The Inconveniencing Adventures of a Washout Kicker

by IC1s5

4

Thunder closed his eyes and breathed in the burning dust. From atop this tower the entire desert stretched to the horizon. Granted, this was not the most coveted posting, but that didn’t matter. At the tip of the spear where he belonged, like a proper Kicker. Even if he had to put up with the inglorious reputation and exasperating composition of the Long Patrol, it was worth it to be out here.

Then again, being a Kicker meant sacrifice. If the guard wanted you to have a filly, they would have issued you one. Thunder always prided himself at his readiness to follow his duty, though from time to time he did wish he was a bit less busy. Sacrifice: the Kicker family’s cardinal attribute. But never mind that, now.

He was delighted to learn that the civilian embeds were adjusting well to the life of a pony at the distant fringes of Equestria. Both had separated into their respective tasks, Spray searching for interesting things to draw, Velvet on a fanatical hunt to know everything about everything.

Twilight Velvet had been fobbed off an a cheery young lieutenant named Bright Star. He shepherded her around the fort, and she bombarded him with questions highly esoteric and technical, for beyond the knowledge of a lieutenant who merely wanted to serve out his commission at Fort Lancer and be transferred somewhere more salubrious to his career. Poor mare almost died when she saw what passed for a library at the base: a couple of trashy novels and a small stack of well perused magazines about matters beyond the scope of her research or good taste.

If Bright Star was unavailable, some poor second lieutenant took his place. Already there were grumblings around the fort that being saddled with her was second only to a hot date with Nightmare Moon in terms of desirability.

Spray was standing close by, taking in the fort and the local environment. Studying the texture and the colour of the sand and how it changed as the wind blew over it; studying the interaction between light and shadow, and how the light flowed over the contours of the fort. Sketching like a man pony the geometry of the fort, contrasting with the geography around them.

Thunder believed he was beginning to understand how his nephew saw the world: the fort was located on the top of a small hill close to red rocky hills in the distance. Where they met the sky it appeared to be where the blue colour was at it’s most concentrated, standing in contrast to the hills and the beige sands that ran from their feet to the fort. In swatches, wherever there was a muddy spring or a trap for the infrequent rain, hideous green plants found a toehold and prospered.

Really, Thunder thought, I’d ought to be taking lessons from him. I have no doubt he would be eager to teach me.

Beneath them, in the courtyard, ponies were drilling. Drilling was constant at Fort Lancer. Trying to whip the delinquents into shape, trying to squeeze some effort out of the hopeless cases. The long patrols along the West Desert Beam would come as a welcome change to the groaning under sadistic and indifferent lieutenants. Twilight Velvet was down there, in the shelter of the arcade that ran along the outside of the courtyard, scribbling furiously. She had a very refined sense of perception, catching on to what the tortured ponies craved: good food, enough sleep, cider enough to drown in, sex good enough to cause heart failure.

They cursed their misfortune to be banished to this place---and for good reason. The San Paolomino was wild, and deeply resented any attempt to make it conform. Just as the Everfree endlessly encroached into Equestria proper, the San Paolomino stood, folded it’s arms in front of it’s chest and arrogantly challenged anypony to try and make it behave.

Still, some strategic weather manipulation was probably in order. The pegasus ponies assigned to such a task made the area around the fort bearable, but lately missions over the Dusty river had become slack, almost nonexistent. Thunder was going to have to request a change in attitude towards that. Nothing urgent, it was just cloudy today...but the San Paolomino enjoyed toying with it’s victims.

“Commander Thunder?” A pony had ran up to him, snapping to attention.

“Message, sir.”

The pony reached into his saddlebag and pulled it out with his mouth. Thunder accepted it, tearing open the envelope. His eyes narrowed.

“Olive Branch has called a meeting. Thirteen hundred.”

Thunder nodded. “Understood.”

Thunder walked over to Spray. Spray was studying the distant rolling mountains where, on still and clear nights, a tiny dot of light could be seen, mocking the marooned ponies with the remote glories of Canterlot.

“How’s it going?” Thunder asked.

