers out of her pocket, and he came around the table and held out his hoof expectantly. She paused to try and extract the orders from the sheaf, and the captain lost his patience with her and snatched them out of her telekinetic field. She barely managed to catch her monocle by the chain before it fell in the mud. Havoc scanned swiftly through the papers, and Summer bit back the protest she was about to make. When he stopped reading, he looked up and stared at her thoughtfully. Summer wanted to fidget anxiously, despite a lifetime of enduring close scrutiny by her betters. She imagined what he might see: a slight young mare with a light green coat, a pink mane hanging in slightly wavy curls down her neck and around her ear, a pink tail hanging down straight with a curl at the tip, and sky-blue eyes under the black brim of her officer’s field cap. His expression grew a mite more thoughtful when he saw her cutie mark of a compass and a compass joined by a red ribbon, and she subtly shifted around to try and hide it. After an unbearable silence, Havoc said, “That cap is supposed to be for commissioned officers, you know,” in a too-casual tone. Summer, remembering she was supposed to be acting as a non-commissioned officer, wrapped it in a blue telekinetic aura to take it off, but he stopped her. “No, no, keep it on.” He smiled humorlessly in a way she didn’t like and handed her packet back, folded in a completely different way. “Consider that an order.” She let the telekinetic field on her hat dissipate and returned the papers to her pocket, wondering what he was playing at. Havoc walked by her, and as he did, she saw his cutie mark, a collection of miscellaneous characters usually used to indicate invective in comic form. He pushed through the tent flaps and started yelling for an aide. While his attention was occupied, she sidled over to the operations table, throwing one quick peek back to see if he had noticed. She realized she was pushing her luck for how much insubordination she could get away with in one day, but the maps beckoned to her, singing sweetly of the things they held; she just couldn’t resist. He hadn’t noticed yet, so she fitted her monocle and peeked at the maps laid out over the surface. It was all there; local topography, friendly positions, enemy positions, notes about current terrain features, known minefields, and she drank it all in like a thirsty sponge. She may not know armor very well, but maps were her enduring passion, and she had spent many a lonely day as a filly growing up on the family estate wargaming on her own. It would be interesting to compare what she saw here with her own regional maps she had brought with her, she thought, as she reached out a hoof to move a paper aside to see an artillery position better. The captain cleared his throat behind her, and she jumped guiltily, wondering how much trouble she was in. He was waiting impatiently at the tent entrance with an orange stallion hovering behind him, and she hurried over to his side. Havoc instructed the waiting aide, “This is Sergeant Meadows, the new tank commander for Third Platoon here in D Company. Go show her to her machine – you know, the one that arrived two days ago – and then round up the assigned crew so that she can get acquainted. Dismissed.” He had definitely seen her officer’s commission, but she hoped he hadn’t read any of the letters from her brother. Most ponies might get the wrong idea about the two of them. There was no time to worry about that, though; the orange pony had indicated that she follow and was already moving off, not bothering to see if she would come. She hurried to catch up. As the aide led her down the lane through the middle of the tanks, some of them with earth pony crew sitting indolently on and around the machines, she realized that she had not even registered, in the moment, that the captain was an earth pony. All the tanks of the battalion had an air of quiet menace, of sleeping savagery barely restrained, crouching in their three loose groupings according to their platoon; the two big ones flanking the captain’s huge tank, the group she had gone by when she found the battalion, and another similar group on the other side of the lane. Both non-command platoons were composed three-fifths of the shorter, squatter model of Equestrian medium tank, and the remaining two tanks were of the taller type. The aide led her past the tank she had first seen; the brown stallion waved at her without looking up. She turned her nose up and marched on. They walked around the second-to-last tank at the far end of the platoon, and Summer saw her tank fully for the first time, previously hidden from her view behind a machine the same size as it was. She knew it was hers long before the aide told her it was. It wasn’t just that its light grey paint practically sparkled in the sun after its recent shower, lacking the dents and chips and scratches every other tank