//------------------------------// // Yankee Doodle // Story: Nearing the Edge // by Eagle //------------------------------// September 20th, 2005 12:02 Hours Pensacolta, Equestria Running sporadically along the beach, the lines of luxury hotels were used to housing large swarms of guests. However, these guests were not the kind the hotels were used to, and the guests themselves did not come for a vacation. Still, neither would complain much about the situation. For Sergeant Andrew Carlton, having the massive backup and delay, while bad for military business, was somewhat guiltily welcomed by himself and his comrades. Having no real place to stay the night, many of the American troops, including his regiment, the 6th Infantry, were offered to stay in the local hotels until they could move. After having spent so long on a ship being able to sleep in a clean, rather cozy and rich place was wonderful. Having come expecting a war, he got to spend his first day on Arcaia largely sleeping in, enjoying a rather nice meal, and relaxing on a balcony while listening to the radio. “Hey Sergeant, you ever stayed on a beach this nice before?” Corporal Min asked, leaning on the railing on the other end of their sixth-floor balcony. “What, like on a trip with the family?” the older soldier asked. “Yea, something like that; like a vacation.” “Can’t say that I have,” Carlton replied, looking back towards the sands as if to ponder the answer. “Must be a nice sight, huh? I’ll bet you’ll be planning one when you get home, eh?” “Now you know me, Min, I always prefer the comforts of home.” “Yea, well if you ever want we’ve got good beaches in Miami, better than even these!” the city native replied confidently. “Besides, I’m sure your kid would love it; you guys are certainly welcome at my house.” “I’ll see what my boy wants first, but if so I think it’d make a nice trip,” the Sergeant agreed, fiddling with the broken volume knob on the radio. The radio station itself was one of the most beloved additions despite only coming on a few hours earlier. As Equestria had only recently opened up to the outside world, radio of the Earth’s nature was not set up. However, the U.S. military had again pulled off the seemingly-impossible but realistically-simple with some ingenuity and determination, managing to get a station up and running for all to listen to. Though it seemed relatively menial in comparison to actual combat and troop worries, the Armed Forces Radio Service provided the troops with plenty of things to boost morale. It was their most immediate source of news and entertainment, which all of them craved when there was almost nothing entertaining to do. Of all these, the music seemed to be the most welcome, bringing a classic source of relief to all. “Hey, was there any news you heard on there?” Min asked. “Oh not too much, just the usual,” Andrew replied, slowly turning the damaged knob till the radio voice reached a suitable volume. “I was never too big with international affairs, sorry.” “Na, its fine.” “Trying to keep up with something?” “Not really, just wanted to know how construction’s coming along the Papa Line.” “Oh I doubt they’ll talk about that, that’d give away details to the enemy,” Andrew explained. “Though I’m sure it’s coming along just fine.” “Sooner I hear it the better.” “Good to know we’ll have something sturdier over our heads than a tin roof, ain’t it?” “I’m glad the commanders realize that a tin roof won’t stop an artillery shell,” Min agreed, not wanting to think of what a heavy artillery shell would do to a hooch. “Well we won’t be all the way up at the border, so it ain’t that bad. The line’s a ways behind it.” “Yea I know, but to be honest I don’t trust those ponies to hold on to the border,” the Corporal admitted. “Have you seen some of the stuff they’re coming up with? Tank destroyers, static AT and artillery guns; Hell it’s like the thing they’re taking this off of is World War Two and then missing the important lessons.” “I’ve heard that’s the case, actually. Though I wouldn’t be too harsh; we don’t seem to be doing better, setting up a big old line across the country. We’re acting like its World War One.” “Only because we can’t retreat past that point, otherwise the fighting would get into Equestria’s cities, so the brass say,” Min argued. “At least we know what we’re doing; they’ve never fought a war with guns. It’s like trying to teach fifth-graders how to write a novel.” Andrew stretched out his muscles before relaxing back into the chair again. “Well with any luck we won’t be fighting at all.” “What? Isn’t that why we’re here? To fight the Bloc and the Chinese and all that?” “No, our main mission is to make sure this country here, Equestria, that it stays free,” Carlton clarified, “now that doesn’t mean we have to start a war, it just means we act as a deterrent. Figured the brass told you that.” Min drew a long sigh as he leaned on the railing of the balcony, hanging his head as he did so. He wanted to understand the situation, or at least act like he did. Listening to what the generals said seemed to be the best way to do that, though it never did seem to actually work. “Alright, so is this why we’re being kept in the rear?