//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: From the Skies We Shall Reign // by HollywoodMarine //------------------------------// Brouge 0530 Standard Time (13 hours after first contact) Fire Storm awoke groggily to the sound of hoof steps around her cot. She tried to ignore the noise and attempted to curl back up to go to sleep, but was unsuccessful in that regard. Cursing softly to herself she slowly shook the thin blanket off of her and fanned her wings, yawning loudly. After a quick preen to get her feathers aligned, she quickly donned her armor, starting with the plated barding that went over her back and chest. She rolled her shoulders, trying to get the armor to settle comfortably. Next came the light bracers on her front and rear legs. She then strapped on her wing blades and gave a few experimental flaps to make sure the fastenings would not come undone. Finally she threw on her helmet completing the everyday ritual of gearing up. Satisfied that everything was in order, she began the short walk from the guard barracks in the citadel down the spiraling staircase to the room where the “human” was being kept; eyes from passing legionaries followed her the entire way down. Everypony knew about the special guest they had in the citadel at this point, and rumors spread like wildfire after it became common knowledge that she and Lance Point were assigned to watch over it like mother hens. Ignoring the smirks and whispers directed at her she quickly made it to the door to the human’s cell. After fishing the key out of her satchel, she knocked on the door three times and entered. She immediately looked for Lance Point and found her to be standing near the door eyes locked onto something with a confused look on her face. Fire Storm followed her gaze until she saw what her partner was staring at. The human only had the garment covering his rear legs on. He was lying down on the floor, had his rear hooves pushed up against the bottom of the small bed, and his legs were bent. His weird appendages on his fore limbs were interlocked behind his head, and he was repeatedly drawing his torso upwards until it reached his knees, giving a rhythmic and forceful exhale each time before throwing himself back to the ground. She slowly brought her gaze back to Lance Point before raising a questioning eyebrow. Lance point finally tore her gaze away from their charge, before answering the unasked question. “Don’t look at me; I have no clue what he’s doing,” She dead panned, turning her eyes back to the human she grumbled tiredly. “He’s been at it ever since he woke up.” “And when was that?” Fire Storm asked, quickly shuffling around her until they were side by side, allowing both of them to watch him. “It was about…..” “15 minutes ago, “interrupted the human. He was currently in the upwards position of his weird routine and had turned his head to look at both of them. “Now if ya’ll would kindly shut up I would appreciate it. Ya’ll are fuckin’ with my concentration.” He smirked before returning to… whatever it was he was doing. Fire storm snorted angrily before storming over to her charge. “First of all,” She began, sticking her head directly in the humans face while he was lying on his back. “You don’t get to talk to us that way; you are a prisoner so act like it for once. And secondly…” She fumbled for words, “… just what in the hay are you doing!?” The human stared at her for a bit, his mouth turned upwards in a ghost of a smirk, before chuckling and slowly extracting his lower limbs from under the bed. As he began to stand up Fire Storm took a few steps back and went to stand by Lance Point again, where she then resumed glaring at him. Fire Storm opened her mouth to continue giving the human a piece of her mind, when he placed his forelimbs on his lower back and produced an alarmingly loud set of cracking noises. After grabbing his neck and repeating the same set of disturbing sounds, he promptly collapsed onto the bed. His torso and head supported on the wall, with his upper limbs folded across his chest and lower limbs splayed out on beneath him. “They’re called sit-ups, if you must know,” He stated, closing his eyes and yawning. “Gota keep in shape while I’m stuck in here.” He cracked one eye open and looked at the two of them his smirk growing. He unfolded his forelimbs and patted his stomach. “It’s imperative to tone the abs whenever you can, gota impress the ladies somehow, If you know… my witty charm doesn’t wrangle m’ in first.” Lance Point snorted and Fire Storm simply rolled her eyes. Biting back a smart retort, Fire Storm then turned to face Lance Point and told her to go get morning chow for the three of them. As soon as Fire Storm heard the lock secure behind her she turned her gaze back to the human who was looking awkwardly around the small room and twiddling his front appendages. When his eyes drifted across hers he cleared his throat and began, “Soooo……” “Nope,” she stated eyes boring into the human’s, “Like I said last night you’re not getting chummy with me or Lance Point, not after what you put us through yesterday.” The humans eyes turned downcast and his expression became somber. “You know, I am a little sorry about that spat last night. Well, more accurately, I’m not