//------------------------------// // 3, Summer // Story: Pony Tankers // by Michael Spruce //------------------------------// Summer scanned the field at the valley’s northwest end with her field glasses, looking for the guns that should be set up here. The engine idled quietly where they sat under the cover of a forested area, well back from the treeline to avoid the barrel of the big gun giving them away. Seeing nothing at the expected point, her gaze traveled farther afield, and she saw with dismay where they really were. Either she had mistaken how far they had really traveled to reach this point, or the enemy had simply set the guns further back, but they were several hundred meters off on her left and in the middle of the field, far from any trees. There were fewer than she had counted on, but they were surrounded by an entire infantry company busily digging in, a development she told herself she honestly should have expected; these weren’t just pieces upon a board. “Enlisted soldier Cashmere, get me Second Platoon on the radio.” When they were raised, she ordered them, “Get moving right now. I’m in position to attack the guns holding the exit, but the opening I can make won’t last long.” “I’m sorry, lieutenant, but I can’t do that,” came the response. “We’re going over the top of the valley instead. Lieutenant Sweet Tooth just got into short-wave range a short while ago, and, you know, he told me a very interesting story about you. He needs help right now, not later, and I’ve decided it’s better to go to him directly than take the long way just to follow the sketchy plans of a wet-behind-the-ears aristocrat. The AT guns are pointed at our point of exit – the enemy tanks’ are not necessarily. I should probably tell you that Third Platoon is reaching the ford now, so there’s no time for delay. I suggest you come join us in our assault. An extra tank could make all the difference.” Summer’s heart sank into her stomach. So now the lieutenant knew, and wasn’t going to uphold her critical role in Summer’s plan. There was no time left; she had to get over to the north of the valley and distract the guards. She flicked the switch on her microphone from receive to send and said, tersely, “I’ll just start the attack, then, shall I? Good day.” She took her headphones off for a brief moment, looked down at her hooves, beat them on the turret roof repeatedly, then put the headphones back on. It was all up to her now; her, her crew, and her tank. Surely they were ready to kill a few more enemy tanks, right? No problem. “Um, s- I mean, ma’am?” Cashmere interrupted Summer’s attempt to regain her composure. “Yes, what is it?” Summer snapped, perhaps a little too harshly. She immediately regretted letting her personal frustration get the better of her. “The forward command post we stopped by just hailed us, ma’am. They said they have begun the bombardment.” Well, that was good news, at least. Sweet Tooth must not have stopped by there on his way to the front, and her little deception remained intact, or they would surely have called it off. She had to move quickly now; time was short and soon they would lose any shock advantage that gave them. She turned her attention to the infantry in the field. No one was shouting and pointing in her direction yet. In fact, she probably had the enemy’s unexpected position to thank for why they hadn’t noticed her yet. Four guns, arrayed in a line, fairly close together; she might be able to pull this off. There was no time to risk trying to deal with them all individually with the gun, but perhaps… “Crew, listen to me. We need an explosive shell in the cannon. Corporal Twist, target that far gun at 10 o-clock and fire when you are sure to hit it. Enlisted Sprout, keep another explosive round on hoof.” Minty gave an affirmative and the turret motor whirred, jerking, to life. Turnip ejected the already loaded shell, opened the hatch beside her, and threw the live round outside, then loaded another. While the gun swung around, Summer said, “Enlisted Cashmere, get ready to use that machinegun. Corporal Supercharger, I want us headed towards that left gun at full speed as soon as our gun fires. Take a peek right now so you know where it is. Everyone, make sure you lock your hatches. Enlisted Sprout –” The gun boomed out, the engine roared, and the tank lurched forward and then turned, cutting her off. An explosion threw soil high in the air where it hit among the guns. In the excitement, she had forgotten to get safely inside, and she did so now and locked her hatch, shaking her head as if it would make the pain in her skull go away. It was getting worse; she really had to stop being outside when the gun fired. Her horn ached. Rather than crane her neck to see where they were going, she trusted Supercharger to get them to the target and hunched over in her position, drawing her sidearm with her teeth. She didn’t really know why she got her gun out, but she had a faint idea of shooting at enemy troops as she motored past them. She felt flushed with an excitement and anxiety unlike she had felt in the tank engagement. Was this how the crew felt, stuck up in this iron box and trusting that they weren’t about to all die by a hit they never knew was coming? She had nothing to do, really, but pray to Celestia that no one on that field got their guns turned in time to be of any use. Cashmere fired a burst from