here had. It wasn’t just the self-satisfied, preening air that it seemed to repose in. It was how, unlike every other tank here, it seemed to want her, to need her. The rest felt indifferent at best towards her, and some seemed downright hostile, but this one was hers. It needed her, and she felt in that moment that she needed it. So wrapped up in admiring her machine was she that she didn’t even notice the aide had moved off, presumably to find the crew – her crew. She shook herself and brought herself back to the present. She moved around the tank’s right flank, inspecting it. The national armored forces roundel on the side of the hull was cold to the touch. It was of the larger medium type, but not as large or as rectangular as the captain’s tank. Its gun seemed like the biggest of any tank there, barring the captain’s, and Summer beamed with pride. Of course it was better; it was new. Everything about the machine seemed in order; not that she would really know, but it still felt that way, anyway. She noticed that some hatches on the back, that presumably accessed the engine, were open, and she thought she heard someone banging around there. Then she heard voices from the other side of the tank, and she moved to investigate those instead, taking her time to run her forehoof over the welds on the rounded nose. She stopped to flick off an imaginary speck of mud and peeked around the front left mud guard. Two mares were sitting and playing cards on a large wooden tub set between them. The mare that sat facing her was a darker green than Summer, with a messy grey mane shot with streaks of red. She was smoking a crumpled-looking cigarette and looking intently, but impassively, at her hand. The other mare, who had her back to Summer, was small, practically a midget, with rippling muscles, a tan coat and blonde mane, and both it and the tail done up in a dense braid. Summer could see on her flank a cutie mark of a turnip with a worm poking out of it. They were conversing, although the green mare was being very quiet and letting the other do most of the talking. The topic at hoof was the relative merits of stallions, and Summer felt her face burn to hear it. The tan mare suddenly plunked her cards down on the tub, stood up, and crowed, “Ha!” in triumph. The green one set her cards down and smiled slightly. The tan mare looked down at the cards, paused, then angrily yelled, “What?! Not again!” and flung the tub to the side. Cards flew everywhere. She looked about to kick the green one, and the other mare was clearly tensing up to fight. Summer decided it was time to intervene and stepped around the mud guard, clearing her throat. The instant the green mare saw Summer, she snapped into a perfect parade salute. The tan mare started to spin into the kick but noticed, just in time, the green mare’s reaction, and spun around as if she’d kick the newcomer, too. The green mare lowered her forehoof after the appropriate interval and nudged the tan one, prompting the latter to throw a loose salute of her own. Summer was in awe of how incredibly quickly the green mare had gone to standing in a perfect parade stance, but she picked her jaw off the ground and put on her most serious officer face. “Name and rank?” she snapped. You had to be short with them at first, show them you were business. Only once they understood your resolve was strong could you be nicer to them if you wanted to, or so one of her instructors had said. “Minty Twist, Corporal, Gunner,” the green one answered instantly. Now that the wooden tub or the other pony no longer covered it, her cutie mark appeared to be something on a red circle, a typewriter perhaps, or a cash register. She had a light Manehattan accent in how she said her y’s, o’s, and r’s. “Turnip Sprout, enlisted soldier, Cannoneer,” the other answered, sounding almost intentionally not as prompt, in a strange countryside twang that Summer automatically associated with groundskeepers. Summer's mouth quirked slightly. “Greetings. You may call me Sergeant Meadows. Are you two assigned to this, er, machine?” Turnip only nodded, but Minty answered a clear, “Affirmative.” “Good; I am the new commander. I look forward to working with you ladies. Now, as you were, but don’t go anywhere.” She released them from standing to attention with a wave of her hoof and was about to call out to the engine compartment when she was spared the trouble. A grey head stuck out from on top of the hull, behind the turret, and looked at her. It was followed a second later by a grey body, as an athletic mare hopped down from the back of the tank. Her mane was navy blue and kept in a short bob, and her face was streaked with grease darker than her fur. She blew away a curtain of long bangs to reveal captivating dark red eyes as she saluted her superior officer. “Supercharger, Corporal,” she said in an artificially gravelly voice, then, in a more normal tone, “I’m the driver.” Summer felt