sorry about my actions, I’m sorry you got stuck with guard duty, no one likes that shit.” He sat up and swung his back legs over the edge of the bed. “You gotta see it from my perspective though. Yall two scared the living piss outa me when you came bursting into the room. I had no armor, I was fucking naked, I had no clue what you were, and the first thing yall did was charge me.” His look gained a hard edge, “But, yall are warriors same as me, you know you woulda had the exact same reaction I had. I fought to preserve myself from an unknown threat.” Fire Storm said nothing and continued to glare at the human, slowly mulling over what he said in her head. The more she thought about it; however, the more she saw he had a point and her visage started to soften. The human….err…. Durrant, unable to hear the internal conflict going on in her head, slowly sucked in air through his teeth and let it out in a huff. “You know what, forget it. You and your buddy want to ignore me and just stand there for hours on end, that’s chill with me. I just gota put up with yall till I can get home.” He then slid off the bed, got into an …. interesting position on the floor and started lifting himself up and down with his forelimbs Fire Storm sighed deeply and mumbled to herself, “You know what, fuck it.” She then slowly walked over to Durrant and asked, “So what are you doing now?” Durrant stopped in his motions and looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Huh, now the big bad guard wants to converse with little ol’ me?” Fire Storm’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “If you keep this act up, I’ll show you what a ‘big bad guard’ can do, when I jam my hoof up your plot hole.” Durrant curled his legs up underneath his chest then rolled back into a sitting position, raising his forelimbs in placating gesture. “Now, now, no need to jam anything up there. I’m still an exit only asshole thank you very much.” His eyes turned upwards and his head cocked to the side, “Though the green weenie might beg to differ.” Fire Storms face scrunched up, “What….” Durrant chuckled and shook his head, “It’s nothing, just some military jargon from back home.” He stopped laughing and looked at her again. “And to answer your question from before, what I was doing was an exercise called push-ups. Works the muscles in the arms and back.” “So why are you exercising in a cell?” “It gives me something to do,” he replied shrugging his shoulders, “SERE 101 for crap to keep your mind occupied while in captivity.” He laughed again stood up. “You know, this little back and forth is good, breaking down cultural barriers and shit.” Fire Storm shook her head and walked back over near the door, tail flicking in irritation, “I’m not even going to ask.” It was then that Lance Point rapped on the door and entered, carrying 3 steaming bowls of oatmeal, a few apples, and a flagon of water. She placed one set of food in the middle of the room, eyeing Durrant warily, before retreating over to Fire Storm and hoofing her over a portion. As Durrant walked over and sat down next to the food, Lance Point turned to her partner and asked, “Anything happen while I was gone?” As Fire Storm opened her mouth to answer, Durrant interrupted them yet again. “Yeah,” he stated almost unintelligibly through a mouthful of oatmeal, “Your buddy kept eye-fucking me while I was working out.” He swallowed, put on an obviously fake concerned expression, and placed a forelimb on his chest. “And I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’m only into chicks with black hair, and nice asses.” He turned to Lance Point and smiled, “Speaking of which, what are you doing this weekend, cause my schedule has absolutely nothing in it for the foreseeable future.” Lance Point’s Jaw dropped and she turned to attempt to restrain her friend from knocking the shit-talking humans block off, when she saw that Fire Storm wasn’t doing anything of the sort. She had her foreleg covering her mouth and she was barely keeping snorts and bouts of laughter from slipping out. Lance Point couldn’t believe her eyes as she looked back and forth between her friend, who had now slipped into a deep belly laugh, and the human who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Fire Storm finally composed herself and walked over to the human and sat down in front of him. “Oh goddesses, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I needed that.” She chuckled again. “Not in a million years did I ever think I’d hear that kind of talk out of a guy.” She then gave his shoulder a slight nudge from her hoof. “You just might turn out to be alright in my book.” “We got off on the wrong hoof yesterday, how about we start over.” She then stuck out her right hoof, offering it to him. “My names Private First Class Fire Storm.” Durrant gave a genuine smile, grabbed her hoof and shook it. “Sergeant Michael Durrant.” He formed another smirk and said, “Now hopefully I won’t have to put you in another head lock.” “Pshhhh, you got lucky the first time.” She turned her head over to Lance Point, who was still standing by the door in shock. “ Hey Lance, close your mouth before somepony plants their tail in it.” Lance Point snapped her mouth shut with an audible click and shook her