her machinegun, then another. Turnip slammed the next shell into the gun breech and began firing her own coaxial machinegun in short bursts. Deep pings sounded inside the fighting compartment as they began to take fire from the enemy infantry. The crumpled mud guard rattled over the track, adding its voice to the cacophony. Summer felt that she was forgetting something important, what was it? Ah, right… “Gunner, traverse gun to half-past-12 and engage the first gun you see,” she managed to say around her sidearm. She felt the turret begin to swing around. They were crossing the field, until recently one of the few that were cultivated, diagonally crosswise with the furrows, and the tank bounced on its suspension in a curiously undulating manner. She pressed her head against her hatch and checked their progress. They were halfway to the target, she judged; only about a hundred meters to go. Then the turret abruptly stopped traversing, almost at the twelve o’clock position. “Why did you stop?” she barked at Minty angrily. Her gun fell from her mouth, and she batted it into the turret wall in an attempt to catch it, where it clanged off and fell to the film of water still covering the floor, the sound lost in the noise of the hits the tank was taking. Something smelled burnt. Minty tried the controls again, and it didn’t respond. “Looks like the motor shorted,” she reported, “Switching to manual now.” Summer cursed, despite her good breeding, and banged her hoof on the turret wall in frustration. Turnip was still giving intermittent bursts, but Cashmere had stopped; Summer ducked down to check on her and saw her fitting a new belt to her gun. Summer pushed herself back up into the cupola to check their progress again and caught a glimpse of running, sparkling ponies in brown uniforms before she was pushed downwards and then slammed upwards into the hatch, her neck contorted sideways, in a tremendous bump that lifted the tank nearly diagonal for an instant. The engine calmed for an instant then revved again and the tank made a very sharp turn, still vibrating from the impact. Summer slumped dazed in her seat as the big gun boomed again. Just before the next huge bump, Minty reached up and pulled Summer down and held her so she wouldn’t fly into the hatch again, and Summer didn’t resist. Turnip ran out on her machinegun and was just coming back to it with another box when a shell smashed right through the machine gun and turret face at an upward angle, flew right over her head, skidded off the turret roof, and exited out the back of the turret in a great thunderclap of noise. A few dozen small bees whizzed through the air after it and clattered off the back of the turret. Summer felt small stings on her haunch and right hindleg, and the world was all light and sound for a moment. The tank rammed into something, and there was the terrible noise of something scraping by underneath the bottom as the tank gave another huge lurch and rumbled on. Minty told Supercharger to keep driving, something Summer only barely registered as the tank skidded onto a new course. Gradually, though, as the tank began to put some distance between them and the guns, the shock began to fade, and she was able to master herself again. She sat up and shrugged off Minty. She found her microphone where she had dropped it and ordered, “Driver, t-turn right until I t-tell you to stop, then go straight. Follow the hills next to the valley. Maximum speed. It’s all up to us now.” The ringing in her head was so loud, she could hardly hear herself bark orders. “Enlisted Cashmere, keep a lookout and stop us when you see anything. Enlisted Sprout, get me a… Sprout?” Turnip was lying, curled around herself, in the scummy film on the floor of the turret with both hooves held to her eye. Blood streamed between them, and from several wounds on her neck and chest as well. After directing the tank to its new course, Summer felt her own haunch, and her hoof also came away bloodied. She looked out the new hole in the rear of the turret. It was about 7 centimeters around and ragged with split metal, and through it she could see the carnage they had left behind. The gunshields of two of the guns were crumpled on one side; a third one was a twisted wreck, and the fourth looked fairly intact. The bodies of perhaps a dozen crystal ponies lay scattered around the guns. She wanted to shoot the intact gun again with the cannon, but there wasn’t any time. “Enlisted Sprout, can you still do your duty?” Summer barked, turning back. The only response was a low groan. Well, there was nothing else for it. They needed the gun ready to fire again in case they met one of the enemy tanks who watched the north edge of the valley, and she couldn’t stop and wait for the loader to get over herself. “Corporal Twist, open the vision ports on your side and help keep watch,” she said, getting down off her seat and setting hoof in the scum on the floor. She winced as she put weight on her hindleg. The tank went over a bump that rolled her map case against her hoof, and she kicked it away and opened the right-side vision port; the right-hand turret face port was almost completely gone anyway. First, she found the control to eject the empty casing, as she had seen Turnip do a minute ago. It clattered to the floor and joined its sibling. Then, she ran her eyes over the shell racks, and, not knowing which