//------------------------------// // 7 - Consolation // Story: Warhawk // by Moonatik //------------------------------// 20:10 - 23/08/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury It didn’t take long at all for an audience to assemble around Hawkrich. The hospital’s garden courtyard was rapidly approaching capacity. Soldiers on crutches and in wheelchairs were rushing out to see their now-former Warmaster speak. Selenite could recognise a lot of pegasi from the 515th “Wayfarer” Battalion. Considering their unit suffered the brunt of a fiery explosion, they were remarkably well off. A few of them were airborne, by necessity as one or more of their legs were injured. Hawkrich himself was hovering up in the air, as a squad of pegasi flew next to him with practically a whole company of cheering soldiers on the ground. A hoof to his chest and his head held high, his speech was delivered with impassioned fervour. “All of you have given a part of yourselves to the struggle against the tyrant Sombra, a part of yourselves that can never be repaid. Few causes in all of history will be remembered as being more righteous than the one you have devoted yourself to.” As for Selenite, she was watching from a window in the hospital stairwell, alone for the most part. Best to let Hawkrich suck up all the attention he could ask for, she thought. She’d had asked him beforehoof if he had a speech prepared, a notion that Hawkrich laughed down. He said he'd stick with his usual modus operandi, go up and let “words of inspiration and strength” fly out, as he put it. “In the annals of valour, your glorious sacrifice shall be inscribed in letters of fire, immortalised for all eternity as a testament to the unyielding fortitude of the Equestrian spirit! For you have not merely fought against the forces of evil, you have become beacons of hope, illuminating the path to freedom with the radiant brilliance of your unwavering resolve!” Selenite’s eyes couldn’t roll back any further into her head as her brow furrowed as the speech went on, much to her irritation. The gathered audience was eating it up, that was for certain. Selenite heard one soldier shout “That’s us! He’s talking about us! Hell yeah!” “While the scars of battle cover you on the outside, know that within you all burns an inextinguishable flame of courage, for you are the vanguard of righteousness, the guardians of our Empire, of our people! The very embodiment of heroism itself!” Okay, this was getting a little silly. Maybe it was time to check on the soldiers inside. Once she’d pushed through the doors into one of the wards, the stench of bleach and bile was thick in the air, but so too was the lively banter of bed-ridden soldiers. Two ponies deep in conversation watched over the ward, both wearing combat fatigues and with their flanks to Selenite, clearly not paying attention to her entrance. One a small white pegasus mare with a lemon-yellow mane in a tight bun, a medic going off of the white armband displaying a red cross. The other a lanky unicorn who was red and brown all over, his rank patch identifying him as a Lieutenant. Right away Selenite spotted unit insignia on the Lieutenant’s uniform, he was from the Fourth Army. The mare was the first to notice Selenite enter. “General!” The medic spun around and brought their hoof up to a salute. “Warmaster.” The Lieutenant turned around and saluted swiftly and firmly. The medic jumped back. “Wait, Warmaster?” “You didn’t hear?” The Lieutenant whispered, raising an eyebrow at the medic. “No, I’ve been very busy-” The medic cleared their throat. “Ehem, Warmaster,” she said, returning to salute with an uneasy smile. “At ease,” said Selenite, prompting the two to lower their hooves. “Is all well in this ward?” “We’re overstocked on morphine but, eh.” The medic shrugged. “Not a bad problem to have. Everypony’s being looked after. If you want a complete picture you might want to talk to the head doctor.” “That’s where I’m headed,” said Selenite. “Only here for a quick personal assessment.” “Long as you’re here, Warmaster,” the Lieutenant said, getting Selenite’s attention. “There’s only a few ponies from my company here, and they all should all be back in shape before long, except for one.” Selenite tilted her head. “Who?” The Lieutenant huffed. “Junior Sergeant Solana Nightshade. Nearly got her whole hoof torn off by shrapnel. She ran like a hundred metres out of cover all to save just one guy, Private Elysian Revervie.” Selenite blinked, impressed by that level of courage. “Are they both alright?” She then blinked a little, remembering the Lieutenant said one was off in a bad way. The medic smiled. “Oh, yes, we cleared Private Revervie to go an hour ago. Probably watching Warma- erm, General Hawkrich’s speech.” “Shouldn’t be too long before they’re back in action,” the Lieutenant said, followed by a grunt. “All Nightshade did was make us have to drag two ponies back into cover. Under fire.” “Is she gonna be alright?” Selenite