head. She then strode forward and sat down next to Fire Storm while muttering, “I can’t fucking believe it.” Under her breath. She did the same as Fire Storm and stuck her hoof out, “Private First Class Lance Point.” Durrant repeated the motion, “Nice ta meet’cha.” All three of them then went back to wolfing down their morning chow before Durrant piped up. “So to break the ice a bit,” he stated, “Let’s be boot as fuck and swap some bootcamp stories.” Noticing the confused looks he was getting from both of them, he cleared his throat. “You know, some interesting or funny stories from training?” Still nothing. “Come on, its common ground across all militaries. Ya’ll are PFCs right? Ya’ll should be jumping at the attempt to shoot the shit with a sergeant.” Lance Point deadpanned. “I don’t understand half of what you just said, but I think you’re asking for stories from when we were in Militum Disciplina? Right?” “Sure, let’s go with that,” Durrant grinned and took a large bite of an apple. “Funny shit always happens around recruits because their all half retarded.” He waved his forelimbs in a circular motion. “Come on now, I can tell you got a good one.” “Yeah I do. Hey Storm, you remember the time Razor Wind left her shield lying in the dirt right?” Fire Storms eyes widened, “Oh Hay yeah.” Durrant raised a fore limb, “Hold on there, are shields standard issue? Cause you two don’t have em’?” Fire Storm shook her head, “Nah, only the front rankers have them. They lead a bit ahead of the main body while in the charge or on the dive attack. They are supposed to screen and protect the legionaries behind them. You know, block incoming fire. It’s seen as an extremely honorable position, because you’re protecting your sisters beside you and the rest of the army behind you. The shields themselves are almost held to a sacred regard, for they have been enchanted to stop magic. Not everypony is chosen to be one, but we all get the basic training for the proper techniques and formations.” Durrant scratched his head, “Well all right then, get on with the story then. What happened to your buddy?” Lance Point cleared her throat and settled in to tell her tale. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Like I was saying before, Razor Wind had neglected her shield. Somehow she had allowed it to lie outside her grasp, facedown, untended on the ground with its concave edges pointing towards the sky. Our instructor, Staff Sergeant Cloud Walker, stood in front of her. “What is this I see in the dirt before me?” she roared. The recruits from all around the training field could hear every syllable by this point. “It must be a chamber pot, with its bowl peeking up so daintily.” “Is it a chamber pot?” She demanded of Razor Wind. She answered no. “Then what the hay is it?” “It is a shield Ma’am.” Cloud Walker declared this impossible. “It can’t be a shield, I’m certain of that.” Her voice carried powerfully around the emptiness of the field. “Because not even the dumbest flank-fucked shit-worm of a legionnaire would leave a shield lying face down where she couldn’t snatch it up in an instant when the enemy came upon her” She towered over the mortified filly. “It is a chamber pot,” Cloud Walker declared. “Fill it.” Razor was so scared and dehydrated from the all day training exercise, that she didn’t move a muscle. Now a second factor entered the equation. This was the tendency among the young fillies in training, those who were not for the moment, the object of their superiors’ rage, to convulse with perverse glee at the misery of whatever luckless friend now found herself under the merciless ministrations of the instructors. Up and down the line of all of us, teeth sank into tongues seeking to suppress this fear inspired hilarity. One filly named Sky Rise, couldn’t contain herself. A snort escaped her clamped jaws. Cloud Walker turned on her in fury. Now Sky Rise had two brothers, both of which we Cyrinians call “two-lookers,” meaning they were so handsome that one look was not sufficient, you had to look twice to appreciate them. Cloud Walker asked Sky Rise if she thought it was funny. “No Ma’am,” the filly replied. “If you think this is funny, wait till you get into combat. “You’ll think that’s hysterical.” “No Ma’am.” “Oh yes you will. You’ll be giggling like your goddam brothers.” She advanced a pace nearer. “Is that what you think war is, you fucking come-spot?” “No Ma’am.” Cloud Walker pressed her face inches from the filly’s, glowering into her eyes with a look of blistering malice. “Tell me. Which do you think will be the bigger laugh: when you take an enemy magical blast eighteen inches up the plot hole, or when your flank-for brains friend Razor Wind takes one?” “Neither Ma’am.” Sky Rise’s face was stone. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you? That’s the real reason you’re laughing. You’re so fucking happy it wasn’t you I singled out.” “No Ma’am.” “What you’re not afraid of me?” Cloud Walker demanded to know which it was. Because if Sky Rise was afraid of her, then she was a coward. And if she wasn’t, she was reckless and ignorant, which was even worse. “Which is it, you miserable mound of shit? Because you’d better fucking well be afraid of me. I’ll go get one of your brothers and force him to jam his dick in your right ear, pull it out your left and fill that chamber pot right up.” Cloud Walker then strapped a pair of dull training wing blades onto herself. “Form up!” Cloud Walker bellowed. We formed up in a line formation. She had us all lay their shields, defamed, face down in the dirt, exactly as Razor Wind had done. “Shields, port!” We lunged for our heavy, grounded shields. As we did, Cloud Walker lashed at Razor Winds face with one of her wing blades. Blood sprung. She swatted the next filly, and the next until the fifth at last wrestled her unwieldy shield off of the ground and up into place to defend herself. She made us do it again and again and again. Starting at one end of the line, then the other, then the middle. Cloud Walker continued to administer her little “lesson”. “This is hilarious, isn’t it?” She demanded of us. “I’m beside myself, aren’t you? I can hardly wait to see combat, which will be even more fun.” We all knew what was coming next. Tree fucking When Cloud Walker had tired of torturing us here, she would have some of the junior instructors march us over to the edge of the field, to a large ancient oak, and order us, in formation, to push the tree down with our shields, just how, if we were assigned as front rankers, we would be the first to smash against the enemy in battle. We would take station in ranks eight deep , the shield of each pressed into the flank of the one in front of us, with the leading filly’s shield mashed by their combined weight and pressure against the oak. We would push We would strain We would fuck that tree for all we were worth. Our hooves would churn the dirt, heaving and straining until a rut had been excavated fetlock deep, while we crushed each other hurling and grinding into that unmovable trunk. When the one at the front could take no more, she would assume the position of the rearmost and the second filly would move up. Two hours of this and Cloud Walker would probably casually return, perhaps with some other instructors. They would observe with shock and disbelief that the tree was still standing. “By the Gods, these horn-strokers have been at it half the watch and that pitiful little sapling is still right where it was!” Now masculinity would be added to the list of our crimes. It was un-thinkable that we be allowed to return to the barracks while this tree yet defied us; such failure would disgrace our mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all the gods and heroines of our line; who would hang their heads in shame and have to slink off to Dawnstar or some other flank-split city where mares were mares and knew how to put out a respectable fucking. The tree was the enemy Fuck the enemy On it would go, into an all-night drill. Our bodies shattered utterly from exhaustion, and then, when dawn at last brought clemency and reprieve, we would fall in for another full day of training without a minutes sleep. This torment, we knew now as we stood under Cloud Walkers face-lashing, was yet to come. This was what we had to look forward to. By this point just about every snout in formation was crooked. Every one of our faces was a sheet of blood. Cloud Walker was just taking a breath (she had tired out her wings with all the swatting) when Razor Wind thoughtlessly reached with a fore leg to the side of her blood-begrimed face. “What do you think you’re doing, flank-fuck?” Cloud Walker turned instantly upon her. “Wiping the blood, Ma’am.” “What are you doing that for?” “So I can see, Ma’am.” “Who the fuck told you that you had a right to see?” Cloud Walker continued her blistering mockery. Did Razor Wind really think that in combat she would be allowed to pause and wipe her face? That must be it. Razor would call out to the enemy and they would halt politely for a moment, so she could pluck a nose-nugget from her nostril or wipe a dingleberry from her flank. “I ask you again, is this a chamber pot?” “No Ma’am. It is my shield.” Again one of Cloud Walkers wing blades blasted her across the face. “My?” She demanded furiously. “My?” Razor seemed to summon her composure, rally all of her senses. She stepped forward shield at high port. She straightened to attention before Cloud Walker and enunciated in her loudest, clearest voice the Legion Oath.” Cloud Walker nodded, satisfied. She barked an order. We resumed formation, each now with our shield in proper place, upright against our left side. “Shields, port!” We lunged for the shields. Cloud Walker swung her wing blades. With a crack that could be heard across the training grounds, the dull blade struck the enchanted plating of Razor Wind’s shield. Cloud Walker swung again, at the next filly, and the next. All shields were in place. The line protected. With a nod to the junior insructors, Cloud Walker stepped back. We held fast at attention, shields at high port, with the blood beginning to cake dry on our empurpled cheekbones and shattered snouts. Cloud Walker repeated her order to the juniors that these horn-stroking daughters of slatterns would do tree-fucking until the dawn. She walked down the line, meeting each of our eyes. Before Razor Wind, she halted. “Your snout was too long and pretty. It was a stallion’s snout.” She unstrapped the wing blades and tossed them into the dirt at her hooves. “I like it better now.