The Night Guard - Night Mares
Sharpening the Blade
Steeling his resolve, Academy Commandant Snowy Peaks regarded the four mares standing at parade rest on a small assembly area on the edge of the training grounds. Each was wearing their Canterlot Police Department cap and field jacket, which some overly-cute joker had dyed to the exact tint of the Night Guard armor, giving them all the painfully-neat appearance of real Night Guards instead of what they were. He avoided scowling and addressed them for hopefully the last time.
“As you may have guessed, we believe it is impractical to integrate you ladies into our experienced protective units without having some degree of knowledge as to your combat capabilities. With that in mind — yes, whoever you are?”
“Lieutenant-Commander Grace, sir! Request permission to speak freely, sir.” The jade-green unicorn mare snapped off a frustratingly-perfect salute, her hoof rising exactly to within a hairs-breadth of the stiff policemare cap fixed on her head as solidly as if it had been glued around her horn. Peaks’ gaze flickered to the fresh chip on the tip of her horn before returning to her pale green eyes.
“While you’re on these grounds, your previous rank does not matter. Most cadets collect rather colorful titles such as maggot, or worm, but due to my deep respect for Princess Luna, I have instructed each of the instructors who will have contact with you to address you as Miss. Does that meet with your approval, Miss Grace?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Request permission to speak freely, sir.”
Those pale green eyes maintained their perfect forward stare, not flickering in his direction even in the slightest, and Peaks fought down a creeping suspicion that the mind behind those eyes was a lot tougher than he imagined. The other three were considerably less disciplined in their stance, turning their heads slightly or glancing sideways in his direction, including the vibrantly pink pegasus who seemed to be in constant motion, either flinching a small muscle or shifting her balance slightly every single moment of her relative immobility. It was quite distracting, and after realizing he had turned his head to watch, he snapped his attention back to Miss Grace and growled, “Go ahead.”
“Thank you, Commander Peaks. I believe you have the personnel folders from each of our precinct commanders detailing our evaluations and state of training. Why is that not sufficient, sir?”
“Because we here at the Royal Guard have totally different operational philosophy with regard to the protection of our assignees than your municipal guard. We guard foreign diplomats, royalty, and goddesses while you city guards deal with muggers and thieves. It’s a whole different playground up here, kiddies. Now suit up. I wasn’t planning on having your combat capabilities tested at this rather surprising phase of your preliminary training, but the Royal Guard specializes in the unexpected. At the insistence of Her Royal Highness, it seems a set of training armor with the additional sparring pads has been provided at an unusually rapid pace, so if you ladies will be so kind as to put on your pajamas, we can continue our little discussion out on the veranda. Dismissed.”
The schedule on his clipboard made for a good prop to excuse his presence, and Peaks lingered around the corner with one ear pointed sideways as the mares fumbled with their training armor and the soft pads that went over the cold steel. He had not even expected armor, let alone safety equipment this quickly, and particularly not with the expert attention to detail that each of the four sets had displayed when he examined them in the setting sunlight a few hours ago. He could not complain. Each of the padded sets — although curved in the wrong places — was almost identical to what a permanent guard would receive for combat training, right down to the blank rank tabs waiting to be filled in.
A certain amount of grumbling filtered out around the corner, somewhat less than a set of male guards would express in the same situation, and he could identify the clear voice of the pink pegasus as she expressed concern about having enough time during training to ‘pump’ for her foal, which brought up a recurring mental image that Peaks tried not to think about.
Finally he heard a second rumbling voice, deeper than many of the stallions under his command. “Vell, ve gots to let the boys show just vat big muscles dey got. Just try not to bruise ‘em too much, hokey girls?”
* * *
Silver moonlight shone down on the sparring circle in a vain attempt to overwhelm the powerful lights that illuminated every corner of the sandy surface. Sergeant Petunia watched Academy Commander Peaks bring his soon-to-be-ex-recruits over to a solid white line and motion towards him. It was a little difficult to suppress the relatively small amount of humor he normally brought to the job, but the Commandant had been very specific in his instructions, and the habitual book-makers among the trainers had let him know just how many bits were riding on his ability to humiliate these mares right out of the Academy gates.