was which, picked one at random. The head of the shell was black and white and it was heavier than it looked, and she almost dropped it once before managing to fit the end into the open breech and shove it in, where the breech closed on its own. The gun ready again, Summer bent down and shook Turnip. “There is time to be a lazy sow later. Get up.” Turnip cracked open her good eye, looked up at Summer, and uttered a foul blasphemy that the well-bred pony had not heard before. “Well, fine then,” Summer said, and she called for Cashmere to hand her the sodden first-aid kit. She was absolutely no good at bandages, but she managed to wrap Turnip’s head in something approximating an eye patch. All the while, the tan pony chewed furiously. Summer never looked closely at the wound, and there was too much blood to see much anyway. When she finished and tied off the bandage, Turnip only grunted and spat black slime on the floor. “Listen,” Summer tried again, in a more compassionate tone, “My head hurts like, well, like hell too, and I’ve got something stuck in my flank. I’m afraid I might black out soon. But right now, I need to keep it together and stay awake, because there are so many more ponies besides myself that need me to keep fighting. All those ponies need YOU, too. I just loaded a shell into the gun, and I’m not even sure what it does.” Turnip looked at Summer for a long moment, then, seeming to reach a decision, pushed herself up on her forelegs. Summer backed up to give her space. “What color was it?” Turnip asked, pushing herself shakily up on all four hooves again. “Er, black with a white marking.” Turnip nodded. “Armor-piercing. You coulda done worse.” Summer felt good to know that she hadn’t just made another mistake. She nodded and climbed tenderly back into her seat, opened her hatch, and stuck her head out just enough to see ahead of them through the vision slit on the front of the cupola. “You sure we need to be going full speed?” Supercharger called back, from inside the compartment. Summer thought she heard a hint of warning in her tone. “Nonsense, Corporal, of course we do,” Summer clipped back, over the intercom, although the pony could hear her perfectly well without it. “The column was almost at the crossing just a few minutes ago. If we don’t make it there and attack the ambush force from behind, they’ll be torn to shreds!” “It’s just, well, we’ve been running it hard for a long time now, and I had to put everything back together in a big hurry…” Supercharger said, “I know you can’t see the dashboard right now, but…” Summer was prepared to order the grey pegasus to stow it and keep driving when she heard a loud pop behind her and the tank gave a seizing lurch. The vehicle kept going for another few meters in a shuddering, halting way as the transmission fought with the inertia of twenty-three tons of steel, and the engine seized and died. Once again, the tank had come to an uneven stop, and now it angled to the left of their original course, slightly down the slope of one of the hills. Summer twisted around and looked at the engine deck. Smoke was coming from the vents, and she was afraid the engine had caught fire. “…Corporal Supercharger, what just happened? It’s smoking.” There was a pause before she heard Supercharger answer, “Not sure. I’ll check it out in just a moment.” Summer wanted to tear her mane out and scream in frustration. Of all times, why did the engine pick now to quit on them? “Get us moving as soon as possible,” she ordered. “Corporal Twist, stand guard in the meantime. Did anyone bring their carbine?” “I did, ma’am,” Cashmere said, “It’s under my seat.” “Well, then, pass it up to her.” Cashmere rummaged in the water under her seat, came up with a standard-issue equestrian army carbine, shook out the worst of the water, and handed it to Minty, who immediately stripped out the bolt and started blowing into the back of the gun to dry it. There was a long pause, and Cashmere appeared to be listening to something. The mild pink pony spoke up again. “Ma’am?” “What?” Summer snapped back irritably. “It’s lieutenant Bubble Pop. She says she’s leading Second Platoon out of the valley’s mouth after all.” Well, now. “Thank you, Enlisted Cashmere,” she said, belatedly realizing she hadn’t been saying it nearly enough. She pulled herself out of her hatch and leaned her chin on her forehoof, fighting the wave of blackness that threatened to claim her brain with the movement. Things might still go according to plan after all. / - / - / - / - / Feldspar ducked as another shower of splinters rained down on her pale yellow coat. None of this was going according to plan. First, B detachment didn’t answer her hail after she heard cannon fire from their position, then, only a few minutes ago, she gets a report that an unidentified enemy tank just ran over their towed high-velocity AT guns. Now, the grove she was hiding in was being torn to shreds by mortar fire. Ducking inside and closing the two-part hatch, she ordered her four ambush tanks to take aim and fire at the column of enemy tanks, who had halted just the river. Her group’s guns were all fixed on a point of aim most of the way across the river, nearly to where the enemy tanks would have to exit, and it would take time to readjust their aim. Her gunner cranked the turret slowly around by hand, the hydraulic motor not being on yet, and the driver turned