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically. “Kind of; like I said, it’s real sensitive, and the commanders are worried that putting our troops right up at the front could cause some disturbances. Can’t have Americans and Bloc troops shooting at each-other, but since Equestria’s already at war, that’s fine,” the Sergeant continued. “They also aren’t giving us that many troops to defend the continent; we only have a few divisions to do it.” “Sounds like a good compromise,” the Corporal winced. “I just hope you’re right about how tough the line is. Must be impressive work they’re doing if we have to stop them cold there.” “It is; we get concrete bunkers, pillboxes, trenches, the whole nine yards. Hold ‘em in that little area so the Navy and Air Force can bomb them out of existence.” “Static warfare,” Min echoed Drew’s earlier comment. “One big layered defense, one coast to the next.” “Yep, from Vanhoover up to… Manhattan, right?” “Manehattan, that’s what they call it here.” “Lord, sounds like a ranch hand’s paradise,” Carlton commented to himself. “But that’s about all it comes down to. We can’t go forward and we can’t go back, so we don’t have enough room to fight a maneuver war. So we’ll just dig in and ride it out and hope the Navy and Air Force bomb them into dust.” “Sheesh, it’s a good thing they don’t pay me enough to come up with these ideas,” Min replied, rubbing his head. “How do you get all this Drew?” “My old man used to be a Captain, used to jabber on about tactics, so I got an understanding of them,” Carlton explained. “Kind of backfired in a way, they got so complicated it kinda scared me away from being an officer.” “Well I’m glad you get it. Sometimes I think the brass makes this stuff too complicated on purpose so grunts like me stay dumb,” Min joked. “Maybe that’s why they’re shoving the Marines in the back.” “In the back?” “Yea, they’re being kept in reserve around the city of Las Pegasus, a ways behind the line,” the soldier clarified. “Pretty sweet if you ask me, locals say it’s a nice city and you’re not up at the front getting shot at. Marines hate it because of that though.” “Why are they keeping a whole division away from the front?” “Not just them, the Brits too, and the exiled military forces from some of the occupied countries. I heard it was to keep them in reserve and provide rear security or something,” Min went on. “I don’t know, like I said, I’m not smart enough to understand a general’s plan. I know they’re being held back though.” Andrew sat up from his chair again, a bit surprised by this news. It would not take two powerful divisions, along with a good deal of other units, to work something as simple as rear security. Perhaps there was some plan the commanders had constructed, but to be so far back made it seem otherwise. If anything he thought that it had to do with politics again, maybe an inter-service disagreement, but he was also doubtful of his friend’s claim altogether. Min had a habit of picking up small rumors. “Now where’d you here this from?” “A Marine,” Min said, thoroughly dashing hopes that his source was faulty. “I was talking with some Sergeant in a LAV outfit earlier today; he kept going on between that and all the driving they’d have to be doing. Had to head out before he could explain much more.” “Well, if anyone would be upset over being kept in the back it’d be the Marines. Guess I would be too if I had to drive all the way out there and be stopped from doing my job,” Carlton agreed as the radio DJ spoke up. “Good afternoon, it’s currently twelve-hundred hours here in our new station in Pensacolta.” ________________________________________ “This next one’s for the Second of the First Marines. The whole division’s going to be spending most of their day on big road trip to their post; I don’t know about you, but long drives have always a pain for me. Hope we can make it a little better, here’s Jackson Browne.” The radio continued to send out a deep echo through the metal hull of the LAV armored fighting vehicle. Most of the marines riding inside were groggy from having been inside the cramped compartment for so many hours. Only the three-man crew seemed to be somewhat immune from the effects. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying their little road trip across the new country. “Hey, are we nearly there?” the marine closest to the front tiredly asked Lance Corporal Chaffin, the gunner of the vehicle. “Huh?” the crewman called back, having trouble hearing him over the noise. “I said, how close are we to a stop!?” “Hang on a sec.” Chaffin adjusted himself to stand up through his hatch on the LAV, poking his head through the roof of the turret. Up there, he found the vehicle’s commander, a Staff Sergeant standing up through his own hatch, enjoying the view and music as his Infantry Fighting Vehicle sped down the road. He seemed very content, singing to himself as he tapped his hands alternately between the turret roof and the stock of the machine gun mounted on it. “Sixty-nine I was twenty-one,” “San!” “Called the road my own.” “Hey San!” Chaffin called again, now tapping the Sergeant’s side to get his attention. “Yea?” the Sergeant replied, looking over to acknowledge him. “We almost to town?” Sergeant Diego looked off to his right a bit and pointed in the direction of their destination. Chaffin had to stand up a bit more to see past him, but he was able to make out a cluster of buildings coming up rather quickly. It could not be more than a few minutes judging from the distance, something he was thankful for considering how long he had spent crammed in the LAV. “Thanks!” Chaffin responded before dropping back down into the cabin to answer their passenger. “Should only be a few minutes!” “Alright, good to hear!” the other Marine answered with relief. Back on the top of the LAV, Diego went back to relaxing and enjoying the music. He always liked riding the LAV through the top when he could, sticking up from his commander’s position through the roof. It was especially nice as the LAV, being used as a taxi now, could go near its full speed of 60 miles an hour. Moving that quickly truly gave a nice experience between the wind blowing fiercely and the mostly flat country darting by. It was especially rewarding now as his vehicle was at the head of a long convoy of other LAVs from their unit, also acting as transport for the Marine infantry to their final destination. Behind them a long line of other vehicles stretched out for a long way down the road. The First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, the unit they belonged to, was not supposed to be a taxi company, though some in the infantry might have argued otherwise. Its job was to provide recon where needed, safely transport infantry to an area, and support that infantry if necessary and viable. To be driving infantry cross-country was a job suited for actual transport truck, but none had been available. Regardless, ‘San’ was not concerned; it was more of an inconvenience than an actual problem. They would still be reaching their post, just not in the most ideal way. Watching his driver take a low right towards the town, the terrain began to become wavy, the road taking them up and down a bit as they approached. It made looking for signs difficult, but he was able to catch one that read ‘Appleoosa’ as they zoomed past. “This is the place,” he said to himself before dropping down into the LAV to speak to the driver. “Hey Rice!” he called, lightly kicking the back of the driver’s seat. “Yea?” “Slow down while we drive into town, and make sure not to hit anything!” “What, you don’t trust me?” Roycewicz asked. “No, that’s why I’m reminding you!” “Gee, thanks dad!” The Sergeant stood back up through the turret and was greeted by the entrance of a town that seemed like a picturesque recreation of an old west town. The main difference to this, beyond the armored vehicles rolling down the street, were the inhabitants, being ponies rather than humans as expected. A large number of the townsfolk had gathered on both sides of the main street to see what was happening. Most were left stunned by the sight, watching the column tumble through town like a massive single-file cattle drive. None of them had ever seen a vehicle before, much less a heavily armed and armored war machine. For San, it was all very fun, and he took great delight in waving to the gawking ponies on both sides of the street as if they were on parade. Eventually he received an order from the convoy’s commander to halt and passed it down to Rice. The LAV slowed to a stop, followed by its companions in line and shrouded in a dust cloud kicked up by the multiple sets of wheels. The Sergeant gave the driver a quick signal to cut the engine, but leaving the radio on, as some of the more curious ponies advanced to inspect the vehicle. “Afternoon, sorry to barge in,” San called jokingly. “What is this!?” a light red pony in a cowboy hat demanded. “This is the United States Marine Corps,” the American replied. “We’re the guys that are here to make sure you all don’t get steamrolled. Who’re you?” “The Sherriff of this here town you’re running through!” he answered. “Why are ya’ll here? I wasn’t told about anything about a big herd of Yankees bustling down main street!” “Yankees?” “That’s what Americans are called, ain’t it?” the Sherriff asked. “Least that’s what I heard. Is it something else?” “Nah, Yankee is right, just haven’t been called that before,” San confirmed. “Well I’m glad to be the first, now what in the world are you doing here?” “Gotta drive all the way up to our new home at Las Pegasus, we’re just passing through,” San assured him. “If you’re looking for someone to talk to, my CO’s back in the third vehicle down.” “Is that your leader?” “Yea, commanding