“Excellent,” his nephew replied. He showed Thunder his sketchbook. Drawings of ponies at attention, bored out of their skulls, or at rest, slunk against the walls of the fort.

“Fantastic. I’m glad you’re making use of your time here.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Spray said. “How about you?”

“Superb,” Thunder said. “The situation has...changed, I’m afraid.”

Spray looked concerned. The papers were full of disapproving editorials, but not supporting all out war. The papers here were usually several days out of date, though. Goodness knew what sea change had happened in public opinion since yesterday.

“No, don’t worry,” Thunder explained. “Mostly it’s command in Canterlot deciding to make more work for us, although...the Royal Guard will be joining us.”

“That’s bad?”

Thunder shrugged. “From the outside, the Guard is a well oiled machine, all of it’s branches working in harmony. The reality is...something I glad you have been spared.”

“So, we’re not talking the Elements of Harmony, here?”

“Disharmony is our profession,” Thunder laughed. “I really hoped to make it our unit’s motto.”

Ah, those days for when he was as young as his nephew! Fillies practically throwing themselves at him...Dear Celestia, he was feeling his age. What had kept him from coming out here sooner?

“There’s a briefing later today. It’s not classified. You’re welcome to attend.”

Spray thought it over for a moment. He shrugged. He could draw everything here so many times.

“That’s the spirit,” Thunder said. “March head held high into the valley of death like a good Kicker...or at least, the gulch of stultifying boredom.”

#

Velvet and Spray were afterthoughts, lined against the back of the room. It felt like they were foals during a Heartswarming Eve banquet, relegated to a table far from the adults, lost in their own conversation. A large table dominated the room’s middle, and a map was tacked to the front wall. Officer ponies were lining the table, focused on Olive Branch. A few had become familiar to them---Bright Star and Star Fall. The rest were phantoms.

“Thank you for coming,” Olive Branch said.

“Hey, you owe me for interrupting my very satisfying tedium,” a pony called from the back of the table. There were some laughs.

Olive Branch chuckled. “Sorry. Pleasure before work.”

His horn glowed as a pointer raised off of the table. He pulled back the cover of the map and began to walk along the front of it.

“For the past two months, attempted incursions along the West Desert Beam have increased,” Olive explained. He dragged the pointer along the edge of a dotted black line, where a thin blue line met a jagged brown squiggle.

“As water right negotiations between Equestrian and the Silver nation are not progressing to any tangible conclusion, the Silver nation has stepped up their activity around the Dusty river valley with the intent of seizing it by force. Continued Equestrian settlement of the region would be in doubt if that happened.”

Velvet understood that the Dusty river had been settled upon as an ersatz demarcation line between Equestria and the Silver nation, in lieu of a permanent border that looked unlikely to come. On the table was a more detailed map, red flags indicating where the Long Patrol had made contact with the Silver nation’s scouts along the twenty mile long barrier.

The snows of the mountains melted and spilled down into several thinning but usable rivers. Most of the mountains, and therefore the snows, originated in Equestria. Pegasus ponies harvested water straight from the rivers or mountain lakes. Complicating matters was the local pattern of winds, which carried naturally occurring clouds from the sea inland skirting, but not covering, the Silver nation. Settlers from Equestria would create a demand to kick those clouds further into Equestrian territory---which Silver nation ponies would complain amounted to stealing what was rightfully theirs.

Which meant the Silver nation tended to react the same way as a foal would if they thought somepony was trying to steal their toys: yelling, screaming, and, if in a particularly foul mood, violence. Thank goodness Velvet’s cutie mark wasn’t in diplomacy. The Silver nation existed, apparently, to give the minister of foreign affairs ulcers.

“Fortunately, the Silver nation has not attempted to---and no doubt lacks---the willpower required to breach the West Desert Beam. A larger and continued Long Patrol presence will be required to keep it that way.”

“You are sure?” Spray asked. The ponies turned around to glance at Spray, beginning to regret opening his mouth, but it was done and his enough of a stallion to withstand the consequences.

“You have doubts?” Olive asked.

