KABOOM
Rarity screeched and flailed, the nearby explosion ripping her from sleep. Her hooves pounded off the thick steel of the box she was in.
It really wasn’t a bad box, all things considered. The padded seat beneath Rarity lay back like a recliner. The solid walls that allowed plenty of room around her were painted antiseptic white. Three small rectangular windows let in some light, and a few dials and indicator lights glowed with soft illumination.
The worst part was that Rarity had no idea how she had gotten there and had no idea how to get out.
“Did we wake you up, driver?” chuckled a voice in Rarity’s ear.
“I’m awake,” she grumped, pawing at her head. She seemed to be wearing a set of earphones with an attached microphone. It seemed that without them, the voices would be lost among a high pitched background whine. Rarity had no idea what the sound might be.
She went on. “Who am I speaking to? What was that loud noise just a moment ago?”
Several seconds of silence passed and then the voice came back, sounding cautious. “First, let me ask you a question. What is your name?”
“My name is Rarity. I’m a dressmaker from Ponyville and—”
Several voices spewing curse words drowned her out. The original voice cut through the cacophony, barking at “Floyd” and “Prosser” to get out and “take care of her.”
Rarity began to grow anxious. Was the voice on the intercom a pony? What sort of creatures would have names like that? And were they taking care of her, or taking care of her?
There was a sound like a heavy metal hatch opening. Muted steps sounded from somewhere above Rarity’s head, coming closer. Part of the light from the small windows went dark.
“Don’t freak out, okay Rarity?” called a voice from right outside. There was a squeak of machinery, perhaps a latch. Rarity looked upwards in anticipation as a hatch began to open.
Two strange creatures wearing headsets peered in. They were both dressed in a mottled grey-green uniform, with tags that read “U.S. Army.” One had the nametag “Floyd” and the other was “Prosser.”
“Please don’t be fucking with us,” said Prosser. He and his companion hadn’t moved forward to attack, so Rarity decided to just let them sit there outside the hatch. She wasn’t about to trust them, but they seemed more annoyed with her than anything.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” Rarity articulated evenly. “Can you tell me where I am?”
“Christ, Private Belle did it again,” muttered Floyd, shaking his head. “Sorry, ah, Rarity. I know you’re weirded out and not supposed to be here.”
Gaining confidence, and also some confusion, Rarity asked, “Do you mind explaining what has happened to me?”
“Long story short, we are called people,” Prosser pointed to himself and Floyd, “and our buddy who used to be one of us volunteered for an experiment that turned him into a unicorn. Every once in a while, Belle loses his mind and you take over.”
That did not clear things up in the slightest but Rarity politely limited herself to one question at a time. Prosser sighed. “Well, at least we can use your TK up in the turret and finish up this exercise. Let’s get you out of the driver’s seat.”
Floyd and Prosser offered hands, which Rarity let them use to grab her forehooves. They hauled her out of the box she had been inside.
Rarity was slightly startled to realize that she was wearing one of the same ugly uniforms that the two people wore, although suitably tailored to fit her body. The nametag read "Belle." Taking her eyes off the camouflage cloth, she looked around to find herself standing atop a large angular machine. It was painted olive green. Trees were to the side and behind it, while a bare dirt trail was below.
“Come on, let’s get you up to the turret,” said Prosser, nudging Rarity upwards. Floyd slipped into the seat where Rarity had been. After a moment, he emerged again, frowning and showing off an empty brown bottle with a red label. Prosser rolled his eyes and grabbed it, continuing to escort Rarity to the top of the machine.
There was another hatch up there and Rarity took that to mean she was supposed to go inside. There didn’t seem to be any easy way of going about that, however. Fortunately, another person appeared in the hole and offered a hand.
Between Prosser and the new person, they got Rarity inside. She found herself in a space much larger than before. There were many controls and devices that she didn’t recognize, but was grateful for the chance to stretch out.
Prosser closed the overhead hatch with a clang. He turned to the other person and handed over the empty bottle. “Belle was drinking again, TC.”
The one called TC accepted the bottle and looked at it sadly. “Well, I suppose when our driver gets back, we’ll have to do something about this. I don’t want to kick his ass out, but I just can’t cover for him.”
Rarity shifted uncomfortably. “Am I to understand that I have replaced your driver?”
“Yeah.” TC shrugged. “Not your fault, Rarity. For some strange reason, whenever Belle drinks Killian’s, he turns into, well…you.”
“Is this some sort of military unit?” Rarity asked. “I take it that drinking on duty is not allowed?”
“Got that right,” called Floyd through the intercom. It seemed that he had taken over as the driver. “But even if we have to file a report when we get back, we can at least finish the exercise, right Tank Commander?”
TC nodded. “Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Rarity, just do what we tell you and try not to steal our secrets, okay?”
She gasped. “I’m not a spy!”
