M.A.N.E.

by BRBrony9

Hole In The Ground

Captain Ice Wind, 14th Strategic Missile Squadron, 5th Strategic Missile Wing, Equestrian Strategic Command, was bored. Like every other day on the job, today was packed full of gripping monotony interspersed with occasional periods of wondrous tedium. The most exciting moments of his day were when he went to the bathroom.

Of course, his was one job where boredom was a good thing. The dark blue Pegasus spent his working day with his partner, the brown-coated earth pony Captain Fireblade, in a horizontal steel cylinder eighty feet underground, about sixty miles north of Baltimare. They were one half of the launch crew for one of the three missile clusters operated by the 14th Strategic Missile Squadron; along with another pair of ponies in a similar underground bunker a few miles away, eight Minutemare missiles in their concrete-lined silos responded to their command. The Minutemare was solid-fuelled, meaning it was always ready for launch, a fact that had contributed in no small part to the speed with which it could be launched, and thus its nickname.

Having two launch control centres for any given missile was considered vital- it precluded the possibility of any rogue, traitorous or insane officer launching the missiles without authorisation. For the missiles to launch, both control centers had to send the same command within a short window after receiving their orders. If only one signal was received, nothing would happen. On a similar note, there were no Unicorns on any of the launch crews; the possibility existed that a single Unicorn officer could use his magic to perform the simultaneous tasks to initiate a launch that normally required two ponies. Each pair of command centres controlled the operation of eight missiles; a Missile Squadron possessed 24 missiles; a Missile Wing, 96. In total, the Equestrian Strategic Command operated nearly 500 missiles, spread across the country in silo farms from the deserts around Las Pegasus to the northern plains near Vanhoofer. In a war, the latter would probably be the first to go- they were the closest targets to the USR, mere miles inland.

Most of the missiles carried a single large warhead, but several Missile Wings had been equipped with upgraded missiles that carried three re-entry vehicles, each with a smaller warhead. These were the citybusters- though their warheads were of a lower yield, they would scatter themselves across a wide area, such as a city, and inflict more damage than a single, larger warhead. It would only take a hoof-full of missiles to destroy a large city like Stalliongrad.

By the same token, of course, it would only take the same number to destroy Manehattan, or Baltimare, or Fillydelphia. The USR possessed a roughly similar number of missiles to Equestria; both nations had more than enough to utterly annihilate their enemy, should the worst come to pass. Both nations knew this, and that was the only thing that had maintained the unstable peace for this long.

Ice Wind yawned. The passage of time itself seemed to slow down whenever he was 'in the hole.' Though he had been on shift for less than an hour, it already felt like weeks had passed since he had descended the ladder from the surface and heard the heavy steel hatch clang shut. The artificial light and the glare of computer screens were already making him miss the sun. The heat, while not quite oppressive, was making the control room a little on the stuffy side. Fireblade sat in the chair at his own console nearby, flipping idly through a magazine.

'Gotta take a leak,' Ice Wind announced, standing up. His companion nodded, not taking his eyes off the magazine. Ice Wind stretched his legs and trotted over to the cramped toilet the planners had thoughtfully included in the underground chamber. He did what he had to do and then splashed some water on his face to try and help himself stay alert. He couldn't understand how Fireblade could sit there reading the tiny print for hours on end in the relatively dim light. Did eye strain mean nothing to him...?

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a sudden, pulsing klaxon from the main room. Despite his training, a jolt of fear and adrenaline shot through him.

'Get your plot back in here!' Fireblade shouted, throwing his magazine to the floor. Ice Wind moved swiftly back to his seat. A red light flashed on an equally red telephone handset embedded in his desk. He picked it up. Fireblade did the same with the identical handset on his console.

The wailing of the klaxon meant one of two things- either an unannounced test of the Squadron's response time was underway, or the world was ending.

'South Fork, Vulture. South Fork, Vulture.' The pre-recorded voice coming over the phone read the coded phrase that told him if this was an exercise or the real thing. Fireblade was hearing the same message. A string of alphanumerics followed, using the Equestrian phonetic alphabet.

'Apple, Three, Seven, Manehattan, Zebra, Four, Four, Rainbow...' Ice Wind scribbled the characters down on a notepad. Fireblade did the same, and then the two Captains exchanged their pads. The computerised voice repeated the code and they wrote it down again. Ice Wind compared the two sequences written on the pad- only if both of them matched up with each other could they proceed to the next step.

'I have a valid alert code,' he said. 'Confirm.'