All eyes in the room fell on Spray. “Well...it’s always been one of those things that’s never sat well with me.”

“Do go on,” Olive explained. “I’m eager about what they think about the frontier’s problems in Manehatten.”

Spray sighed. “I do believe, conceptually, the whole attitude to the beam, heck to the Silver nation, is flawed.”

“Really now?” Olive collapsed the pointer.

Spray sighed. “Look, if we at least tried to manage the settler’s water needs on our side of the border more efficiently, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. We know there’s only so much water in the region, so maybe we should take that into account before we start handing out land grants to settlers like they were candy.”

Olive feigned a favourable impression. Spray rolled his eyes. Great, now he was a foal giving a presentation in class again.

“Furthermore,” Spray continued, “it is not very impressive we spent several million bits on a barrier that only fuels resentment between our two countries---not the least of which because it is made of sand.”

“This surprises you?” Bright Star asked from across the table.

“I prefer Equestria be protected by something a little sturdier than what I used to play with on the beach.”

“You done?” Olive asked. Spray sat back. Nopony came to his assistance, all eyes turning back to Olive Branch, the fort’s commander for better and worse.

“Well,” Olive said, “Responsibility is a two way street, and Equestria has been very patient with the utter lack of any sense of responsibility on the part of the Silver nation. In addition, the part of the San Paolomino that the West Desert Beam occupies hasn’t seen rain in over two hundred years: the compressed sand there is rock solid. The beam is anything but vulnerable.”

“The Silver nation is comprised principally of Earth ponies. They cannot affect regional weather one bit. If they would simmer down a little, we would be willing to help them, but then they start moaning about territorial sovereignty and dependence on Equestria, and start bringing up ancient history.”

Olive went back to the map on the wall. He traced the entire length of the West Desert Beam, which the Dusty river flowed through into the Silver nation.

“While Manehatten sophisticates may moan that ‘Equestria’s largest sand castle’ appears to be an extravagant expense, for fifteen years it has successfully prevented any incursion into the Dusty river valley. There are a lot more formidable---and expensive---barriers elsewhere with countries we have more favourable relations with.”

Olive smiled as wide and smugly as he could. Spray settled back into his seat, resenting Olive’s patronization.

“If I rose the sun every day, we’d have a completely different approach to the Silver nation. However, her majesty figures that as long as all they make is noise and don’t threaten to turn into an equine Westmarch or get too close to the griffons, we’re fine. Okay?”

“Fine,” Spray said, eager to make the embarrassment stop.

“Political debate over, let’s get down to brass tacks.”

Olive’s pointer slashed across the map. Black arrows and circles with the names of pony commanders were highlighted. They segmented the beam into sections.

“We are increasing patrols to inspect the fencing along the top of the beam. I do not believe we have cause to be afraid, but better safe than sorry. In addition, the Captain of the Guard himself will arrive with four hundred ponies to make a show of force. I suppose that the guard are tired of standing around, doing nothing, and now want to prove they’re stallions. Poor little things.”

The ponies lining the table chuckled.

“After they hopefully get the message, we can go back to frying to death in this wasteland in peace. The Guard will return to Canterlot, their stallion-hood reassured. Our embeds will return with stories to tell, to glorify us. We all win.”

The door creaked open. A second lieutenant stuck his head in like he was peering into a cave held by a particularly greedy and cranky dragon.

“General Olive Branch?”

“Yes?” Olive watched the colt stand at the door, indecisive about whether to come in or not. “Well? You’ve interrupted us. What do you want?”

“Weather dispatch.” The pony nosed around his message bag, trying to find the elusive document. Muttering to himself about blowing it already. Thunder felt an uncomfortable pang as memories of inconveniencing command officers returned.

“What do they want? Captain Star Fall....”

“Yes,” the colt replied cautiously, “but I was told that it needed your direct signature. See, apparently, a real lulu of a storm is developing...”

“I wasn’t aware that ‘lulu’ has been adopted as a unit of measurement.” Olive’s eyes were small, almost black, and very small, tiny as his diminishing patience. The colt seemed to shrink in terror. Thunder sighed in sympathy.