like there was a joke she was missing, and she didn’t care for it. The mare’s sides looked wider under her jacket than they should be; Summer hoped to Celestia that it wasn’t what it looked like. Summer wasn’t sure where to go from here, so she said, “I see. And what were you doing up on the… up there?” “Just improving engine performance. It’s not quite done. This big boy won’t reach his full potential otherwise, you know?” “You know, ma’am,” Summer corrected. “Of course. Ma’am.” The grey pony contrived to make it sound like a bad word when she said it, and Summer frowned. “Good.” Summer briefly contemplated this information. Improving the engine. Were there regulations on this sort of thing? Was she supposed to allow this? She had researched what she could, but the book of regulations, probably in another bureaucratic mix-up, was only given to her at the last minute, before she got on the train. There were any number of things she could have missed when she had skimmed it. She decided the safest course was to let both that, and the purposeful insolence, slide for now; an improved engine wouldn’t hurt, would it? She ended up saying, “Very good. Carry on.” Supercharger nodded and jumped back up onto the tank and disappeared behind the raised engine access hatch, evidently not very concerned by the new commander. Minty smoked silently, staring into space and leaning against the tread, and Turnip spat a foul black slime and gave Summer a sidelong look that she was sure she wasn’t meant to notice before beginning to gather up the strewn cards off the wet ground. That business settled, Summer decided she wanted to check out her first command while she waited for that aide to find whoever the last pony was. Telling the two mares to carry on, she took her pack off and leaned it against the track. After stretching her back to work out some of the soreness from carrying that heavy thing on her back all this way, she climbed laboriously onto the bow of the tank and opened the first hatch she came to. Wisps of smoke curled out at the edges of the hatch, and at first she was afraid that her command had somehow caught afire all on its own. She sniffed – it was only tobacco smoke. She looked down through the cloud of smoke, wondering who was doing this in her tank, and met the face of a terrified pink mare with a maroon mane. A government-issue cigarette hung from her agape mouth and there was a sheet of paper and a pencil on the floor in front of her, in between the driver’s yokes. “Oh, I SAY!” Summer burst out, then she stopped herself and moved on to a better tack. Sharp, that was the way. “Name and rank?” “C-Cashmere, sir,” the pony stammered, then broke off in a fit of coughing. Somehow, the cigarette stayed in her mouth – it must be a talent. “Enlisted soldier and qualified radio operator,” she wheezed, when she had got her breath back, in a groundskeeper twang not unlike Turnip’s. Her voice was startlingly soft. “Well, come out of there at once! What were you doing, hiding and smoking up MY tank with that foulness! OUT!” Summer stamped her hoof angrily. There was being short with the ponies, yes, but this personally angered her. Smoking was an evil habit, not to be encouraged. Old dogs, so to speak, like Minty clearly was, would never stop, but it was unacceptable to have the inside of her tank smell like the stuff, and she had to make that clear to the others on no uncertain terms. Cashmere jumped up and scrambled half out of the driver’s hatch. She had wide sea blue eyes and her mane hung in a straight curtain down her neck. Her head drooped; as well it should, the scoundrel! “Um, well, um…” she mumbled, then broke off coughing again. “Well? I Can’t hear you!” Cashmere’s voice quavered as she said, “I was writing a letter. To Turnpike, you know…” Nearby, Turnip looked up at them sharply in the middle of picking up a three of clubs with her teeth. Summer tapped her hoof on the hull impatiently. “Get out. This instant. You still haven’t answered me what you’re doing in my tank.” “Um, well…” “If I may, sergeant,” Minty broke in, “She just wanted a quiet place to write to her family. She’s a part of the crew as well, so I didn’t see a problem in allowing her the use of the tank.” Summer stared at Minty for a second. She knew exactly what Minty was doing, and it made her feel a little ashamed of using the same tactics the instructors at the academy used. Pounce on the nervous, the afraid, and use them to send a message to the rest of the cadets. She was often the one who tried to shift the focus to herself and protect the other pony, and it was unsettling to find herself on the other end of the power dynamic. “…I see. But no more smoking in my tank, and that goes for all of you. Are we clear?” Cashmere and Minty both nodded and said “Yes, ma’am”, although the latter did so with a noticeable twitch in her eyebrow, and Summer decided to consider the matter closed. “Go find something