2. P-Days
“Up, up! Come on! Get up!”
I jolted upright at the sergeant’s shouts, briefly checking my surroundings in a small panic before facing forward. His voice echoed in the hall, amplifying his volume to startle anypony who closed their eyes.
Regaining my senses, I rose to all fours with the others, looping an arm through my backpack strap and taking the top of my knit bag in the same hoof. I blinked heavily every couple of seconds to temporarily quell the lethargy-induced itching in my eyes.
Quiet, sharp inhales emitted from ponies fighting a losing battle against drowsiness. While many became immediately attentive in the sergeant’s presence, there was, of course, those few that struggled to keep their eyelids parted, even while they were standing up.
“Everypony wake up. It ain’t bedtime yet,” Hardstaff commanded sternly, wearing a hardened glare. “All of you, on me. Single file.”
The front row recruits lined up, grabbing their things and carrying them over their backs as the sergeant headed out through a set of double doors on the opposite end of the hall. Off to the side observed the first lieutenant, staring at recruits individually as we went by.
Along a sidewalk we marched, the sergeant leading us toward the training barracks on the far west end of base. The one in particular that he led us to was boldly labeled in white with the number ‘19’ above the door.
First to the door, he took the knob and twisted it, pushing inward and heading in to hold the door as the fifteen of us filed inside, claiming any vacant bed that called our names. Rather than bunks, or racks as the sergeant referred to them, many single, narrow cot-like beds occupied the space. At the end of each bed sat all-black hooflockers, numbered respectively on their sides. The locks on the doors were simple press-and-slide-downward mechanisms. Easy to use in a hurry, too.
“All right! Everything you have brought along, and what you picked up at the shop, I expect all of that to fit nicely into your trunks. That is what we in the Marines call hooflockers. What ever takes up too much space, it will be gone! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
“Five minutes, that is what you have to unpack. I’ll check all of your trunks when you are finished. What ever I see that I do not like, you will pack it up and ship it home. There is NO room whatsoever for picture frames, computers, tablets, anything of yours that you may have brought along for the journey, including weapons especially! If I find any knives or something that can be used to potentially harm your team mates, I will personally see to it that it is melted down and sold for scrap metal! Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
“Good. Get a move on!”
Almost all at once, locker doors flew open. Before putting away my clothes, I took time to quickly fold them for easier storage. Everypony else did about the same in their own way.
Everything was organized rather tidily. T-shirts sat atop blouses, and beside them, hoodies and sweatshirts in their own neat pile. Even then, plenty of space remained free in my trunk; enough to double what we had and pile that in, too. Really, it all depended on how one arranged their belongings.
I then shifted to my backpack, grabbing it off of my bed and digging inside, withdrawing both books I had packed. Come to think of it, would I even have a free moment read these while I'm here?
Shrugging, setting them down in the locker, followed by my backpack, I stood off to the right of my bed, waiting for the sergeant to make his rounds.
***
“Who here volunteered? Raise your hooves.”
At his question, every pony present lifted their hoof.
“Good, put your hooves down.” All hooves followed suit quietly. “Now that you have volunteered, I don’t want to hear no crying, no whining, no swearing, and most important of all, no take backs! Want to know why?” he paused, then stopped walking. “Do you want to know why?!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Because, repeating from earlier, we are a team. We are here to help you every step of the way, and each of you are here to help your fellow conscripts. Why? Because one day, you will lead each other into the heart of battle, through a rain of bullets, and drive us to victory over evil.”
“These ponies around you are your battle buddies. Remember that for as long as you are here, for as long as you are with them. Whether or not by the end of these next eleven weeks you all stay put as one platoon, my platoon, keep in mind that every pony here is your friend, and you will aid each other whenever it is necessary. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Is that understood?!”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
“Lovely. Now, listen up! Let’s talk food.” Please don’t. I can’t possibly think about eating something right now. “You all have had a long day traveling here, all of that without eating presumably. Three meals a day, that is what you will have for every day you are here! You are not required to eat what is provided. Either you eat, or you don’t. That is completely up to you. Come on, let’s get you fed!”
The sergeant made a full one-eighty and started toward the door. Nobody but him moved. As he was about to head through the open door, he stopped, looking back.
“Well, are you coming?!”
Immediately ponies scrambled into formation behind him. As soon as everypony had fallen into line, he nodded, continuing his way outside.
Despite the fluttering of wings of butterflies floating around, my stomach lightly rumbled, growling with hunger. Come to think of it, the last time I had eaten was back on the train, well over twelve hours prior. Actually, to be more precise, that was about fifteen hours ago. Hopefully what the mess hall had to offer wasn’t nearly as awful as I expected on the way there.