“Yes...well, it’s big, and they need to chop it in half. Half is going to the Appleoosa territory, the other half Canterlot thinks would be a good idea to kick into the Silver nation’s territory.”

“Let me see.” Olive poured through the report. Dimensions of the cloud, water carrying capacity, speed of wind...this was going to take every pegasus pony he had to work with! Did they believe that this was Cloudsdale, or somewhere where the weather bureau could draft any pegasus pony it felt like?

“Does Canterlot expect us to drop everything and deal with this?”

Wisely the colt did not answer. He was beginning to learn, that one.

Olive sighed, slashing at the orders with a quill. “Give this to Star Fall, he knows what to do now. Other than that, do what he says.”

“Sir.” The colt saluted and bolted.

Olive shook his head. “Idiots.”

“Changing our plans?” somepony asked.

“Nothing is different. I’m sending over three pegasus to help with that.”

Three seemed to be an unusually small number for a weather detail. Ideally, Olive should have been sending out a minimum of twelve to handle a natural thunderstorm. Those things got feisty.

“Three?” Thunder asked. “You sure?”

“Dust storm season is just shaping up, and we need to take care of that. One good dusting of the tracks, and we’re out of train resupply for weeks.”

“I would request a deployment of the fort’s weather squadron to the Dusty river,” Thunder said. “As well as increasing the number of routine weather patrols.”

“This isn’t Canterlot, Thunder,” Olive replied. “No need to worry about the local environment. I’ve been informed that it’ll be another three centuries before it will probably rain again around here.”

“Understood,” Thunder said, not.

“We’re not the guard. We’re used to taking things hard.”

“If you insist,” Thunder said.

“At any rate, with negotiations rapidly stalling, there has been an increased demand on Long Patrol pegasus ponies to do something about the settlers water jumping in the region. If I could spare more, I would.”

“I do hope that regional weather...” Thunder began. Olive raised a hoof to quiet him.

“Thunder,” Olive said patiently, “I’ve been in the San Paolomino going on ten years now. Trust me, there is nothing it can do to surprise me.”

Thunder sat back. Olive started passing out their personalized orders. Thunder smoldered. If the Long Patrol’s accomplishments matched it’s attitude, Equestria would not have any more enemies to fear. They would just have to worry about the patrol.

“We will be sending out the first of our enhanced patrols out tomorrow,” Olive continued. “I fully invite our embeds to take advantage of the opportunity.”

Velvet perked up. “What would this entail?”

“Go, take a peek at the beam to make sure it’s still there, poke around a bit, come back. Easy as pie. Safe as houses.”

“Sure,” Spray said. Why not? After today, getting away from these ponies was starting look like a safe move. He had already arrived with loaded preconceptions. Velvet nodded.

“Splendid!” Olive snarked. “It wouldn’t do for you to sit around and put on weight.”

“Project much, Olive?” somepony called.

“Do as I say, not as I do. Understood? Anypony else got anything to say?”

Nopony did.

“Dismissed.”

The ponies rose and shuffled out of the room. Velvet and Spray were the last to leave. She noticed Spray’s sour look on his face.

“Sorry if...”

“It’s all right,” Spray said. Brought it on himself by opening his mouth. Maybe the next day would be better.


Comments

[Web of Hope]

If the Long Patrol’s accomplishments matched it’s attitude, Equestria would not have any more enemies to fear. They would just have to worry about the patrol.

"With friends like these, who needs enemies"?

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

Twilight Velvet had been fobbed off an a cheery young lieutenant named Bright Star. He shepherded her around the fort, and she bombarded him with questions highly esoteric and technical, for (far) beyond the knowledge of a lieutenant who merely wanted to serve out his commission at Fort Lancer and be transferred somewhere more salubrious to his career. Poor mare almost died when she saw what passed for a library at the base: a couple of trashy novels and a small stack of well perused magazines about matters beyond the scope of her research or good taste.

Thunder shrugged. “From the outside, the Guard is a well oiled machine, all of it’s branches working in harmony. The reality is...something I (I'm) glad you have been spared.”