to clean with,” she ordered Cashmere, “I don’t want to see a speck of mud or dust inside or outside this tank.” Summer stepped up onto the roof of the turret and looked furtively around her before opening the commander’s hatch. “I’m just going to be in here for a while,” she said to no one in particular, and felt a bit foolish for having done so. Cashmere had already hurried off, and the others had turned away to do something else as well. She detached her map case from her belt and gingerly lowered it inside, then maneuvered herself in, being careful not to let her field glasses case snag on the opening. Then, she closed the hatch and sat on her seat, the commander’s seat, in exhilarated silence. She was finally here, in her very own tank! And the tank seemed pleased about it, too. She inhaled the faint smell of fresh paint, grease, and metal shavings and tried to be at peace for a moment. Right away, there was a big problem getting in the way of that peace. When she tried to sit up straight in her appointed seat, as she was intended to, her horn hit the hatch on the roof. It forced her to crane her neck downwards or to the side to accommodate it; apparently, the commander’s cupola was not built with unicorns in mind. She was barely able to see out of the vision slits at a very oblique angle if she pressed her head to the hatch sideways far enough back that her horn fit inside horizontally, but it simply would not do for combat operations at all. Maybe this was what Captain Havoc had meant when he had commented on her race; tanks were obviously just not built with projecting forehead horns in mind. The rest of the interior was roomier than she thought it would be by reputation, but still cramped. It was painted an ivory white color on the walls and underside of the roof, and there was only a single lightbulb on the roof of the turret, turned off. What dim light there was inside came from the vision slits in the commander’s cupola, the driver’s vision port, which was cranked wide open, and a few other vision slits in the side of the hull and turret. Besides her seat, which was nothing more than a cushion on a metal shelf in the back of the turret, the turret had a gunner’s seat slung below her in the left side of the turret, and she thought she could see a lighter spot in the paint inside the turret ring where another seat, on the right-hoof side, had been recently uninstalled. The cannon breech and its gun cradle filled most of the ventral space inside the turret, and it was a bit of a squeeze to slip down around it to see into the forward section of the hull, where the driver and radio operator sat. Cashmere’s abandoned letter sat temptingly in between the steering levers, but Summer left it there and squeezed herself back to her rightful position, the commander’s seat. She decided she ought to practice using the cupola, since she might have to use it in combat. A moment later, the hatch was pulled open without warning, and Summer, who was pressing her head against it sideways, lurched up and directly face-to-face with Supercharger. Summer was struck speechless for a long second. “Er… hi,” she eventually managed to stammer. “I was just… ahem.” She pulled back and cleared her throat importantly. “What is it?” Supercharger moved back as well, her amused expression turning serious. “Fritter from Wee Parisprite – er, that’s tank number twelve – just came by. Lieutenant Sweet Tooth wants you for a briefing, and Fritter said it was extremely urgent.” Summer looked around; this didn’t bode well. “Where at?” Supercharger pointed beside Summer at the next tank in line, the machine that was in many ways a twin to her own. Unlike hers, it had a short-barreled cannon and a long antenna that split up into multiple strands at the end, and a small gathering of ponies clustered around the front. Summer heaved herself out, eased herself to the ground, and hurried over. “Sergeant Summer Meadows?” asked a hot-pink colored earth pony stallion with a white mane, wearing second lieutenant collar tabs and a field cap like her own. She snapped a salute. “Yes, sir!” “So NICE of you to join us at last,” he said. “Now, gentlecolts,” he said, turning to the group at large, “Our time is short. Second Platoon was providing armor support to a vulnerable point in our line across the river, but they got jumped this morning by a whole heap of those new Crystal Empire machines. Lieutenant Bubble Pop withdrew her force to the nearest shelter rather than lose any of her tanks, which I don’t need to remind you –” he looked significantly at Summer, “– can’t be replaced easily, and now they’re pinned down in a shallow valley with no way out.” Summer looked at each of the other three ponies. Two of them were mares, and the last pony was the rude brown stallion from earlier, which surprised her. They must take all types now if that sloppy fellow was also a tank commander. She would never be caught looking so