As the title says, I'm looking for an editor/proofreader for a Fallout Equestria one-shot. Now I know this isn't a FoE group, but I'm looking specifically for someone with a military background as the story concerns a very militarized faction within the Equestrian wasteland (the Enclave, to be precise).

They story is currently just under 10K words. It follows a skytank crew during the opening events of Operation Cauterize, told from the perspective of an E-3 named Skiff.

I'm looking more for help maintaining a good pace and flow than stuff like grammar, as well as someone who's been in the military longer than me (half a year now). Also, ideally, someone willing to read and edit clop.

I can't post a link because of those new stupid "no clop links" rule, but here's an excerpt. Keep in mind, that this is very much only a rough draft:

It happened during lunch the very next day.

The ship’s galley was both noisy and smelly, we could thank out shitbag culinary specialists for the latter. They could make some decent food, but on most days—like today—the food was garbage.

Masher made a face as he stuck a spoonful of rice into his maw, quickly spitting it back out on his plate. I had at least had the decency to spit into a napkin after my first bite.

“Yep,” I commented, stirring the small white specks about with my fork, “Today’s one of the days when the CS’s say: ‘hey, I’ve got a wonderful, fucking idea!’” I began as Masher pawed at his tongue, “‘How about we take all our salt, and I mean fucking all of it, and add it to the rice!’”

“Mm-hm,” Masher, spat again.

It was then that the 1MC squawked to life: “General quarters, general quarters! All hooves, mount your battle stations!”

“Fucking shit!” the pony next to me, another crewpony, choked on his drink as we all hopped to our hooves and rushed off as the announcement repeated.

“The fuck is going on!?” someone rushing with us cried out.

“Not a fucking clue!” I shouted back.

Somewhere deep down in the bowels of our ship, the engine thrummed to life.

“Hey! Hey! You guys hear!?” a mare that joined us from a branching p-way called as she joined our rush, “They balefired the Diarch! Fucking killed all hooves on board!”

“No! No fucking way!” a buck behind me sobbed, “my brother was on that ship!”

“Who!? Who fucking did it!?” Masher snarled from beside me.

“Nopony knows, think it was some slaver terrorist on the surface or something. In any case Harbinger was on board, from what I hear, we’re going to fucking war!”

***

Senior Chief Air Sergeant Icy Blitz called muster for our division. Chief Whisper had to join her snarling shouts with his before the hushed hubbub was silenced.

“Fucking thank you, Chief,” he addressed Whisper, then turned his eyes to the rest of us, “I’m sure all you stupid fuckers have questions! Shut the flying fuck up and I’ll fucking answer them, capice!?” he glared about as we gave him our undivided attention, “Nearly an hour ago, we get sensor reading that some fucker on the ground lit off a fucking balefire bomb, right beneath the Diarch—”

“Senior Chief! Please tell me there were—” some dumbass in the back began to cry out.

“Hey, how about you lock it the fuck up before I pound your ass into a fucking paste, you fuck!” Senior Chief Blitz butted back in, “We don’t fucking know if there were any survivors, but we’ve got ships going in to check it the fuck out. In any case, the council’s deciding what the fuck to do, and we’re officially on FPCON fucking Delta. Colonel wants us on two minute standby until further notice, so get your lot of scrawny, fucking asses to the hangar and get those tanks prepped! Fall the fuck out!”

***

It didn’t take long to get to the hangar, different crew teams heading to their respective vehicles. Ours was further forwards, a Type VIII Model B, designated the “Harrier.” It was a dedicated combat variant with a hundred millimeter cannon mounted on the top and BaWS—Beam-emitter Weapon System—banks on all sides. Her internal compartment was more crammed with the energy cells and fire control computers. She could fit eight ponies maximum, giving the four of us just enough space to be comfortable.

Masher slapped the controls and the rear door open with a hydraulic hum. He stepped forwards, inserting his wings into the driver’s control slots and starting up our tank. Just ahead of me, Breeze strapped herself into the seat facing the BaWS emitter controls while I took my seat at the controls for the cannon.

Chief Whisper stepped aboard with a signature glare, looking over all of us as she moved to the commander’s periscope. After a few short seconds a soft hum sounded off as our engine started up, lifting with a hiss as clouds were formed beneath us.

“Driver, online,” Masher reported, “Propulsion good, hydraulics good…” he began to read off.

“BaWS online,” Breeze said. I heard a soft whirring from outside as she toyed with the emitter banks, aiming them about before checking different readouts, “We’re cold, but everything checks out.”

“Keep us cold, don’t want any blue on blue,” Whisper said, “Gunner?”

That was me.

I finished strapping myself in, inserting my wings into their own slots and setting a hoof against the firing lever. With a few hoof taps I had my own screen lit, a louder whir sounding as I twisted my wings and saw the view pan around, “Gunner online, cold, all’s well,” I said, flipping through my filters. The electro-optical camera was working fine, the night vision gave me a blinded, green screen, and the infrared gave me inverted white- and black-hot images before I went back to EO. With a few taps I confirmed my fire control systems were operating normally.

“Roger, all online, all good,” Whisper called back, before tapping at her earpiece and reporting in that we were ready. Around the hangar bay, different tanks and chariot craft were hovering in place, weapons moving about as their controllers tested them.

Now, we played the waiting game.

***

We were relaxed back to five minute standby by the time our specific orders were finally passed down. The Overcast was headed to the Everfree forest. While intelligence seemed unable to make up their mind (as it seemed they always did), they assessed that the destruction of Diarch was likely due to the ground pounder known as Red Eye.

His citadel in the Everfree forest was our target.

Any questions? Any takers?

<Hoo-yah!)