'Confirm valid alert code,' Fireblade said, standing up. Ice Wind followed him and together they crossed the narrow room to the grey safe mounted halfway up the wall. Each officer wore a key on a lanyard around his neck- together they inserted them into the two locks on the safe. With a loud buzzing the safe clicked open. Fireblade withdrew two large manilla envelopes and passed one to Ice Wind. They returned to their seats and tore open the envelopes. Ice tipped the contents out onto his console- another key, a red binder and a plastic card.

His next task was to compare the code that was written on his notepad with the pre-printed code on the card from the envelope. He held the card next to his notepad and read off each character.

'Apple!'

Fireblade read from his own card, confirming.

'Apple!'

'Three!'

'Three!'

If all eight characters matched the pre-printed code, the launch order was genuine.

'...Rainbow!'

'Rainbow! I have a valid launch order!'

'I concur, valid launch order,' Ice Wind replied. They glanced at each other.

'Launch checklist!' Ice Wind said, opening the red folder. They rattled off the procedures necessary to arm and ready the missiles for launch.

'Insert launch codes!' he said, quickly tapping his ten-digit code into the keypad on his console. Fireblade entered his own personal code into his console.The next step was to insert their launch keys.

'Launch Enable on my command!' This was the final step. Once the keys were turned, they could not stop the launch. He inserted his key into the slot and glanced over to see that Fireblade was doing the same. Ice Wind gave a quick countdown and, together, they turned the keys a quarter to the left.

The phone on his console buzzed and its light began to flash. Ice Wind picked it up.

'Not bad, Captain. Four minutes, seventeen seconds from the klaxon to the launch sequence start.' The voice on the phone was that of the Squadron's commanding officer, Colonel Spearhead. 'Thirteen seconds under the target time. Well done to you both. This concludes the test.'

They had both known it was a test from the original coded message. Unannounced tests like these were conducted periodically to keep the crews alert and test their reaction times. They followed the procedures of the real thing as closely as possible, but at some point they had to deviate from the reality, for obvious reasons. The firing room had two safes- the grey one contained test orders, and the bright red one on the opposite wall held the real ones. Their keys opened both safes. In the kind of test they had just completed, the test safe was filled with a pair of manilla envelopes with the word 'Test' stamped on them in large, red letters. As an added layer of security, both safes emitted loud, electronic buzzing sounds when unlocked, so that they could not be opened surreptitiously. When opened, they also sent a signal to the above-ground Squadron command building which oversaw the daily operations of the missile complex. As a final precaution, the crew turned their launch keys to the left, to a setting clearly marked 'Test.' In a real situation, the keys would have been turned to the right.

Besides which, Ice Wind thought to himself, the missiles wouldn't have launched even if we had gone nuts. It takes two to tango- the other launch centre would have had to go nuts at the exact same time. No way these missiles could get launched accidentally.

He settled down for the rest of the boring shift.

'Pinkie Pie! Are you down here?'

The pastel pink pony looked up as the cellar door opened.

'Oh, yes! Here I am, Mrs Cake!' She glanced up at her employer, who stood in the doorway at the top of the wooden stairs.

'Just checking in!' Mrs Cake smiled down at her. 'How are you getting on with the stocktaking?'

'Oh, it's going great!' Pinkie grinned back. 'We have 206 bags of flour, 80 bags of sugar...'

'Alright, Pinkie!' Mrs Cake said. 'I'll leave you to it, then.'

'Okey dokey lokey!' Pinkie replied. Mrs Cake closed the cellar door again.

Pinkie had been working for the Cakes for just over a year now, and she loved it, not least because of all the free cupcakes she got to eat. It was a job that suited her- she was good at baking, good with customers, and, as she had found to her surprise, good at stock taking.

The cellar had two rooms; one was the store room, where Pinkie was currently tabulating stock totals, and, through a metal door in the rear wall, a furnace room. Lined with brick and sturdily built below street level, the cellar was Pinkie's favourite room in Sugarcube Corner, because it was always piled high with bags full of tasty ingredients- sugar, dried fruit, frosting, chocolate. Sometimes she liked to sneak a taste of something, though she knew she probably shouldn't.

The Cakes were starting to get nervous- the following weekend they were due to make a visit to Canterlot, where Princess Luna was hosting some kind of royal banquet. Princess Celestia had recommended the Cakes to her, and she had asked them to bring along as many desserts as they could. They had asked Pinkie to take over the shop that weekend. Working in the shop meant she couldn't look after their foals, Pound and Pumpkin, but Princess Luna had told them they could bring their foals with them and they would be looked after in the castle's nursery.