“Okay, ladies. This is Sergeant Petunia.” He gave a short nod to the mares at his appropriate prompt and regarded the friendly nods he got back, including a short smile and a blush from the brilliant pink pegasus who fairly glowed under the floodlights as well as sparkled a little across her rump.
Peaks continued, “Quite unlike his name, he is a very dangerous pony, so he will be handling our first simple exercise. We need a volunteer, so—” he consulted his clipboard “—Miss Thermal, you’re up. Hop on out there.”
The pink pegasus in question gave a quiet squeak and bounced up into the air, the padded training armor over her head and shoulders seeming not to restrict her graceful movements in any fashion. She fluttered partway out into the circle before landing, standing there in nervous anticipation while shifting from hoof to hoof and glancing around.
Peaks suppressed a grim chuckle and said, “As you have noticed, Sergeant Petunia is dressed in ordinary armor without the padded bunny suits you have been given. This is because he is, as I said before, a very dangerous pony. Now Miss Thermal, if you will stand right over there. Yes, there. Okay, Sergeant Petunia will now attack you with a knife, and — oh, don’t look so frightened. This is a training exercise. Now when the Sergeant attacks you, Miss Thermal, you are to avoid the attack and attempt to disarm him, is that clear?”
The pegasus squeaked quietly and Peaks could not suppress a grin.
“Very well, then. Go.”
Petunia darted forward, the long training knife held behind one foreleg. His opponent shot straight up out of reach and hovered just above the bright floodlights, making him squint as he looked upwards and observed that despite the extra coverage granted by the padding over the armor, his opponent was indeed lactating, and the view he was getting could normally only be seen by unfolding the centerfold in his favorite magazine. This was very much not the way sparring normally went, although it was not all bad.
“Miss Thermal,” bellowed Peaks, “could you tell me what you think you are doing?”
“Um. I’m sorry,” filtered down her soft voice, barely louder than the flapping of her wings. “You said to avoid the attack, right?”
As far as Petunia could remember, Snowy Peaks had never lost his composure, but as his commanding officer placed a hoof firmly in the middle of his forehead, he was beginning to look a little explosive.
“And how were you planning on disarming him from there?”
“Um. Well. Since he’s an earth pony, normally I would blow my whistle right now so the rest of the squad could arrest him while I hover up here and keep him in sight, providing support as needed in the event he resists.”
Peaks turned crimson and flew straight up next to his conversational target so as to get the most out of his already-impressive vocal range. “You’re not in the municipal guard right now, you’re in the Royal Guard, and that means when you’re attacked, you fight back, you pin that bastard down, and you make sure he can’t get back up again to attack your charge! Do you understand me or do you want to go back to your cushy little municipal guard job?”
The rather prim unicorn mare stepped forward and called up to the commander, “Excuse me, Commander Peaks, but—”
“Quiet in the ranks!” he bellowed with one hoof pointing down at the three remaining mares. “One more word out of any of you and I’m sending all of you back to your old jobs! Now get your flank back down there, and do what you’re told, Thermal!”
The pink pegasus fluttered down almost like a falling leaf and landed where she had taken off with a rather peculiar expression he had never seen before on a cadet. Actually it was more like a non-expression that extended from her rigid ears all the way to her tail. All of her previous nervous twitches had vanished and been replaced with the fragile immobility of the terrified. The only motion that Petunia could see was the other three mares, all of whom had backed up a step and were sharing glances of concern within their little herd.
“Much better.” Commander Peaks landed and scowled at Sergeant Petunia. “Proceed.”
Petunia nodded at the commander and shifted the knife to his armored left wrist. Peaks was hopping mad, and once he got his steam up, it was better to just shut up and do your job even if the job in question this time was to threaten frightened female trainees with a knife.
