Rainbow Dash pulled the thin blanket over her head, falling fast asleep on the uncomfortably thin mattress. The previous day had been a horrendously long day of in processing. Endless forms, uniforms to acquire and fit, weapons to draw, and haircuts to get. She really missed her mane, the close-cropped cut she had now just didn’t seem natural. Needless to say, when she was finally able to get into bed at 2330, she was ready for some sleep. She learned a lot of new vocabulary that day, ranging from the designations of the weapons they were issued (plans copied from Jennings’ memories but altered to fit hooves), to the new name of the room she was staying in. She was in a bay, with the rest of her platoon. 20 ponies slept on each side in a column of 10 bunk beds, perfectly aligned. Her bunkmate, the stallion Skybiscuit, made a sensible prediction that they would probably be woken up at 0300, or some other ungodly hour. Needless to say, Rainbow Dash wanted to get as much sleep as she possibly could between now and then.
A small, metallic device clattered across the floor. Dash would soon learn that this device was referred to as a ‘flashbang grenade.’
Brilliant light. Darkness. Ringing. Confusion. Where is the ground? Rainbow Dash fell out of her bed painfully, answering the final question, but was still reeling from the detonation. She struggled to regain her composure… and sight.
“Wake the fuck up!” Jennings came kicked the door open, storming into the bay with three other ponies. Each had a ‘smokey bear’ pulled down tightly over their heads, so that each interaction was like talking to an eyeless demon.
“Get on line, right now!”
“What are you doing? Get on line!”
“Stay out of my killzone! What are you doing, huh? You think you’re special?”
“Oh Celesetia, look at this pony right here! She thinks she’s special! Just fuckin’ prancing through the killzone like it’s no big deal. Go on, say it. You think you’re better than us, right?”
“Uh-”
“Just say it! You obviously do, or you wouldn’t be in my killzone. You know what? Screw it, start pushing.”
“Oh, you’re just going to stand there, and let your battle buddy do pushups? Hey, I’ve got an idea. As the president of the ‘let’s screw my battle buddies over’ club, why don’t you lead the platoon in pushups?”
“What are you waiting for, start pushing!”
“You’re in my killzone again! Do you not see your buddies pushing over there? Go on, join them. Get out of my killzone! Get! Out! Of my! Fucking! Killzone! You’re still here! Move!”
“So you’re just going to stand up and walk away? No, screw that, get back here! Push! Now move! You stood up again! Push and crawl at the same time!”
“Everyone outside! Form up outside! Four ranks, go! Move, move move move!”
“Hey, Trooper! Did you just touch me?”
“No excuse, Drill Sergeant!”
“Damn right there’s no excuse. Get outside quickly, before I lose my mind. Go!” The trooper scampered at speeds he had never thought possible. The group converged on the pavement outside, mass chaos erupting as they all fought for their designated place. Bickering arose as the terrifying Drill Sergeants looked on in disdain. The Troopers fought with each other to gain proper alignment until the Drill Sergeants interdicted with remedial PT. The Platoon alternated between a small assortment of exercises, all relatively basic and surprisingly painful. After they 1000th repetition of iron crosses, they mercifully switched over to pushups, continuing on for another 100 reps. Dash’s muscles ached in ways she wasn’t aware were physically possible as she stood up, praying for the end. Her relief would come after ten minutes of squatting. Drenched in sweat, the exhausted Troopers moved into formation with a new-found haste. Dash stole a glance at the clock. She had to look again, staring in disbelief. The luminescent face shone 0057 down upon them. This was going to be a long day.
“Right face!” The harsh voice of the drill sergeant called out. They platoon jogged out towards the PT field, about to begin their only prescribed PT session of the day.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For the first time in the past six weeks, Dash was extremely thankful for the bulky, black body armor that all the Troopers wore. While it took a long time for them to adjust to the added bulk, by now they barely noticed the additional weight and girth, able to perform remarkable physical feats without restraint. But right now, Dash’s motionless body was just thankful for the heat regulation built into the suit.
Condensation dripped from the freezing metal surface of her SR 99D-S2 sniper rifle, indicative of the almost freezing temperatures they operating in. Dash and her spotter settled into their respective positions, preparing themselves for the wait.
“Distance, 3244 meters.”
“3244,” Dash repeated, making adjustments on the scope.
“Adjust 1 mil dot right for wind.”
“1 mil dot.” Their conversation was kept to a minimum, making sure that adjustments for the Coriolis Effect were taken into consideration, as well as humidity, temperature, gravity, cross wind, and a multitude of other factors to make sure the round landed precisely where Dash wanted it to. The duo sat stock still in the freezing, wet weather, waiting for the rest of their team to arrive.