officer; CO,” San clarified. “Well, I’d have to go get the mayor… just don’t cause trouble, got it?” Diego grinned a bit over the prospect. Here was a little pony Sherriff, who did not even have a gun, trying to act tough in front of a large armored unit packed with very annoyed U.S. Marines. San kept his mental mockery to himself, there was no need to argue, and he was just doing his job as they were. Though he could not speak for the other Marines, but he assumed they would keep their self-control. “No problem, go on and fetch him. We’re just gonna relax for a bit.” The Sherriff did so, though a bit hesitant, as more ponies gathered on the sides of the street. The Marines inside the vehicle, having been stuck there for hours since the early morning, jumped at the opportunity to get out. The back doors swung open, allowing the infantrymen to stumble out, in a rather broken and disorganized manner, stretching, complaining, and vocalizing a whole platter of swears that made the onlookers confused and uncomfortable. The showing left many of them baffled that these were the troops of the superpower that was protecting them. Despite their demeanor, the Leathernecks were quite friendly when addressing the residents themselves. They all spread out amongst the town, their conversations initially consisting of questions regarding a nearby restroom. Still, they were able to strike up conversations here and there, thanks partially to the welcoming, if confused, nature of the townsfolk. “Rice, I’m going to go find something to eat. You want me to find you something?” San asked his driver. “Nah, I’m good, gonna give this thing a look-over and re-fill the tank.” “How the Hell do you eat so little?” “Dunno, but we never had much of anything on that rock” the driver responded, referring to his home on the island of St. Paul in Alaska while pulling himself from the LAV through the driver’s opening. San pulled himself through the turret and onto the deck of his LAV. He then slid himself off the edge, hitting the ground with little difficulty while the gunner, Chaffin, simply followed the infantry’s method and moved through the body and out the back opening. A few of the ponies gathered around the vehicle to inspect it and the crew. “Hey, can I help any of you?” he asked the crowd, who mostly just stared back. “Uh… hi,” one of the ponies quipped. “Hey, what’s up?” “What… is that?” she asked. “Is it like one of those car things?” “This, little friend is an armored fighting vehicle. As the name suggests, it’s an armored vehicle for fighting,” the Sergeant replied, patting the metal hull. “What’s that stick on the front?” another asked, looking up at the main gun. “That’s what we use for the fighting part. It shoots stuff, to keep it simple,” San explained, not wanting to play tour guide for long. “Does… it always play music like that?” a pony in the back wondered, able to pick up the radio’s sound. “Nah, not all the time, though if it would if I had the choice,” San said. “Not that band though.” “That band is The Eagles, the greatest group of people to ever make music!” Chaffin retorted, speaking up from next to San, who ignored him and went to on with the process. “Why were there ponies inside it?” a young resident asked. “We’re called ‘people’ kid,” the American explained. “Usually we carry infantry around inside from place to place; the armor protects them from bullets. If they need help we can give them a hand with our weapons. But, since this vehicle is so fast, we’ll do reconnaissance too. Go somewhere, look around for something, and get back quick. Mostly just about terrain though.” “Cool! How fast does it go?” “Really fast, and I get to be the commander,” San replied proudly. “Not as cool as getting to drive it,” Roycewicz yelled form the other side of the vehicle. “Not as cool as getting to shoot the gun, either,” Chaffin added. “Well, Chaff, as the vehicle commander I’m commanding you to take over the tourist guide part while I go get some food,” the Sergeant ordered. “Oh you… ugh… at least bring me back something, alright?” “Course,” Diego assured him, turning back to the ponies. “Alright kids, Mr. Chaffin here is going to take over for me. Feel free to look around, just don’t touch and don’t get in Rice’s way,” San announced. “That’s me, I’m Rice,” Roycewicz called, emptying a can of gas into the engine. San headed off to the side of the street, leaving his crew with the LAV. There was a myriad of wooden buildings along the street, each having its own sign identify it. Barbershops and blacksmiths but nowhere he could identify as a possible restaurant. There was a general store a few buildings down; if nothing else he could find something there. “Hey, you guys know where I could grab a bite?” he asked a small group of six Marines walking by down the street. “Yea, we had to ask around but there’s a café back down the road. Wanna come along?” “Yea, thanks.” San followed them down the street, not taking too much of a part in their conversation. It