It was a nice knife, with a telescoping blade that vanished back into the handle on a thrusting blow so smoothly it was impossible to spot, making it the finest prank knife he had ever owned. More than one green trainee had doubled over in sympathetic pain when it appeared a foot of cold steel had just vanished into one of their fellow trainee’s guts. There was a bet running around the guards about how many of the ‘girls’ would wash out of the first day of training, with only a very rare few holding the ‘none’ bet, including, strangely enough, Optio Pumpernickel. That was going to be a very foolish bet for the frequently-wrong stallion, and embarrassing as Tartarus to explain to his harridan of a wife when he lost his rather substantial wager. Which was going to be in about a minute, if he was any judge of character.
“Now let’s try this again, little mare,” whispered Sergeant Petunia to his target, shifting the knife back over to his right wrist. “Only this time—”
Whatever he was about to say was lost as Miss Thermal darted forward almost faster than the eye could see, one armored pink hoof smashing down into his wrist a fraction of a second before the second forehoof slammed squarely under his chin. With an explosion of sparks from the protective enchantments on his helmet, he flipped head over heels to land with a staggering thump on his back. Once the stars slowly faded away and his vision returned, he could feel a cold line across his throat as he looked up into the wide-eyed, terrified gaze of Miss Thermal. Somehow she had managed to retrieve the knife during his tumble and was holding it firmly in her teeth while panting in shock. With each panicked pant, the dull edge of the knife sawed back and forth across his trachea, giving him a very vivid view of what would have happened to his throat if he had been using a real knife instead of a blunt-edged training weapon.
“You have... the right... to remain…”
“Lieutenant. This is Commander Grace. At ease.” The trim green unicorn stepped out into the circle and helped Miss Thermal to her hooves, pointing her in the direction of her fellow female police officers before helping Sergeant Petunia up. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” said Petunia with a deep breath and a shake of his wrist. “Tingles a little but she didn’t get a clean shot in. Thank heavens for the armor.” He hazarded a glance at where the pink pegasus was being comforted by her fellow police officers and tried to figure out when the last time one of his cadets was patted on the back and given tissues after a sparring session. Bandaged up, maybe.
“Better let me look at it.” Miss Grace moved close to the sergeant, her horn glowing dimly as she adjusted her glasses and then cast a spell.
”Don’t talk. I’ve got a privacy spell going. Just say ouch if you understand.”
“Ouch,” said Petunia rather unconvincingly with a brief glance at Commander Peaks, who was flipping through a set of binders with a sour scowl.
”Good. Daelia Thermal was raped about two years before she joined the force. We’ve always been careful not to put her into similar situations for fear she might hurt somepony.”
“Hurt? Oh. I mean ow!” It sent a little chill up Petunia’s back to see the absolute dispassionate expression on Grace’s face, much as if she had been carved out of a block of ice that refused to melt. Whatever warmth the rest of her cadre of mares was sharing with their pink counterpart did not exist in Grace’s dispassionate gaze, and Petunia looked back at his tingling wrist instead.
”She gets very focused under stress. It’s her special talent after all. You’re lucky she didn’t break something important, like your neck.
Petunia thought about that dull knife blade sawing across his throat and shuddered. “That’s… better, ma’am. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“Not a problem, Sergeant.”
Peaks’ commanding voice broke into Petunia’s thoughts as he snapped, “Well, now that you have my delicate flower of a combat trainer back into his normal tip-top shape, why don’t you two try a round at the dance. Sergeant Petunia, pick up your knife and let’s see just how Miss… Grace, was it? How she handles an attacker.”
Grace turned slightly to look at Commander Peaks while still keeping Sergeant Petunia in her peripheral vision, much as one would pretend to be nonchalant about a venomous snake while still holding a stout stick. “What limitations do you wish me to use in this exercise, Captain?”