disreputable, that was for sure. Something that didn’t surprise her, though, was that they were all earth ponies. Instead of field caps, they wore grey berets, and she felt a little out of place. “The river at the end of the valley is too deep and silty for them to cross, and the valley is surrounded by enemy tanks. The lieutenant was able to get out a radio transmission about ten minutes ago, so we know they’re still alive for now. Equestria cannot afford to lose a tank platoon in this sector – we must make an effort to rescue them. We are going to go, and First Platoon is going to stay here and act as the unit reserve. I’ve already had this plan approved by Captain Havoc. Now, they are pinned down in here –” he pointed at a location on a field map he had laid out over the bow of his tank, and Summer put on her monocle and peered closer at it in interest, “– and we are going to break them out by attacking the encircling enemy tank force from here.” He pointed at a spot a short distance northeast of the hills that flanked the southeast-northwest-running valley, marked as a fording point. Summer watched where he pointed with interest, turning the situation over in her mind. The river made a big bend and widened out, so that made sense. “The river is too deep for us to bring the tanks across in most places," he went on, "But there’s a ford up here that we will use. It’s the only one we know that’s both close enough it won’t take four hours that we don’t have, and is not currently held by the enemy.” He pointed to another one just a few kilometers downriver. He said something else, but Summer wasn’t listening; she was looking between the valley and the indicated fording point, where two patches of woodland flanked the other side of the river, with an orchard right behind them they would enter as soon as they were out of the river. Something about that, and the situation as the lieutenant described it, was bothering her, and she was trying to figure out what. The Crystal Empire, from all she knew, wasn’t in the same way materially that Equestria, apparently, was – they could afford to lose a tank or two. So why hadn’t they charged in and cleaned out the valley, or at least tried to soften up the place with a bombardment first? When she thought of that, the answer came to her in a flash. “It’s a trap,” she blurted out. “Excuse me?” “It’s a trap, sir,” she said, louder. “They’re going to hit us while we’re crossing the river.” More specifically, she saw where a force of enemy tanks could hide some of their machines from view in the wooded patches and hit her platoon in the thin sides, and where the evenly placed trees would hinder Equestrian movement if one or two of them made it across the river even despite that. “Well, little miss expert,” sneered the lieutenant, “Let’s say there is one. There’s still nowhere else we can cross that river to come to their aid in time without getting blown to smithereens. Are you suggesting that we do nothing and leave our friends to die there?” Summer recoiled, shocked. Sure, she had been out of line, but this was important! They had to do something. And he dared to imply she didn’t care!? It wasn’t her fault she just got here! She managed, with some effort, to master herself, and reply with a calm she did not feel. “Absolutely not… sir. I’m just saying that I would do things differently in this situation.” Right away, she knew it was a poor choice of words. “Well, commander,” he said, dripping with disdain, “You can give us all a lecture on armored tactics when we get back from this urgent rescue mission. Until we do get back, though, I’m not going to take any lip from someone who’s barely even set hoof in a tank. If I hear another PEEP from you,” – he prodded her chest with a hoof – “There is going to be disciplinary action, you understand? You’re dismissed. Shoo. You don’t need to be briefed, anyway – just follow your orders and stay in the back of the column and you’ll do fine.” “But –” “Ah! One more peep!” he warned. She stood with her mouth agape, struggling to keep the words from spilling out. “Well, what are you still doing here?” he said, when she didn’t move right away. She slowly turned to go. As Summer walked away, seething, she heard, “Now, as I was saying…” She felt she had heard enough, anyway. As she walked back over to her tank, she fretted about what to do. Such an insult from a clear inferior like him was unheard of in the circles she knew, and her initial thought was to challenge him to a duel, but she supposed he couldn’t answer properly to a unicorn’s duel without a horn. She technically outranked him, too, and she figured she could probably pull rank on him to get what she wanted, but not only was that that not actually how things really worked, the captain would probably demote her into one of those box-hauling unicorns she’d seen earlier for her audacity, and anyway, what would she then have the column do if it actually