//------------------------------//
// Prosk, 1.E5 NMY (Day 1) 
// Story: My Little Hawken: Freindship is a Machine 
// by Colgate1211 
//------------------------------//

	"Prosk, 1.E5 New Millenium Year. There are no more elements, and there is no more government. Just the war. Ponies and Gryphons alike have packed up everything, literally, and set out for a new world away from the once-thriving Earth. Plus side: The trip was only 72 years. Down side: A war started within 72 days of landing. And has been raging for the last 15. Ponies at war with the Gryphons again, you say? Not exactly. War over power? Nay. Control over the planet? There we go! Yes, it seems that even with a fresh start, war is bound to spark up. But no more hoof-to-hoof brawls. Swords are useless. Guns? Sure, we use those. On our mechs. Huge machines of war that we climb into, and seal ourselves in, and march out to fight. Some say it's an extention of your body. I say it's just a coffin. And on top of that, we- Oh, save and exit entry!" 

Thunderdust shut the monitor on his electronic journal, stuffed it under his pillow, and pulled the covers back over him, feigning sleep. He heard the hoovesteps in the passage, and was hoping he wasn't getting bearings deducted for being up after lights-out. Again. 
"Thunderdust! If that's you up again, i'll have you scrubbing the mud out of the leg sheilds of Rocketeers without a brush, are we understood?" A booming voice called out, echoing through the hallway and into his head, imprinting itself everywhere in his mind. Now, any normal cadet would yell out 'YES, SIR', and be caught because he was obviously awake, or awake enough to respond. 'Play dead' Thunderdust's mind thought, as he waited for his commander to walk back to his quarters...

The early-morning siren came on with force, as usual, throwing the lives of all pilots into chaos for the first half-hour of their day. Bodies scrambled to get dressed, ger brushed, get showered (not in that order) and eat. After that, they all had to line up by their mechs. Mechs were arranged in rows of five, called squads. Every five rows was a platoon. every five platoons was a batallion. every five batallions was a company. And each squad had to go through and make sure every pilot was accounted for. Another half-hour of standing by your towering war machine. Thunderdust stood by his CR-T medium all-purpose mech patiently. He looked up and to the right, at the long barrel of the assault rifle he had for his primary weapon. Names of freinds and family were carved into it, and it reminded him of home, no matter where he was.