Thankfully, that was not the case. Instead of a putrid, smelly green slop as one would expect, we were served marginally-fresh carrots wrapped in crisp, juicy lettuce, a fruit cup, and a little milk carton—the polar opposite of disgusting. Maybe I could actually eat this, presuming my fretful state didn’t have something to say.
First bite I took was meh. Second bite, more so, albeit not by much. The carrots themselves hadn’t much moisture or taste to them. Without the lettuce, I would have simply left the carrots alone. Then again, I only managed to get into one and a half of them before having enough and moving on to the fruit cup, which I ate with a little plastic spoon and gulped down the milk rather quickly.
Nopony was really allowed to talk in the mess hall, either. The only noises to be heard were cups being placed down on tabletops and some shuffling from the kitchen. Honestly, I’d have preferred this type of a lunchroom in school.
Soon after our group came another, and then a third, both led by different ponies—one a Marine, the other a sailor. My assumption was the sailor-led pack consisted of Navy recruits. Even with my civilian knowledge I had a sneaking suspicion that they would not leave a sailor alone with soon-to-be Marines.
At the end of our meals, we dumped any leftovers in a series of trashcans and piled up our used trays along the metallic lip of the kitchen. Then we filed back into a line with Hardstaff leading us out and back to our barrack, where he began barking in a somewhat tipful manner.
“Get a good night's sleep. I expect each and every one of you to be up and alert early tomorrow. There is still much to be done and so little time. I ask nicely this one time for your cooperation this week. Consider these the easiest days of your life, because believe it or not, they will be!”
Without ado, we got comfortable in our racks as instructed. For an unofficial first day, this went along smoother than I anticipated. However, I knew that was bound to bite me in the rear later on.
Walking to the door, on his way out, Hardstaff set his hoof on the light switch and held it there. “Lights out! Goodnight.”
“Goodnight!” responded everypony else in placid unison, seconds before the barrack went dark with the creak and click of the door gently shutting in his exit.
Something regarding that dismissal didn’t set right with me. There is just no possible way a sergeant just told his recruits goodnight. But he did, and that is what ruffled my feathers the most.
***
Waking so abruptly never quite terrified me as much than this time alone that not even the loudest, most annoying of alarm clocks could do. So much energy had collected that I shot straight up within mere milliseconds of the door opening and the sergeant’s hoof first stepping onto the tile flooring beyond the door frame. All that gathered from sleeping for only a few hours, wasted in a record amount of time.
Needless to say, one fleeting glance at Hardstaff had me momentarily thinking that my jolt had startled him as well. There wasn’t much visibility in the room to devise any such confirmation until the lights came on, inducing migraines all around at the sudden brightness. By then it was too late, and the stern outward appearance he wore strongly said otherwise. He definitely noticed my panic, though, there isn’t any denial there.
“Up and at ‘em, conscripts!” he addressed. If it wasn’t the intense glare from above, his volume certainly did the trick to get everypony out of dreams and on their hooves in ten seconds tops.
For a minute at the least, his shouts rang out through my head, worsening the throbbing ache that gripped it and had me internally begging for ibuprofen or something of the like. It wasn’t until then when I realized that Hardstaff was not in uniform and rather in a nightgown, much to some ponies’ amusement.
“Gooood morning, shitheads! Hope you all had at least somewhat decent sleep. Did you?”
“Yes, sir!”
“That is wonderful. Just magnificent! You want to know why I agree?” he queried, met with a silence as he came to a halt halfway down the aisle between our beds. “Because I, for one, did not! Do you know what it means when a sergeant does not achieve his or her beauty sleep?”
His brief description of a sergeant’s rest time brought quiet chuckles out of many, and smiles out of more, but were instantly shot off by a hard stomp of his hoof.
“I did not fucking warrant any laughter in here!” he roared. “Call it a pissy mood all ya want. If I miss sleep, all y’all do! That’s why I am here two and a half hours ahead of schedule! Who is ready for some PT?!”
No one replied at that point, which probably was not the right choice.
“Too-fuckin’-bad, let’s go! All of you! Shirts on, let’s go!” he commanded, repeating loudly as every pony immediately dug into their trunks, throwing on t-shirts, hoodies, whatever they grabbed either first and foremost or thoughtfully.
I wasn’t sure of what to expect outside that door. Regardless if early summer mornings in Manehattan are brisk or not like they sometimes are in Canterlot, with vigorous physical activity that is due to change. Without hesitation, I slipped into my shirt and lined up with some of the others.
The sergeant tread heavily up to the pony ahead of me to yell in his ear, shouting, “Hey! I didn’t ask you to line up, either! Return to your fucking racks, conscripts!”
