As we entered the tent of the commander, the first thing we noticed was how large it was compared to our small, shitty location that we had been calling “home” for the past few weeks. Everything felt much more advanced in comparison, with a bit more in the way of tech from the MWT and MAS. Heck, there was even somehow room for a desk, which our commander was now sat behind.
He was a large stallion, looking very regal and respectable behind that desk. That look, though, we knew was nothing like what he was actually like. A more appropriate way to describe this guy, was, to be perfectly blunt, as an asshole. “Col. Blowhard” was how we often referred to him, not without good reason either. Most of the time, this fat bastard of an Earth Pony treated the recruits like they weren’t worth the dirt beneath his feet. Multiple counts of abuse had been raised at him, not only by the ponies who had been forced to endure him through boot camp, such as myself and Bit Torrent, where this sort of stuff was considered the norm, but also those ponies who had the unlucky event of gaining him as their colonel, such as the latest members of our squadron, Regulus, Clydes-Dale and Night-Shade.
I still didn’t think that Night-Shade should ever have been allowed near our platoon at this point. Hell, I’m surprised that Blueblood even allowed one of relations to go near such a brutish military enforcement such as this without a severe amount of paperwork and the singular word from the Ministers that he should never, EVER, be allowed near a combat situation. However, there had been rumours that something had happened years ago between the Minister of Image and Blueblood and that was why Night-Shade had been forced to join the lowest rank. Maybe it was just the luck of the draw that he had ended up with us. And maybe it was just that Celestia and Luna didn’t want to treat anypony better or worse than another. I guess that’s for somepony else to decide.
Anyway, back to the assignment at hand.
Colonel Blowhard, I mean, um, Colonel Johnson stood up behind his desk and looked over us. His mass kind of reminded me of Big Macintosh back home. I heard that Mac had been assigned to the military as well, but I guess I wouldn’t see him. He was normal military, we were the shit stealth guys. Johnson looked at us like we were pieces of manure that should only be applied to gardens whenever possible, and began to speak to us in the bluntest possible way.
“Alright you idiots,” he started, with a voice gravelly from what seemed to be a combination of cigarettes and yelling at other recruits.
“I want to make this quick. I have other recruits to inform of their tasks and to get back to working with MWT advisors. I hate having to deal with you bastards who can’t even hold a gun properly, nor those yellow-bellied not to fire when told”.
“Actually, Great Auntie Celestia...” Night-Shade started.
“Can it. I don’t want to hear about Celestia. She’s already got us into enough shit with these zebras to last us a few months. I don’t want to hear bitching from somepony claiming to be related to her who doesn’t even know how to fight.
“Yes sir. I was just saying...” Night-Shade stammered, but Johnson continued as though there had been no interruption.
“Anyway, there’s a Zebra encampment a couple of miles of here. I need you fat asses to get out there, scope it out and report back what you see there. If possible, take out the blacks while out there. Any questions?”
“Uh, yeah.” Regulus stated. “Why us”
“Why you? Simple. You guys are the ones I want to see gone quickest. It would slightly help us if you got through this, but mainly I just want you out of the way of the ponies who can actually do stuff. Got that? Your expendable! Now, any other stupid questions?”
“One other thing,” Clydes started slowly, in that methodical voice of his.
“Yeah, what”
“What are we being given to perform this mission”
“What you have on you right now is fine”
“WHAT?!” I yelled, before I could stop myself. “But sir...”
“But nothing, Scalpel. You go in light, you go in quiet and you scout. That’s it.”
“But what if one of us get’s injured, or we find ourselves in a firefight?”
He thought about that for a minute.
“Fine. Go and talk to the combat guys. You can have a pistol each. Scalpel, you can have one medkit, but that’s it.”
“But sir...”
“That’s all you fucking deserve, you insolent piece of crap. Besides, there’s a way-lay point on the path just outside the Zebra encampment where you can pick up more supplies if you need them. Now is there anything else, or do I have to throw you out myself?”
Looking at him, I didn’t doubt that he could do just that with no real difficulty. Slowly, I shook my head.
“Good. Now bugger off”.
We slowly shuffled out of the office. As we walked towards the gun tent, I reflected on my life and why they had placed me around here. Sure, Bit-Torrent had put in a good word for me to stay with her squadron, but I felt like I was being misused. Surely they could’ve used me back home for when the soldiers needed major surgery. But hey, at least I could be of some use, I thought to myself as I delicately placed one medkit into my saddlebag, as well as surreptitiously slipping a few more bandages than I was allowed while Clydes-Dale argued with another commander about how many bullets he was allowed as backup ammunition.
Even though I didn’t realise it at the time, this mission would go on to sort out possibly the most important future aspects of my life. Some of which would break me forever.