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Durrant stared dumbfounded at the two of them. “Hoooolyyyy Fuck! That’s one of the most motivating ,bad ass bootcamp story I have ever heard.” Both Fire Storm and Lance Point beamed proudly at the praise. “Damn, and I thought I had a good one, but It doesn’t compare to that shit.” “Awwwww, “Fire Storm cooed, “Is sompony upset cause we’re harder than they are? I mean you are a guy, not much competition there.” “Hey,” Durrant retorted pointing one of his….. ‘thingys’ at her, “All combat personnel where I come from are guys, chica.” “Yeah,” Lance Point stated nonchalantly, tilting her head towards Fire Storm, “Like she said, no competition.” “Well fuck you too, I don’t even want to take you out anymore.” Durrant shot back, a large smirk plastered across his face.” Both Fire Storm and Lance Point got a chuckle out of that. “So how about it then?” Lance Point asked, “I told you our most memorable experience, what about you?” Durrant reached up and scratched his head. “Well, like I said I don’t have anything that was to that magnitude, but I have one that’s pretty funny.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So there was this big dude in my platoon. Guy’s name was Ortiz. Big dude, lots of muscle, but dumb as a bag of hammers. He was the platoon fuck-up, this kid could do nothing right. He couldn’t march, couldn’t shoot straight, could remember any of the knowledge we were required to know. You name it this guy would fuck it up somehow. Now I forget what Ortiz did to bring the anger of all of our drill instructors to a rolling boil, but needless to say it was big. Actually, now that I think of it. I think he was the retard that lost his rifle out in the field. Now IT is called incentive training. It’s what the drill instructor’s use when recruits fuck up to get it into our thick skulls that we probably shouldn’t do whatever we just did, again. It usually involves a lot of physical exercise to the point of throwing up, lot’s of yelling, screaming and spitting, and getting the ever living shit beat out of us. Needless to say Ortiz was being IT’d by all of our instructors at this point. And they even brought him into the whisky locker, (a big vault like room, where different equipment is stored), and gave him a little personal time. We were all on line getting ready to hit the rack, when he finally emerged from the locker on his hands and knees, dripping in sweat and blood and bruises everywhere you could imagine. One of our instructors, SGT Hernandez, picked him up by the scruff of the neck and roared at him. “You are a fucking disgrace to this Platoon, you fucking cum-guzzling shit stain.” He threw Ortiz to the ground and stood over him, “You don’t even deserve to sleep with the rest of these rejects.” He then pointed to the deck above us, “You are going to gather up your shit and you’re going to go sleep on 50’s deck. You’re their problem for the night, because if I have to see your slack-jawed ass mug for one more second I might snap and pull your spine out through your ass crack!” Ortiz let out a weak, “Yes Sir.” Before he crawled over to his and began to gather up his belongings into a sea-bag. The drill instructors refused to look at him, until he had finished stuffing his shit into the bag. Afterwards SSGT Grom marched his ass up to third deck where platoon 3250 was billeted. Now the rest of the night went on pretty normally. Untill my turn came for fire-watch duty. It was the middle of the night and I was standing on front post, when I heard a commotion going on upstairs. I stuck my head out the window just in time to see something fly past out of the corner of my eye. The object I saw was Ortiz, and he then proceeded to hit the ground with a bone-shattering crack, where He then began to scream bloody fucking murder cause both his legs were broken. At this point almost everybody is awake and looking out the windows trying to find out what’s going on and a couple of drill instructors were beginning to form a circle around Ortiz. SSGT Hernandez busted out of the duty hut and sprinted outside in nothing but his fucking skivvies and a campaign cover. As soon as he makes it over to the circle all I hear come screaming out of SSGT Hernandez’s mouth is, “You fucking pussy Ortiz, you can’t even kill yourself right. If you wanted to commit you would have jumped fucking head first!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fire Storm was the first to speak. “I don’t know what you were talking about Durrant. That’s almost nearly as fucked up as Lance’s and mine’s story.” “What happened to him?” Lance Point asked Durrant shrugged his shoulders, “He was probably kicked out of the Marine Corps, I never saw him after that morning. The corps don’t like to keep dudes who can’t handle the stress. I mean come on, a little yelling and a beating or two is nothing compared to actual battle.” “Here, here.” Lance Point agreed. They then quickly gathered up all the plates and the water flagon and Fire Storm placed them on her back to take them back to the kitchens. As she was leaving the room, however, Durrant made one last quip. “Yo, while your out could you get me some smokes?”