over the engine. She got on her periscope set and swiveled the hatch assembly around to keep track of the enemy. As she watched, the three smaller machines were beginning to spread out from behind the lead tank. Her big gun fired, rocking the tank, and she saw an answering flash from the lead tank’s short-barreled gun. There was a tremendous boom next to her tank and a flash visible on the edge of the periscope. She swiveled the periscope set to look and saw the tank next to hers a burning wreck, the ammunition exploding in a flash. That had been a promising young officer, whom Feldspar had been grooming for command of his own element. Already, more muzzle flashes were coming from across the water from the shorter tanks’ smaller but longer guns. “Squad, reverse. We’ll regroup and hit them as they come out of the orchard.” She issued the orders calmly, but her mind was whirring, spinning its wheels. Evidently, they knew about her ambush. Either they had guessed, or somehow gotten tipped off, but the ambush was a bust. This was no place to fight, exposed and outnumbered as they were, especially now that they were down one tank. There was something about this situation she had missed, some way she could turn this around. Perhaps with the three tanks in A Detachment, they could… “Sir!” came the call over the radio; it was the stormflockpony leading A Detachment. “Engaging enemy tanks coming up from the rear!” “They came from the valley after all?” she prompted. This didn’t make sense; surely they had broken out on the south side of the valley, which explained the cannon fire and why B Detachment hadn’t answered hails. “Negative, sir! They came from our flank! Knocked out tank seventeen before we knew it. We’ve pulled back to the orchard for cover, but there’s at least four of them that I can tell with guns on our location!” The situation was unsalvageable, then. It was almost startling to Feldspar just how quickly she accepted this. The remaining three of her ambush squad against four tanks now arrayed against them, and soon they would be shot in the back by four more pushing up behind. She made an executive decision. “Understormpony Boron, fight a rearguard action and cover our escape. Understormpony Cline, fall in behind my tank. We are going to join up with what’s left of A Detachment and break out. Acknowledged? They said “Yes, sir,” in unison, and after the gunner took another shot, Feldspar ordered the driver to make a fast turn and motor away as fast as they could. As they began the turn, a shell hit and ricocheted off the side of the hull with a screech and a clatter as it tore through the toolboxes. She left instructions with Boron to attempt to follow as soon as both her and Cline were away. Cline’s tank had joined up with hers and they were heading out of the wooded area when a mortar shell landed directly on the following tank’s mud guard, punched through, and exploded the track links apart. She had the hatch trained to watch ahead of her, but there was a periscope mounted on the back of the hatch as well, and she looked when she felt the nearby explosion and asked why they had stopped. When they answered, she cursed. “Abandon your tank and make your way to our lines on hoof,” she ordered, “Your lives are more important than that machine. Boron, get out of there and join us in the breakout.” The line crackled with static; there was no response. Feldspar didn’t bother trying to contact the squad again. / - / - / - / - / Summer sat half out the turret with her head propped up on her hoof, silently fuming. There was an intense, pounding pain in her forehead and horn that she was trying to bear in silence, and being angry helped distract her. Of course, she was pleased that Lieutenant Bubble Pop had led her column out of the valley entrance after all, instead of over the north edge. But it felt humiliating to be stuck with engine trouble, of all things, while the platoon motored past. It had been her daring scheme, and she deserved to be the one to ride triumphantly at the head, taking all of the risk onto herself. And besides, after everything, she had been sure that if they would end up stopped in their tracks, it would be by a mine, or an enemy ambush she hadn’t accounted for – something a little more “honorable”. Something that would sound better when she wrote her brother about this later. Minty was sitting half out the left-side turret hatch, keeping watch with the carbine propped up beside her, while Supercharger was cursing in the engine compartment, beating at smoking oil with her cap. Cashmere was crowded on the turret floor to the right of the gun, bandaging the wounds on Turnip’s chest and neck. Summer had waved her off when the pony had offered to do Summer first, and now she was regretting it; her own wound was beginning to sting and ache both at once. She looked around. No enemy infantry in sight, and no friendly ones, either. Echoing booming noises reached her over the landscape from nearby in the southeast; Second Platoon engaging the enemy, no doubt. She hoped the mortar bombardment she had managed to have ordered did some good. A rise in the landscape where one hill led into another, and then another, hid the fighting, but they weren’t very far away at all, if she remembered correctly. “So, Corporal Supercharger, what’s wrong with it?” she asked, hoping for good news but expecting the problem to be