During the last few weeks, squads had been preparing for this final exercise, pitting all the squads against each other, from all four platoons. A total of 16 squads were operating on their own in the training ground, running missions against each other and against the Cadre. During their last infiltration, they had heard one of the opposing squad members discuss this cache of information that was supposedly the final mission they had to complete before ‘winning’ the exercise. At that moment, they discovered that the opposing squad had acquired significant amounts of heavy weaponry, and Dash’s squad had opted to retreat with the information they had gleaned. Now they were launching their own attack on the objective, hoping to beat the opposing squad to the ‘final mission.’
Dash watched through the scope as the green outlines of her squad crept through the grass as slowly and quietly as possible. Dash keyed her mic.
“Squad Leader, spotted three hostiles, likely more inside. Haven’t seen Thunder Squad, yet. Over,” she said in reference to the squad who they had gleaned the intel from.
“Roger, keep an eye on the treeline. Watch for movement, over.”
“Wilco. Out.”
Dash kept her overwatch position, scanning the objective. The objective was a small building complex in the middle of a field of tall grass, bounded on all sides (about 200 meters away) by a forest. Dash herself sat about halfway up a series of major hills, providing just enough height to get a good view of the objective. The squad was about 50m away from the building complex when Dash keyed the mic again.
“Stop, stop, stop. I’ve got eyes on Thunder Squad at the edge of the clearing. Looks like they’re emplacing a machine gun, and have two rocket launchers. Don’t see anypony with a sniper, but there are definitely a lot of BRs and SMGs.”
“Dash, I’m open to suggestions, over.” Dash scanned the area with her weapon, weighing the options.
“I’d wait until Thunder Squad begins their assault, then finish off the weakened victor. If you can keep moving and stay out of sight, do that. Get to cover as safely as possible, over.” The sinewy green silhouettes crept forward again, each hugging the ground with a newfound fervor. Dash’s scope picked up a burst of light, followed by a detonation of red paint a few seconds later as the rockets from Thunder Squad opened up on the entrenched Cadre. Red paint covered the exterior of the structure from the onslaught brought on by the turret, while far more precise fire from Thunder Squad’s BRs rained down upon the Cadre. The Cadre valiantly returned fire, but were soon overwhelmed by sheer quantity of incoming rounds. All seven of the Cadre were ‘killed’ while Thunder Squad only lost two of its eight members. Dash’s squad was only eight meters out. They could make it.
There was more raucous gunfire as Thunder Squad cleared the complex, searching high and low for the ‘intel’ that would let them dial up the correct frequency to end the war games and declare Thunder Squad the victors. The rest of Dash’s squad crossed the final ground in a crawling sprint as soon as Thunder disappeared inside. They took up positions on the corners of the buildings two sides of the objective, waiting for the signal. The Thunder Squad Leader emerged from one of the buildings, holding a folder high up in the air, and beckoning the radioman over.
“Fire.” Dash’s round sliced through the air, cleanly impacting the pony in the back of the head, locking the entirety of his armor in a simulated death. The folder flew from his hooves, landing in the dirt. Dash adjusted aim, squeezing the trigger a second time. The radioman dropped, taking the round full in the chest. Thunder Squad ducked for cover as the rest of Dash’s squad opened up a heavy volley of fire, covering three of the ponies in a thick layer of red paint. The last member of the squad ducked away, taking a round to the leg. Launching into the air, the survivor flew towards the squad shotgun at the ready in a last-ditch attempt to take out as many as she could before she took another round. She immediately received a magazine of M7S to the face.
The Squad Leader sprinted over, grabbing the folder from where it lay on the ground. He nervously punched in the frequency, following the directions on the sheet nervously, expecting at any time to receive contact and get wiped out like he had done to Thunder. He dove for the ground in surprise when Dash fired two shots at an approaching squad. No need for anypony to interrupt her SL. Approximately 10 minutes later, everypony got a call on the radio. The exercise was over. Dash stood up, hoisting her rifle over her head in a victory pose. She honestly didn’t care who had won, she was just glad she would be getting some sleep now that she was graduating.
A/N: I apologize for any terrible writing that may have occurred. Crazy schedule this week, even crazier next week. (Hence the brevity of the chapter.) I will be very surprised if I post anything on schedule next week. Right now, my goal is just to survive next week, let alone do any fun writing.Next week I have a 500 point test (courses are 1000 points) in two separate classes (the tests happen to be on the same day. Yay.) I also have a paper to write, a project to complete and present, a Math problem set, Russian test (much smaller than the other tests, though), Russian presentation on Stalingrad, an Econ presentation. Yup. It’ll be a fun week.
The next chapter is probably going to be the second to last chapter, maybe third to last. I’m getting to the end of the planned story arc. Not that I’m running out of things that could possibly happen, but I’m trying to finish the story before Halo 4 drops for two reasons: one, because I’ll be playing H4 and not writing, and two, because I’m considering a sequel that takes up where this leaves off but integrating it with the Halo 4 campaign.
Also, I looked up the Halo timeline and realized my story doesn’t fit very well. Drat. Should have thought ahead better. If I ever rewrite it, I’ll fix it, but don’t have time to go back and do that now. Until then, accept that this story does not fit into the canon timeline.