worked? The hot-pink buffoon was right, there really wasn’t another crossing that would suit. She had honestly expected something like this to happen sometime or another – disagreeing with a superior, that is. It came with the territory, especially at the academy. The difference was, then it was frivolous make-work, meant to, in her view, mold the students into good leaders to their lessers and followers to their betters – and this was a matter of life and death. She was increasingly certain the more she thought about it that the lieutenant was going to lead twenty-four other ponies, counting herself, and five valuable machines, to a certain death, with five more to follow shortly thereafter. It might be a guess based on nothing but her own wargaming experience and a few other things, but her gut said it was right. So, then, what could she do about it? As she wandered past the front of her own tank, she absently knocked over a bucket of water where Cashmere was using a wet rag to clean the already spotless tank. “Sorry,” she said automatically, then stopped dead in her tracks as a dangerous thought hit her. “Enlisted Soldier Cashmere?” she said, a new edge in her voice. The pony turned around, her eyes darting nervously. As it turned out, she was looking for a place to set down the rag, and she settled on throwing it over the mud guard before standing to attention. Summer quickly glanced back to see if any of the group at the lieutenant’s tank were listening before issuing the order. “Go fetch my map case from where I left it, behind the cannon.” The pink earth pony scrambled to obey, jumping up to the turret roof in three bounds from the transmission cover to the hull roof to the turret. Summer then walked around the tank to its left side, out of view of the neighboring tank, and ordered, “Enlisted Soldier Sprout, get me something large and flat that isn’t dirty.” The stocky little earth pony spat and promptly moved to drag over a crate of ammunition. “And, Corporal Twist, is the tank fueled up and ready to go at an instant’s notice?” Minty had an expression that told her this was a silly question to ask, and Summer regretted asking it, but the green mare nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.” “Corporal, er, Charger,” Summer said, thinking that saying the pony’s full name was a bit of a mouthful for the snappy officer of action she was trying to be, “Finish up with that engine; we’re going to need it sooner than they think.” The pretty grey face appeared around an engine cover, saluted her, and disappeared again. The turret side hatch was thrown open and Cashmere emerged with the carrying strap of the map case in her teeth. Summer impatiently wrapped it in magic and yanked it out of her grasp. She uncapped the case and dumped the maps out on the crate, then pawed through them until she found the one she wanted; an official Equestrian topographical survey map of the region. The edges wanted to curl up after long in the tube, but she held it down with her sidearm on one side and the mess kit she pulled off her pack on the other side. Minty appeared at her side after a moment and looked over her shoulder as she sat and pored over the terrain. “That’s a very detailed map,” she commented. “It is, isn’t it?” Summer said distractedly, squinting through her monocle to read the small text. “I copied it by hoof myself.” She had wanted to bring a pair of glasses instead, but her brother talked her out of it, saying a monocle would look more distinguished, and therefore reflect on the family better. Already she was regretting it. She studied the map closely, noting terrain features and thinking of where she would put her forces if she was planning the ambush she felt was waiting. The artillery would go there, the mobile forces gathered here, the heavy infantry here… Abruptly Summer realized she was thinking about this too much like one of her favorite wargames. Warfare had come a long way since the times those were meant to reflect. She had to think like a tanker, yes, they would likely put anti-tank guns at the end of the valley, to free up tanks for elsewhere, and array the ambush force over there. The sides of the valley were easily climbable, but at the top of each ridge of hills would be vulnerable, so there would be someone there to hit any breakout attempt as soon as they were seen. The valley was in an odd limbo of being behind Equestrian lines yesterday, as she had seen on the captain’s maps, and ahead of Empire lines today, following that armored attack, so friendly infantry support was probably scattered. This happened too recently and too small-scale for the Equestrian big artillery batteries to be brought into play, but the frontline units probably had some mortars they could use to help. Higher command would likely not authorize the big artillery anyway, for the risk of friendly fire. Probably the enemy wouldn’t bring their own artillery into this for the