something massive, something they would need heavy equipment to fix. “Looks like the main crank seal’s blown, and a few others besides,” the pegasus answered. “And we’ve lost a lot of oil. Just before we stopped, oil pressure fell through the bottom, and I think that’s when it happened.” “Never mind that,” Summer said crossly, “Will it run?” “I think I can get it started again, but we’d be risking the engine a lot, and we would only be capable of very slow speed, and no tough inclines.” It could have been Summer’s imagination, but the fighting seemed to be picking up in intensity over there. Minty was looking that direction reflectively, smoking a cigarette. “I thought I made myself quite clear on smoking in my tank.” “I’m not in the tank,” Minty replied evenly, without taking her eyes off the top of the rise ahead of them. Summer wasn’t going to dignify that kind of technicality play with a response. Instead, she changed the subject, trying to stay awake and not black out from the pounding pain in her forehead. “Is that thing made of… newspaper?” “Sure is. I roll my own, you know. The ink gives it more flavor.” Summer shook her head. It sounded disgusting, but there was no reckoning with some ponies’ tastes, she supposed. It was with a slightly lighter mood, then, that she spotted the enemy tank come hurtling over the rise ahead and come straight at them. Minty saw it too. “Action stations, ladies!” Summer shouted, “Enemy tank dead ahead!” Minty swung back inside and into her chair and flung the carbine across the compartment. It hit the wall and landed on Turnip, who had been lying down, resting. The tiny pony grunted and sprang to her hooves, as much for this afront as for the situation at hand. Cashmere slid into her seat and loaded her machine gun from the discarded box she had dropped on the floor in the attack earlier, and Supercharger slammed the engine hatches shut and vaulted into her hatch and began turning over the engine with the electric starter. It turned out the tank wasn’t heading for them, but happened to be on a course that would take it right by them. Its turret was aimed to one side a bit, away from them. A few seconds after Supercharger regained her seat, it took evasive action, steering away from them sharply. “Gunner, nail them to the wall,” Summer ordered, with unexpected enthusiasm, and Minty cranked the turret manually around to the right until the barrel lined nearly up with the speeding enemy tank. The big gun fired. Summer winced at the deafening concussion and saw the sparks fly where the shell entered the enemy tank almost directly broadside to them. It smashed through the side armor and exited out the other side in a bright spray of miscellaneous metal bits, but the tank didn’t slow down. Summer ordered another shell loaded, but Minty couldn’t make the turret turn fast enough for another shot before it disappeared over the rise behind them and was gone. No one spoke for a long moment. The only sound in the tank was that of the engine being turned over. Supercharger broke the silence by saying, “Damn! There’s a short in the remote starter circuit too!” The pegasus opened her hatch and climbed out to start the engine manually. Summer looked at Minty, who looked back, lit cigarette still hanging from her mouth. In the tank, Summer noted. “I should have had you aim for the engine,” Summer said. “Then they would have swung their turret around and hit us before Turnip managed to get another shell in, ma’am,” Minty replied. “You made the right call.” Summer reluctantly agreed, but she wasn’t happy that one enemy had gotten away. The feeling wasn’t really dampened when another enemy tank motored into view a minute later, and they were ready for it. She sat and watched the smoke curl out of its hatches, apprehensively thinking of what lay ahead for her now that her self-appointed and unsanctioned mission had apparently succeeded. Supercharger managed to get the engine started with the manual crank. It ran much rougher, and sounded to Summer’s ignorant ear to have a certain grinding quality to it. She sighed; it was time to go and face the music. “Well, ladies, I’m at least glad I met you. Corporal Supercharger, try and get us at least across the river before the engine gives out on us.” The engine rumbled to life in an unsteady whine and the tank began to motor slowly away. / - / - / - / - / Feldspar held a hoof to her face and attempted to hold back the blood that ran down it, heedless of her efforts. She was trying very hard not to black out from the pain; she had to stay awake, for her crew. She had thought she had won free of the Equestrian forces, and then there was a sixth tank, laid right in their path as if they knew she would be coming this way. The hit was unavoidable. It had killed her gunner and her loader instantly, but thanks to the bulkhead between the front of the tank and the fighting compartment, the driver was uninjured and was making for their lines at full speed. Feldspar had only the enemy’s choice of shell to thank that she still lived – that, and her commander’s position at the very back of the turret. This was an utter disaster, for her, for her tank division, and for the Crystal Empire. Only two tanks had made a breakout without being destroyed, hers and one of the two she had joined up with from A Detachment, which had been close behind her, the last she knew. She hoped that any