Everyone else chuckled, either in front of her or through the intercom. “Yeah, you sure don’t look Chinese,” commented Prosser.
Rarity didn’t know how to take that comment and kept silent.
TC listened to a radio for a moment and then announced, “Okay, we’re cleared for more shooting. Gunner, sabot - tank.”
“Grab one of those and stuff it in here,” said Prosser to Rarity, pointing to a rack of cylindrical objects and a dark hole in front of them. Obediently, she lifted one of the strange tubular things and slid it into the horizontal shaft. It fit neatly.
Prosser pulled a lever and a metal wedge closed over the top of the hole. “Up,” he called to TC.
“Stand back and be ready for the noise,” Prosser directed Rarity. He turned to a small device like a telescope, that was somehow electronic, and pressed his face to it. He announced, “Identified.”
“Fire and adjust,” ordered TC.
“On the way!”
KABOOM
Despite the warning she had received, Rarity jumped. The breech of what she now realized was a cannon recoiled, pistoning into the place where she had just been standing. She made a note of where the danger zone was, and to stay out of it.
While Rarity herself did not know very much about weapons, a pony could only spend so much time around Pinkie without learning about her party cannon. Rarity understood that the military used much more serious kinds of cannons. It did not take a genius to know what she was dealing with.
As the main gun recoiled to its former position, the spent cannon shell thudded out onto the floor. Rarity picked up a fresh one and loaded it. "Up!"
Prosser gave her a nod of thanks and turned back to his devices. “Identified.”
“Fire and adjust.”
“On the way!”
KABOOM
“What exactly are we shooting at?” Rarity asked, loading the gun again.
“Practice targets. They’re about 2500 yards away,” replied TC. “We’ve scored solid hits on every shot, too.”
“Impressive.” While the implications of such a weapon were astonishing, Rarity appreciated that kind of precision. Knowing she had helped accomplish the feat was nice, too.
“I hate to say this, TC,” said Prosser as he lined up another shot, “but it’s too bad we can’t keep Rarity around. She’s not useless as a loader. She’s polite. Even when she’s not Rarity, we’re basically wasting her unicorn talents as a tank driver.”
TC shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. Oh, and fire.”
KABOOM
Rarity jolted awake, somewhat surprised to find herself resting on her bed upstairs in the boutique where she lived and worked. She sighed and fell back. It had been that damn dream again.
Rarity was not prone to harsh language, and even if the infuriating dream deserved it, she chastised herself to stooping for such vulgar terms.
The sun was just beginning to creep under her window shades. It was still early, but Rarity was not about to go back to sleep. She dragged herself out of bed and spent several minutes getting her appearance presentable. Not fabulous, just enough so that she could go out in public for a quick trip to the library. She needed to talk to Twilight.
Rarity’s cat, Opalescence, lounged in her basket by the door. Not wanting to draw the ire of her pet so early in the morning, Rarity passed by without waking her.
Stepping outside, Rarity looked both ways before hurrying over to the tall tree that housed the Ponyville library. Letting herself in, she called, “Twilight? Could I have a word with you?”
“She’s upstairs,” called Spike. He came into the room, looking worried. This was strange, as he was usually fawning over Rarity whenever she was in range of his affection.
“I think something’s wrong with Twilight,” Spike said.
“Suck it up…ah, darling,” Rarity replied. She blushed, but quickly stepped past Spike to hide the emotion. That response she'd given Spike was completely unprecedented. Rarity wondered if something might be wrong with her, too.
She found Twilight upstairs, feverishly hunched over her computer. There was a ponynet webpage up on the screen, and Rarity could see that it was some sort of writing site.
Hearing Rarity come in, Twilight hurriedly minimized the window and turned. “Oh Rarity, what are you doing here?”
Rarity was curious what her friend was up to, but decided not to ask. “I’ve been having a strange fuc—um, a strange dream lately and I hope you could help.”
Twilight’s eyebrows furrowed at hearing Rarity’s almost slip of the tongue, but said, “Actually, I’ve been having strange dreams, too. You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”
The two of them spent the next several minutes trading information. Rarity caught herself almost uttering profanity several more times but managed to stop herself at each instance.
As the two mares talked, a surprising pattern emerged. There was a facinating similarity to their dreams, mainly the fact that they both involved strange creatures called people, who were a part of the United States of America’s military. Different branches to be sure, but it certainly couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Why are we suddenly tapping in to this unusual network of consciousness?” Twilight muttered. “We need to figure out why this is happening.”
“Damn right,” Rarity murmured in agreement, this time not bothering to censor herself.
She glanced out the window at a few early morning pegasi flying by. She had a sudden urge to get ahold of Pinkie’s party canon and fire at them, screaming, “Get some!”
Rarity shuddered. In the state she was in, barely able to control her speech, downloading a copy of Apocolypse Meow for Opal had been a terrible idea.