“Anything you want, Miss Grace. You may consider this to be full combat conditions.”
“Very well.” The green unicorn mare tucked her glasses into a pocket and nodded at Sergeant Petunia. “Whenever you are ready, Sergeant.”
“Right.” Petunia switched the knife to his less-pained wrist and crouched. Unicorns always went for the magical disarm, and this was going to be quite a surprise for the dispassionate municipal guard. “Go.”
Miss Grace’s horn promptly glowed light green, but instead of the expected attempt to grab Petunia’s trick knife, a pair of slim blades no larger than surgical scalpels flickered out from her vest pocket where she had tucked away her glasses. Petunia gave a shouted curse, dodging one blade and swinging sharply at the second blade that darted at him, parrying it to the left, then again to the right as it nimbly reversed course. Taking an overhead smash at the deadly thing, he managed to knock the blade to the ground, setting one hoof solidly on it with a glare at Miss Grace that promised imminent violence, only to freeze in place immediately afterwards. Wide-eyed and straining to remain on the tips of his hooves, he very slowly dropped his training knife into the sand and remained totally immobile, much as if he had become an armored statue in the middle of the sparring circle.
“Sergeant Petunia!” bellowed Peaks. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you dropped your weapon?”
“He doesn’t want to become a gelding, Commander.” A gentle green magical aura lifted Petunia’s obedient hoof and removed the first scalpel on the ground, flying it back over to Miss Grace and tucking itself back into her vest pocket while wrapped in her green magic, but there was still a second faint green glow coming from underneath the nervous trainer. “Commander?”
While Peaks grumbled, Petunia held his frozen position, fully aware of just how firmly the scalpel was being held and how even though Grace had turned partially towards his commanding officer, her cool green eyes never once left his face, maintaining the same expressionless cold gaze she had directed at him after he had attacked her fellow police officer.
“Next! Miss Rose Petal.” The knife that had been tucked underneath Sergeant Petunia in a very sensitive place between the seams of his armor levitated back out and tucked itself back into Miss Grace’s vest pocket as the police officer turned to return to her place behind the observation line and Petunia finally took a much-needed breath.
Miss Rose Petal seemed to be a much less dangerous opponent, looking somewhat frumpy and middle-aged, with the glint of gold around her horn advertising the fact that there was a Mister somewhere in her life. She had a smooth magenta coat, dark enough to almost be considered burgundy, with little hints of pale pink curls peeking through the bottom of her padded training helmet, and he managed to catch a glimpse of her cutie mark while she was arranging herself and getting situated.
I suppose a question mark for a cutie mark would be useful for a police officer. I’ll just have to send her back where she can put it to best use.
It felt a little uncomfortable when the polite unicorn mare stepped forward and nodded with a friendly smile, causing him to respond in kind.
“Are you prepared, Sergeant?” bellowed Commander Peaks.
“Yes, Commander,” replied both Petunia and Rose at the same instant, with a mutually embarrassed look at each other.
“So, you’re a sergeant too?” asked Rose, with a soft smile. “How long have you had your stripes?”
“Over a year now,” said Sergeant Petunia, settling into a combat crouch and passing the knife back and forth between forehooves. “Shouldn’t we be fighting?”
“You can do whenever you want, Sergeant. I’m just talking here. What you do is entirely your own choice.”
“Oh.” Petunia hesitated, looking at the middle-aged mare’s smiling face.
“Your wife must have been very proud of you, making Sergeant. Any children?”
“Actually I’m not married. Never have been.”
“Now that’s a shame. I would think the mares would be all over a stallion in uniform like you.”
“Actually.... I’m really supposed to be stabbing you.”
“But you don’t really want to do that, now do you? I mean it’s part of your job, but it’s not anything you really enjoy. Why don’t you just put down the knife and we can talk? Just for a little while.”
“Okay. I suppose.” Petunia sat the knife down on the sandy training floor and watched in fascination as Rose’s pink magic caused it to skitter away to one side.