survivors made it back to Crystal Empire lines in one piece. The loss of the crews was the worst part – machines could be replaced, but the Empire had a heavy shortage of experienced ponies to run them. The loss today had been incalculable, by that metric, and it was all her fault. Feldspar gritted her teeth and made a vow. Nothing like this would happen on her watch again. Assuming there ever would be another chance, after this. The co-driver opened his own bulkhead door and found her slumped against the back of the compartment, screaming. It wasn’t for any one reason – agony, grief, rage, she could take her pick, but he didn’t know that. He had a hard time prying her hoof away from her face to be able to administer basic first aid. When he had done, he murmured, “Sorry about this, sir,” and stuck her with a heavy dose of morphine. Unwillingly, former Headstormpony Feldspar sank into oblivion. / - / - / - / - / Summer woke up to the feeling of someone prodding gently at her side. She opened her eyes, sat up, and shook her head groggily. She must have blacked out on the way back; her head was still pounding, but she was awake now, unfortunately. She was on the floor of the turret, with Minty standing over her with one hoof hesitantly raised. Beside her was her map case, which had apparently been pillowing her head. Her flank was wrapped in bandages, and it itched. “I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am –” said Minty, breaking off when Summer looked sourly up at her, “– But Captain Havoc wants to see you. Without delay, y’see.” “Ah.” Summer pushed herself to her hooves, shaking her head again and wincing. “Where is Turnip?” “She’s already left to find the hospital tents. That’s where you’re going too, after Havoc is done with you.” So it was that time already. “Very well. Take me to him.” Minty pushed open the right-hoof turret hatch for her, and she cautiously climbed out, placing each hoof with care. Her body felt stiff and sore, and her hindleg hurt when she put weight on it. When she reached the ground, she rubbed floor scum off her muzzle with a sleeve and then started limping towards Havoc’s tent almost before Minty herself started in that direction to lead her. This was it, she thought, it had been nice to be a tanker for a day. Havoc’s tent was, as it had been about two hours before, cloyingly warm, which wasn’t helping Summer’s desire to nod off any. The blue stallion himself was standing behind his table, the maps all neatly stacked on one side. Before him was an inkwell, a pen, and a sheet of paper, arranged with intimidating intention. Standing on one side of the table was Bubble Pop and Sweet Tooth, and on the other side was the orange aide from earlier, poised with his own pen and notepad. Now that she saw the second platoon’s lieutenant up close, she seemed much older. Bubble Pop was a dark grape color, with a lighter purple mane shot with streaks of grey, and her eyes were sunk with the bags of premature aging. The hairs of her mane and tail curled up into overlapping spiral rolls that reminded Summer of pastries, and her cutie mark was of a lavender soda can with a bunch of grapes and bubbles on the label fizzing over with white foam. Despite her apparent age and wear, her posture was firm and her eyes blazed with intensity. “Ah, miss Meadows. Good of you to join us. You know, we were just talking about you,” Havoc said, pinning her to the floor with his stare. “Take a seat.” Summer looked around for a stool, and, seeing none, gingerly sat on her haunches where she was. She made sure to sit at her full height, not slouching of shrinking away from that intense gaze. That would make her seem guilty or remorseful, and it would be dishonest; she was not sorry about anything she had done. “Alright, let’s get this, well, court, started. Marmalade, you may begin recording. First Lieutenant Summer Meadows, I, on the testimony of these two –” he nodded at the pair of lieutenants beside his table, “– charge you with desertion, disobeying direct orders, endangering Equestria’s military assets, ordering an unsanctioned mortar strike, theft of Equestrian military secrets: to whit, one factory-new medium tank, theft of military hardware, and openly lying about orders. Off the record, and that means don’t record this, Marmalade – I would also pin you with impersonating an officer. But, well,” he said, with an ironic twist of his mouth, “I think the list is long enough. Now, and you may resume recording, Marmalade, let’s hear from our brave officers. Second Lieutenant Sweet Tooth, what can you say for the record to corroborate these charges?” “Well,” Sweet Tooth began, “When I was halfway done with briefing my platoon, she had her crew start their tank and then tore out of the depot in a hurry, despite orders to ride at the back of my column. When I called them on our frequency to stop and return to the platoon, she deliberately ignored me and continued on.” “I was having radio trouble!” Summer protested, and Havoc whipped his head around and glared at her with such a terrible snarl on his lips that she instantly closed her mouth. He jerked his head at the orange stallion busily writing her words down, and she understood. Sweet Tooth continued on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Later, on my way to the front, I stop at a command post, and find that she had already stopped there and