asked. “Physically? She’ll live. Probably be out in a week. Two tops. But if she goes right back into the field, I don’t know. That kinda thing isn’t just a risk to herself, and I can’t lose good troops to that sorta gung-ho attitude.” The Lieutenant shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, just- This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. She’s been showered with medals for bravery, but there’s a difference between courage and recklessness.” Selenite rustled her wings. “I could go talk to her.” “It would be most appreciated, Warmaster. If you have the chance,” The Lieutenant pointed across the ward. “Down there, bed thirty-eight.” Proceeding down the ward, Selenite pushed open a curtained-off area with two beds, numbered thirty-seven and thirty-eight. Thirty-seven was empty but a smalt-blue unicorn lay in thirty-eight, the chart on the end of the bed identifying her as Solana Nightshade. Her mane, coloured with a mix of  black and aquamarine blue, had tied back into a tight, short ponytail. Her eyes were focused on a grip strengthener held in their magical aura. On the bedside was a stack of books and letters along with a neatly arranged medalset, including a prestigious Silver Crescent. Nightshade’s eyes flicked to Selenite. “Warmaster Selenite?” She saluted but winced as she did. The salute showed off that her lower right leg was wrapped in bandages. “What are you doing here?” “At ease, Junior Sergeant,” Selenite replied, motioning for them to lower their hoof. “Only checking up on the wounded.” “Wounded? I’m right as rain.” Nightshade cast a cocky smirk, stuffing her bandaged leg under the covers. “Just waiting for them to clear me and I’m ready to get right back into action.” Selenite’s eyebrows shot up, looking down to the covered cast and then back up to Nightshade. “Hm, is that so?” “Yes.” Nightshade’s ear twitched. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but, couldn’t you just clear me to go? I’m fine, and they’re keeping me here while ponies are needed at the front. I’m sure you know that better than anypony.” Selenite took in a deep breath. “I just spoke with your commanding officer.” At the mention of her commanding officer Nightshade groaned, looking away from Selenite and shaking her head a little. Selenite continued undeterred. “They briefed me about your circumstances, about how you got that wound in the first place. Neither they nor I will clear you to return to combat unless they can be sure you won’t needlessly endanger yourself or anyone else.” “Look, it's nothing, alright? I'll walk it off.” “Can you walk?” Selenite kept her tone light but formal.  “If they'd fuckin' let me!” Nightshade snapped. She snapped her jaw shut, slipping down the bed a little. “Ok, fine, as soon as I can, I’ll be ready. Anything else, that’ll just heal on the way.” As much as she felt her patience wane, Selenite maintained a calm and professional exterior. “Look, Solana-” Selenite sighed. “Do you prefer Solana or Sol?” “It’s Junior Sergeant Nightshade!” she snapped. When Selenite hit her with a Look, the full weight of a commander that would bring no insubordination, she pulled back and sighed. “Sol. I prefer Sol,” she murmured. “We’ll stick with Sergeant, then,” said Selenite. “Sergeant, it would be unconscionable for any CO, or a medical professional for that matter, to clear a soldier for combat when they’re not physically fit or of sound mind.” Nightshade groaned. “Well the other stallions aren’t crying over every little boo-boo, why should they, or what? It’s a fuckin’ war. You get hurt! And right now, while I’m here? You know how many more are getting hurt way worse than this-” Nightshade waved her bandaged leg, gritting her teeth as she did. “-and, and they don’t deserve it! There need to be ponies there to protect them! They shouldn’t have to die before I do!” For a few tense moments, Selenite said nothing. Simply looking back into Nightshade’s eyes. Neither mare blinked, neither mare moved. Selenite eventually broke the silence. “I know that look.” Nightshade blinked. “Excuse me?” “I see it a lot,” Selenite said. That strained composure, that façade of stoicism. Lips pressed into a thin line with the jaw clenched, betrayed by the flicker in the eyes and the slight quiver in the chin. That struggle to put up a confident front, it was all over Nightshade's face. “You feel you have something to prove, or there’s something you’re trying to distract yourself from, and that the way to deal with it is by putting your neck on the line when you don’t have to.” “You think I’m running from something?” Nightshade forced a chuckle. “Ok, what is it then? I didn’t realise that being Warmaster carried a psychology degree.” “I wouldn’t know,” Selenite admitted. She’d just met Nightshade, after all. “What I do know is that self destructive behaviour is not the way to do it. You’re putting yourself and your comrades at unnecessary risk. Because good soldiers throwing themselves away doesn’t help anybody but