“Commander Peaks, is that sufficient, or do you need him in hoofcuffs too?” Miss Rose Petal levitated a set of hoofcuffs in front of the mesmerized stallion and jingled them. “I can have him put them on, but that’s a little beyond our exercise tonight.”
“Huh?” Commander Peaks shook himself awake and scowled at his trainer, who continued to stare blindly forward. “No, you win the round. Wake him up.”
It took quite a while for the real world to seem real again, and Rose checked his reflexes and eyes twice before apologizing for the deception and returning to her spot behind the observation line. He stomped each hoof once to settle his armored shoes and scooped up the knife again, turning to watch as Miss Banehammer trundled out onto the training floor. For some reason, the older earth pony mare had retained her municipal guard jacket and wore it over the top of her training pads. It was somewhat odd behavior, but he supposed she might have just been a little chilly out in the evening air. After all, there were flecks of grey in her muzzle, and her relatively thin mane had been trimmed back to a mere suggestion of dark red bristles down the back of her neck. She rotated each forehoof around once with low popping noises, finally looking up at Sergeant Petunia with a solemn nod and a terse “Ready.”
Sergeant Petunia shifted the knife from one wrist to another nervously. For an earth pony mare, Miss Banehammer was a little on the portly side, and a lot on the older side, most certainly within a few years of retirement plus or minus if the occasional grey hairs in her brown coat were any indication. He was used to facing snot-nosed colts with everything to prove, but facing mares who looked a lot like his mother, or in this case his grandmother, was more than a little disconcerting. Commander Peaks had given him quite specific instructions not to hold anything back in this exercise, and despite trying his hardest, he had been thoroughly thumped three times out of three now by mares! There was no way he was going zero for four. Grandma was going down, and hard.
“Are you going to attack me vit dat itty bitty knife, or is you falling asleep und need your baby bottle?”
“I’ll show you bottle,” snarled Petunia, lunging forward with the knife headed straight for the earth pony mare’s throat. Miss Banehammer seemed to compress as she squatted backwards, bringing one foreleg up to intercept the knife stroke in a circular motion that deflected the blow to the outside even as the blade caught on her tough municipal guard uniform sleeve. With a massive heave, what Petunia had mistaken for fat turned out to be muscle as she trapped his foreleg in a crushing grip and throw, making the world seem to rotate around him in a blur before coming up to smash into his back. Some small voice in the back of his mind took great joy in pointing out the effort the mare had made to avoid dropping him on top of his head even while he gasped for breath at the stunning impact that sprayed sparks in all directions as the enchantments of the armor kicked in to keep him from breaking his spine.
And then the iron grip she had maintained on his foreleg shifted.
There was a loud pop and the sound of somepony screaming while his leg was pulled behind his neck in a direction it was not supposed to bend. A loud gruff voice in his ear brought his screaming to an abrupt stop as it commanded, "You haff de right to remain silent, but if you haff any brains, you've going to tell me where you got dot knife, or I'll dislocate your odder shoulder."
“Steelhead in the armory made it for me, custom! I swear!” Tears poured down his face and into the sand as his foreleg was raised another fraction of an inch and one huge steel-clad hoof descended on the fallen knife blade, snapping it in half.
“Any odder veapons on you?”
“Garrotte in the neckpiece of the armor and a shock crystal in the left front shoe! That’s it! No more!” Rough hooves stripped him of the remaining weapons including the enchanted charged crystal in his armored shoe before a set of cuffs was slapped onto his hooves and he landed on the ground with a thud.
“Hold still. Dis is going to hurt.” Strong hooves gave a sharp yank to his foreleg and the agonizing pain in his shoulder went mostly away, giving him a full view of the grinning older mare. “Dot vas fun. You vant to go two falls out off tree?”
“No, Ma’am,” he managed to whimper.
“Darn. Ho vell. Hey Grace, you vant to give Junior here some help vit dat shoulder?”