ordered a mortar strike on a location without authorization from any higher officer.” Summer started; so he had known. “And then, when I got into shortwave range of Second Lieutenant Bubble Pop, she tells me that this pony had been claiming to be the new leader of Third Platoon, on Captain Havoc’s orders.” “Orders which, to be clear, I did not give,” Havoc added. Sweet Tooth nodded. “Yes. And that’s all I have to say about that.” “Very well, this court has heard you. And now, let’s hear from Second Lieutenant Bubble Pop. What can you say for the record to corroborate these charges?” Bubble Pop spoke clearly. “When she first made contact with me, she claimed to have been made leader of Third Platoon, and said she had sent Second Lieutenant Sweet Tooth and the rest of the column to the river ford, despite her claim that there was an ambush waiting there for them. In this way she endangered them and their machines.” “Hold on,” Havoc said, “Do you mean to say that I should add ‘endangerment of Equestrian troops’ to the list of charges?” “No, sir,” Bubble pop answered promptly, with a glance at Summer. “That was only what she claimed; it was not the case. And there’s another thing, that I had guessed, and then learned for certain when I questioned her crew. First, that Lieutenant Summer Meadows crossed the river just a half-kilometer downriver, at a point known to be too deep, and with the riverbanks too steep, for tanks to cross safely. In this way she placed Equestrian material in a situation of, in my opinion, needless risk. Second, she engaged a group of three enemy tanks, alone and without support, before contacting me. That she destroyed them all does not matter. I say that in this way also she placed her machine in a situation of extreme risk. And, finally, at a later point, she charged and ran down a group of anti-tank guns over hundreds of meters of open ground, instead of engaging with her cannon. This is the last time she places her machine in needless danger. That is all I have to say on the matter.” “Well, now,” Havoc said, turning to Summer. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Summer was painfully aware that what she said to this would go on record, and could potentially damn her in the future. She thought hard about what to say. “Everything that I did was to save lives and material both.” “Is that your final word on the matter?” Summer lifted her chin proudly. “I stand by my words.” “As you wish. Now –” and Havoc’s expression grew thoughtful, “– there are some mitigating factors in this case. Second Lieutenant Sweet Tooth, the unsanctioned mortar bombardment stripped the enemy of their camouflage and foliage cover, exposing them to accurate counter-fire, correct?” “Yes, sir,” the stallion answered. “And Second Lieutenant Bubble Pop, the charge on the AT guns in the field allowed your column to attack the enemy from the flank without losses, correct? And the river crossing at the quote-unfordable-unquote point allowed them to reach the position to do so undetected by the enemy, correct?” “That is true,” Bubble Pop said, “But the charge of fighting the three enemy tanks alone remains.” “It does,” Havoc said. “I am ready to pronounce my sentence.” He reached over and put a hoof to Marmalade’s pen to stop it, and the orange pony took the hint and put the pen down. “First Lieutenant Summer Meadows, put on your rank tabs.” Summer stared for a second; didn’t she already have those? Then, she realized what he was doing. “Yes, sir, of course,” she said, and she telekinetically unfastened her silver sergeant’s tabs, slipped them into her pocket, pulled out her golden lieutenant’s tabs, and fasted them on her neck, as she had done once before that day. When she had finished, Havoc nudged the pen back towards Marmalade, who picked it up in his mouth and poised it over the paper again. He walked around the table and stood in front of her with an air of great ceremony. “First Lieutenant Summer Meadows, for your actions today, and in light of mitigating factors, I revoke your rank.” He ripped the tabs off her collar; the aide’s pen scribbled away. “You are demoted to sergeant, starting now. See the quartermaster tomorrow morning and acquire new tabs. Until you have your new tabs, you hold the rank of enlisted soldier. This court is dismissed.” Marmalade’s pen stopped moving a second later. Summer sat still, trying to process what just happened. Just because she knew what happened, didn’t mean she really understood why he would do it, and that was bothering her. Bubble Pop and Sweet Tooth filed out past her silently, and Bubble Pop gave her a curious glance as she passed by, as if to see how she would react. Marmalade also left after them, probably to go make a copy of his transcript. Noonday sunshine filtered into the tent through the flap, and Summer felt a little dizzy. Havoc walked back around the table, picked up the pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and started writing the official report. When everyone was gone, Summer started to put her sergeant’s tabs back on, but as soon as her blue aura appeared around her aching horn, Havoc said, without looking up from his writing, “Not in front of me.” Summer dropped her glow. Of course – if he saw, he would have to say something about it, perhaps even officially. “…Sir, may I ask you a question?” She said, after working up the courage. “You may,” he