Sombra.” It looked like Nightshade was going to respond, but she stayed silent. The forced composure on her face slipped slightly. “And I doubt that just telling you all this is going to change your behaviour,” Selenite asserted. “So, you won’t be cleared to return to combat until you see a therapist.” Nightshade snorted. “S-seriously? I have to see a shrink?” “Yes,” Selenite confirmed, deadpanning. Nightshade cringed. “That's pussy shit. There’s a war to fight-” “Sergeant,” Selenite firmly cut her off. Nightshade backed away. Returning her voice to a calm yet authoritative tone, Selenite took a breath. “Whatever’s going on in your head can impair you just as much as a wound from bullets or shrapnel, and quite frankly can be far more dangerous, especially to those in your squad. But it can all be treated. And you won’t be the best soldier you can be until it is.” Little by little, bit by bit, Nightshade's expression changed. Before long the cocky exterior had faded away entirely. She looked thoughtful, her eyes cast down. Slowly nodding her head, she took a deep breath in and out of her mouth. “When you put it like that… Alright. I’ll tell the Lieutenant, or the head medic, or whoever. Just-” She looked up at Selenite and smirked. “Don’t let the other stallions in my unit know. Don’t want them to think I’m dodging my duty.” “I’ll speak to your Lieutenant on the way out,” Selenite added. “You stay here, let your hoof heal.” “Yes, Warmaster.” With a smile, Nightshade brought her bandaged leg up to salute, wincing a little less than before. “Thank you, Warmaster.” Selenite saluted Nightshade back and turned to leave her be. On the way out a quick parting word was had with the medic and the Lieutenant. Fortunately the medic knew a few good therapists in that very hospital, while the lieutenant confirmed that it would be done. While confident that she’d done a good thing in taking care of a rank-and-file soldier, Selenite was fully aware of how unscalable it was. She couldn’t spend any more time micromanaging this one soldier’s situation, she’d just have to trust their CO to ensure they were treated. There were over a million ponies in the Equestrian Army, even more in the whole Imperial Lunar Military. Even if she could devote every second of her time to it, she couldn’t do that for every Private Snafu, Sergeant Reckless or Major Dumbass. How many more ponies were like the mare in the bed there? How many had already died? Passing by a window, Selenite looked out and saw Hawkrich, still speaking and still surrounded by adoring soldiers. Listening to his speech about the ‘glory of sacrifice’, if she remembered right. How many ways could he come up with variations to “Your sacrifice is appreciated and we will remember”? Another thing on the agenda then, ensure that the soldiers were as mentally healthy as they are physically healthy. The how was another matter. Perhaps she could empower junior officers and NCOs to send their troubled troops to therapy when needed, whilst training them to know what to look out for. But she didn’t know how many capable therapists there were on hoof. Then, maybe they could train specialised psychologists, one for each company, or one for each battalion if that was too much to ask. Nevermind that it could be abused as an easy out for conscripts looking to bail from their service. This was going to take some time. Selenite grit her teeth and blew out a breath. Now all her free time was another casualty of war. But for now the war remained on and so she would fight. Back in the ward, Sol Nightshade was staring at the ceiling whilst unknowingly slipping under the bedsheets. Even as they tried to focus on the grip strengthener squeezed in their magical aura, they couldn’t help their mind from wandering a bit. There wasn’t much else to do but let the mind wander, really. No TV, no radio, only a few books and the food only came by every so often. As much as they tried to push any thoughts down and simply will their hoof back into shape, that wasn’t going to happen realistically. They’d been injured before, sometimes by being stupid, but they’d gotten through it every time. No head doc wanted or needed. The bucket full of Pink Hearts back at base confirmed that. Yeah, Selenite had raised some good points, but Nightshade only really wanted to get back in the field and if they had to go through this, the faster the better. Mind over matter, and their mind was strong. Yet, their Lieutenant saw a head problem. Maybe a few other comrades saw a head problem. Nightshade didn’t, not really. They’d spent a lot of time wondering a few things about themselves, even as far back as when they were a foal. Though they always told themselves that they were just dumb, inconsequential thoughts. Could’ve been something more to them, but there weren’t many ponies they could easily go to for a second opinion. If only there were professionals for this sort of- Oh. “Damn it,” they groaned. Maybe seeing a shrink would be good after all.