Thinking about it, Pinkie realised she was getting a little bit nervous about taking over the whole shop, too. it was a big responsibility; she would have to bake the goods, put them on display, and run the shop, all by herself! She had asked her friends to help, but Fluttershy and Rarity had a Spa date booked in, Applejack was working on her farm, and Twilight would be busy studying. Rainbow Dash, however, had agreed to help her out. She was looking forward to that part, at least.

'26, 27...aaaand...28! 28 bags of ground almonds!' Pinkie noted the total down on her clipboard. That was the last of the stores- she was done in the cellar for now. She trotted upstairs, in search of a snack.

Applejack wiped the sweat from her brow and sighed loudly, digging the shovel into the dirt beside her and resting her hooves on the top of its handle.

'Phew! Boy, this sure is hard work!' Below her, in a shallow hole in the ground, her brother Big McIntosh grinned.

'Eeyup. Yer not quittin' on me, are ya sis?' She snorted.

'Course ah ain't! When did y'all last see me quit, 'specially on somethin' important like this?' Big Mac shrugged.

'Can't say as ah ever have.'

'That's what ah thought!' She grinned down at him, then glanced up at the hot noonday sun.

'Maybe we have earned a break, though...'

'Eeyup....ah reckon we have.' Big Mac dropped his shovel and climbed out of the hole, his red coat streaked with dirt. Applejack trotted back to the farmhouse and he followed her. Applebloom was sitting outside the back door in Granny Smith's old, rickety rocking chair, sipping on a glass of fresh cider.

'Hey there sis!' Applejack said with a smile as she approached. 'Hope y'all saved some of that stuff fer us!' The young filly grinned back.

'Course ah did! There's a whole pitcher in the kitchen. What the hay are you two doin' back there, anyway?'

'We're diggin,' Applejack replied. Applebloom raised an eyebrow.

'Ah know, ah can see that. But what are y'all diggin?' Applejack glanced at her brother.

'Well...we're diggin' a bomb shelter.' Applebloom raised her other eyebrow.

'A...bomb shelter? What in the hay for?'

To shelter from bombs, Applejack wanted to say.

'Well...we think it's a good idea ta be safe, given the state a' things. So we thought we should build us a bomb shelter, ya know, just in case.' Applebloom looked uneasily at her siblings.

'W-why? Is there gonna be a war?'

'Well...probably not, but it never hurts ta be prepared, right?' Applejack smiled reassuringly at her.

'Ah guess so...' she returned the smile.

Applejack looked around at the red-timbered farmhouse and the line of trees not far beyond. Though Sweet Apple Acres was located right on the edge of Ponyville, the development of the town had so far spared it. It had grown mainly to the north, across the Coltorado River, rather than to the south towards the farm. Granny Smith was forever reminding her of how the orchards and gently rolling hills looked the same as they had when she was just a filly herself. Something to be proud of, she said, and she was right. The citizens of Ponyville would play merry hell if the town council ever decided to bulldoze the farm and build on it- they couldn't live without their apple products, especially, in more than a few cases, their hard cider. Though mechanisation had come to most of the farms in Equestria, the trademark of Sweet Apple Acres was that everything was hoof-picked and hoof-bucked. Granny Smith steadfastly refused to let Applejack buy an automated cider press or hire seasonal labour despite the potential efficiency gains, and the results seemed to be proving her business acumen- ponies flocked from miles around to try produce from Sweet Apple Acres because of its rustic charm, and most of them claimed it was the best they had ever tasted because of its excellent apples. Despite only having three full-time staff, Sweet Apple Acres was one of the most profitable businesses in town.

Big Mac told her where to site the bomb shelter. He had served in the Army reserves for several years and consequently understood a good deal more about the effects of nuclear weaponry and how to dig trenches than she did. He told her that it should be well clear of the house, the barn and the trees; it had to be above the water table, or else well waterproofed, or it would simply flood. They had found a good spot behind the farmhouse, placing the bulky building between it and the town, It was well clear of the orchard and had good drainage, and so they had dug all morning. They lacked the resources and the time to construct a proper fallout shelter, but, Applejack reasoned, any protection was better than none. Big Mac told her the farmhouse would be a deathtrap if there was a nuclear explosion nearby- it would collapse completely in the blast and probably get smashed into millions of lethal splinters. There were large public shelters in town, but that was much too far to run in event of an attack. The media had long reported that the public would get five minutes warning, if they were very lucky. So, after their break, they dug all afternoon, too.