said, absently. The pen moved in quick, precise motions. “Why?” He stopped writing and set the pen down on a piece of scratch paper to keep ink off the table surface. He looked at her searchingly for a long time before answering. “I could demote you to enlisted soldier, if you would prefer,” he said. “I could call them back in here, we could hold another trial, I come up with a few more charges, and have Marmalade destroy the old transcript. But you don’t really want that, I don’t want that, and Equestria wouldn’t want that. I’ll be honest with you. You’re a good tanker, and I need good tankers in my unit. Four kills in one day? And by all accounts this is your first time even touching a tank? I spoke with your gunner – she didn’t have much bad to say about you. "Now, personally speaking, you disgust me. Don’t look so offended – I know you used your connections to get this position. This position that a skilled and experienced earth pony commander could have taken, and along with it a brand-new machine that by rights should belong to Sweet Tooth, but it's gone to you instead, because you paid for it. I object to that on principle alone, even setting aside everything else about you. But my feelings don’t really matter here. Equestria is losing the war, and we’re losing badly. Every few weeks, we have to pick up our headquarters and move further; give more ground. We’ve been in this camp here for about a week. And Equestria needs the best it can possibly get to help defend it. When put it in those terms, don’t you think demoting you to enlisted and kicking you out of the tanks would be a terrible waste?” He was clearly expecting an answer, and Summer hesitantly agreed, nodding her head. But he wasn’t done. “But there’s something I need you to understand. I know you’re used to getting your way –” Summer flushed, and opened her mouth to deny it, but he continued on, heedless of her, “– But I can’t let you keep leaving your platoon to do your own thing just because you think you can do the platoon leader’s job better than he can. From now on, you will follow orders, or it really is time for you to enroll in the infantry, you understand me? Just because your actions today saved hundreds of ponies’ lives, and preserved our meager armored strength in the area, doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate it again. Now get out of here and see someone about that wound on your leg. I don’t need any more gimps in my command.” He picked up his pen again and resumed writing, obviously signaling that he was done speaking. Summer left him, head spinning. Rather than go looking for the medical tents, as if she knew where that was, she stumbled back to her tank, climbed on shaking legs up to the still-warm engine deck, and flopped onto her side. For a brief second, she wondered where Supercharger had gone when the engine hadn’t been fixed yet, then her thoughts turned back to the captain. This outcome was more than she had hoped for, but she wasn’t sure that she liked this result any better than the one she expected. She had gone in prepared to lose everything; that was what taking responsibility was about, right? You did what you had to do, accepted your punishment, and lived proud, knowing that you had done as you ought. You weren’t supposed to get a… a slap on the fetlock, and a warning not to do it again! Her thoughts turned gradually from the captain to her tank as she basked in his warm glow. She patted him gently. “Good boy,” she said, feeling the tank deserved some praise for all he had done that day. “You’re a very good boy. Big gun too, right?” and she giggled. “Very capable. You did good. I think you deserve a name.” She flipped onto her other side and thought about it for a while. It was in this semi-lucid half-sleep state that Minty found her a few hours later, during the heat of the afternoon. When she went to nudge Summer awake, she found the unicorn already looking up at her. “How does Sterling Ranger sound?” she said thickly, as if just waking up, although she hadn’t slept. Her headache felt a little better. “What?” “Which one of you paints the best?” “That would probably be me,” Minty said. Summer struggled unsteadily to her hooves. “Well, paint it on the barrel later. Use fancy letters. Where are Supercharger and Cashmere?” “I told Cashmere to clean the inside of the tank. I don’t know where Supercharger is, but she’ll be back before dark, I promise. Should I take you to get that wound checked out?” Summer thought for a moment, not that there was anything to think about. She was just feeling exceptionally slow, her head full of fuzzies. “…Very well. And remember to paint four kill rings on the barrel. Shame about the fifth one, I could have been an ace on my first mission.” “I’ll do it,” Minty promised, gently guiding Summer down to the ground. “And someone needs to make sure my maps get dried out properly,” Summer said, stumbling away. “I need those.” As she moved by the front of the tank, she heard a cough from inside, and saw smoke curl out of a vision port. She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll make sure it gets done, ma’am,” Minty said. “Just leave it to me.” Catching up, she laid her tail over Summer’s back and guided the slight green unicorn in the direction of the medical tents. Above them, Celestia directed the sun to dip towards the horizon, the beginning of the end of another day.