same reason, at least, not for now. Coming to her conclusions and forming a plan of action, she rolled all her maps up quickly and shoved them in their case, careful not to crease any of them, and looked up to find her crew around her, looking at her expectantly. “There’s not a moment to lose,” she snapped, “Get this machine moving!” They all jumped into action. Supercharger grabbed a crankshaft from the mud guard and moved around behind the hull. Turnip jumped up to the side hatch in one powerful leap and disappeared inside, and Minty followed, climbing up the track rollers and over the mud guard. Summer stopped Cashmere before she could dash off too. “Can you get ahold of our frontline units in this sector if I need you to?” she asked, and when the mare nodded mutely, Summer let her go. Summer threw her pack in the turret storage box with her telekinesis and climbed up to take her place in the turret. She was loathe to enter the hatch completely, and she rested her forehooves on the turret roof. Her place was up here, where she could see where they were going. The engine roared to life, occasioning curious glances from the party gathered around the lieutenant’s tank. She twisted back to check on Supercharger, who stepped around the back of the engine deck and put the crankshaft back in its retaining straps. A second later, Summer was astonished to see wings spread from under the uniform jacket – so THAT was why her sides seemed wider than usual. The pony – no, pegasus – crouched and leapt clear over the turret with a single flap of her wings, then angled expertly down to land on the driver’s hatch with a resounding clop. Summer ducked, her reaction a little too late, as the pegasus opened the driver’s hatch, folded her wings closely under her jacket again, and dropped effortlessly into her chair. Summer ducked down into the fighting compartment, now rumbling with the noise of a V12 engine only a thin firewall away. “Driver, there’s not a moment to lose, get us there with all possible haste!” “Don’t have to tell me twice!” the pegasus yelled back with obvious glee, as she dropped the transmission into gear. The tank jumped backward into the lane with a lurch that sent Summer’s forehead against the front of the cupola. Stars flashed in her eyes as she got up and steadied herself outside the hatch again, rubbing her forehead. The tank shuddered a little and made a hard left turn and lurched forward down the lane. They were tearing towards the sentry posts at an ever-increasing speed, with small starts each time the tank upshifted, and Summer felt that if it weren’t for her horn, her cap would have flown off her head long ago. Now this was living! Riding a ferocious beast running only she knew where, while she stood on its back and directed its fury! Minty tapped her hindleg, snapping her out of the spell, and handed her a pair of headphones. Summer fitted it over her cap and took the microphone that was handed to her. She felt like a real tanker, exactly like the stoic ponies standing half out of their hatches that she’d seen at the parades as a filly. “There is a transmission from Third Platoon leader,” Cashmere’s voice came over the headphones, a little scratchy. Summer flicked the switch on her microphone and said, “Well? Why aren’t I already hearing it?” “Switch your set to radio, sir,” Cashmere said, and Summer found the switch for it and did. She heard a short burst of static, and then, “Tank fifteen! Tank fifteen, what are you doing? Tank fifteen, respond, over!” It sounded like Sweet Tooth, and when she twisted around, she could just spot his hot-pink coat in the distance behind them standing on top of his turret. Ah, right, Summer thought, she was supposed to wait for the lieutenant to give the order to move out and be at the back of the column. Well, this was too important, and she had a plan – she just prayed to Celestia that whatever disciplinary measures she would get for it weren’t too harsh. Switching back to intercom, she said, with a calmness she didn’t feel, “We were having radio trouble, you understand? I take full responsibility. You were ordered to do this and had no choice.” “Wait, we weren’t supposed to be doing this?” Cashmere asked anxiously. “Aw, hayfeathers,” Turnip said, and spat on the floor. Summer would have to have words with her about that spitting habit later. “So, I’d love to drive us just anywhere, but I know you were thinking of something specific. where are we going?” Supercharger asked, as the tank thundered along. Only she sounded unconcerned. Minty was silent. “I’ll direct you over some shortcuts,” Summer replied. “We’re going to meet up with our infantry in that sector first.” She directed that they turn, and the tank rumbled on for a minute with no one saying anything. She felt she ought to say something else, something suitably heroic, so she said “Driver, all possible speed. If this works, we’re going to save a lot of pony’s lives.”