only took about a minute of walking before they reached the building that served as the café. The sign was somewhat old, with the faded letters making it understandable to miss when passing through quickly. The Marines, still talking amongst themselves, entered all at once, leaving the mare at the counter somewhat dumbfounded, not expecting such customers in spite of the large column outside. “And I’m not letting you collect our MREs from now on Travis, cause you always pick the shit ones,” one Marine said to his squadmate as they walked through the door. “Hey, the beef stew’s the best one there is, at least me and Rich think so,” his comrade retorted. “Right, I was wrong, I should’ve said ‘one’, singular, cause that’s the only kind you grab,” the Marine grumpily shot back as he went up to the counter. “Get some with solid entrees for once! Afternoon miss, you take American currency?” It took the pony a second to register the question. “N-no- I mean… I’m not too sure, but I don’t mind just making something for ya’ll. Since ya’ll are here to help and all.” “Na na, that won’t fly,” the Marine responded. “I’ll pay you anyways, I’m sure it’ll be worth something eventually.” “If… you insist,” the mare agreed. “What can I get for you?” “Still thinking myself. Sergeant, you know what you want?” “Uh, yea, could I get a couple of baked potatoes with cheese?” “Sure, just gimme a few minutes.” The mare went into a back room while San leaned against the counter, turning back towards the Marine, figuring he should make some attempt to chat. “What’s your name, Corporal?” he asked, ignoring the nametag for the sake of conversation. “Hersh, Sergeant. Second of the First,” he replied, adding his battalion to the description. “The Second’s the only battalion we’re transporting, you know.” “Yea, I just like adding it on,” Hersh replied. “Pretty proud of being a Professional.” “Good thing to be proud of. What about the rest of them?” San asked, gesturing to the rest of the Marines talking among themselves. “Couple other guys from my squad, Travis and Hatch; the rest I don’t know. You?” “Staff Sergeant Diego, I’m with the LAVs.” “Guess I should thank you for giving us a lift.” The mare returned from the back with a small bag in her mouth, placing it on the counter. San took it, taking out two warm potatoes wrapped in tinfoil along with a couple plastic forks. They seemed a tad small, but he figured it was just him. He had not gotten a baked potato in some time, and reckoned it was just faulty memory. “How much is that?” “Well… it’s usually ten bits… but… I’m not sure what your money would be worth.” “Well I got a ten with me, how’s that?” “Alright, I’m fine with whatever you have.” “Thank you,” San said, taking out a ten dollar bill and setting it on the counter while the mare inspected it quizzically. “Alright, I got to get back to my crew before they blow something up. Thank you ma’am, and you take care, Hersh.” “You too, Sergeant,” the Corporal replied. San headed out the door and started back down the street. The sun looked like it was starting to lower in the clear sky, which meant that they would most likely be reaching Las Pegasus in the dark of night. Marines were already beginning to gather back around the column again, and on passing his commander’s vehicle a quick check with Lieutenant Colonel Passmore confirmed that they would be leaving soon. They had only been in town for a little less than an hour, but there was no point in delaying the drive. Upon returning to the head of the column, he found the crowd was still about as sizable as when he had left. Chaffin seemed to have disregarded the process of questions and was simply explaining all the properties of the LAV he was next to. Roycewicz also looked like he had finished his checks, as he was sitting on the front of the LAV near his driver’s seat. San made his way through the crowd and handed Chaffin his potato before addressing him. “We’re heading out, let’s get ready to move.” “Yes sir,” Chaffin replied. “Alright folks, we need to get going. Please move off to the side streets.” The ponies did as asked, moving away from the armored column. Both Chaffin and San entered through the cabin and retook their positions, both starting to eat on their meals. Roycewicz also retook his position in the driver’s seat and started the LAV up again. The roar of the engine was followed by many more down the line, punctuated only within the LAV by the radio’s music and the clambering of Marines into the cabin once more. When the infantry finally shut the back doors, he swallowed his latest bite of potato and turned off the music so as to speak over the radio. “Highlander Actual, Highlander Two-Three. We’re ready to go, over.” “Copy, Highlander Two-Three, proceed, you copy?” “Highlander Two-Three copies, oscar mike, out.” San set the radio back to the music, ensuring it was loud enough for the crew to hear past the engine, and relayed the orders to his driver. “Let’s roll Rice!” “Rolling, Sergeant.”