Once more, the yelling threw me off, even after he had finished. I about tripped over the edge of my neighbor’s trunk returning to my bed to properly await his order. Man, jumping straight to the mind games it seems. Can’t exactly say I did not see that coming.
Before I had time to think, Hardstaff was at it again. “What are you doing? Get in line, conscripts!”
“Yes, Sergeant!” God, please, don’t be like this all morning, I beg of you.
When we first stepped outside, apart from my own realization, a sense of everypony present becoming chilled by predawn temperatures swept across our group like the breeze itself.
From being snug and warm in our beds merely minutes previous to marching in the dark and cold came as a shock to the system. My entire form convulsively quivered from head to tail, I kept my teeth grit gently to prevent them from chattering. A few were unsuccessful in their own attempts, going ultimately disregarded by the enlisted at the front.
In the two and a half minutes after leaving our barrack behind, Hardstaff halted us beneath the flagpole in the heart of the base. A soft light from the waning moon above splashed down upon us, bathing us in a silvery-white luminescence in continual, silent battle with the orangish-gold gleam of central Manehattan.
How locals could cope with the regular glow of the city at night I would never truly understand. Somepony trying to sleep would require curtains thicker than solid concrete in their bedrooms and a pair of all-black wraparound shades. Known by virtually everypony as the city that never rests, I can imagine the nickname can be taken with literal meaning.
One thing I can say for sure, this view will never grow old on me. At least, I would hope it stays that way. It bore similarities with Canterlot in regards to the radiance they both emit, albeit Manehattan’s was authentically far stronger and wider in magnitude due to its density and sheer size. However, the biggest notable difference between the two cities was in their general appearance.
Overall, Manehattan had a far more modern aesthetic to it. That, to me, is what felt separate from Canterlot; an archaic, majestic town built remarkably on the side of the tallest mountain in Equestria with an infrastructure dating back many centuries. Being here will certainly make for an enormous change of perspective, literally and emblematically.
“All right! Column formation, on me!” the sergeant instructed, as if presuming us to know what precise arrangement he meant immediately, which at least half of us did understand.
Without delay, the fifteen of us repositioned into rows three wide, five long. The accordance and speed of our response, needless to say, might have impressed the oxford-blue stallion just a bit judging by the look and the satisfactory nod he gave when everypony ceased moving about.
But, instead of complimenting our staunch performance—the last thing to be expected from Hardstaff, he remained particularly quiet and marching down the southern-pointing cobble road with us in tail.
“Get loping, fillies!” he then ordered, picking up his pace. Like the rest of my fellow recruits, I followed suit. Soon, we gained a stable trot while retaining a fairly decent formation behind the sergeant.
At first, each step was more or less out of synchronization, though this slowly changed the longer we held our gait and took the likes of marching soldiers; jogging in unison, the concurrent clicks of our hooves on hard cobble becoming music to our ears.
“Have any y’all experience with our cadence?”
The response was a mixture of yeses and noes, with mine the latter. The ponies in Canterlot did teach me the formation types and their names, but never any cadences. Apart from the princess of the Crystal Empire, that is.
“No?! Today is the day you learn, conscripts! Come on, after me!” he paused, clearing his throat. “One, two, three, four hey!”
“One, two, three, four hey!”
“Here we go!”
“Here we go!”
“On the move!”
“On the move!”
“In the groove!”
“In the groove!”
“Here we go!”
“Here we go!”
“All the way!”
“All the way!”
“Every day!”
“Every day!”
“Hooouuh!”
“Hooouuh!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Hoooouuuh!”
“Hoooouuuh!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Rock me, rock me, rock, rock steady!”
“Rock me, rock me, rock, rock steady!”
“Roll me, roll me, roll me ready!”
“Roll me, roll me, roll me ready!”
Much to my astonishment, and probably everypony else’s, too, neither of us combined sounded like cats caught in the blades of a running lawnmower. To say the least, with our voices loud and proud, it helped shove the uncomfortable conditions aside and had my heart pumping with motivation. If this is how we will start every morning, I can get used to this.
Hardstaff’s lead took us to the docks where three idle warships silhouetted by the dark sat moored to individual piers, each with turret-like gun mounts on their fronts—destroyers.
A bit further down from them sat similarly-shaped boats, except they did not have the gun mounts. I presumed them to be guided missile cruisers. Opposite of them, significantly smaller boats, something on the terms of a coast guard patrol boat, albeit under the Lunar Navy’s possession, and two cutter-like ships.
Where is the Eclipse? I wondered to myself, as we turned to loop back around into the base. Perhaps she was at sea. It’s been awhile since I last heard from my Navy friend, that could be the reason why.
***
I take it back. I take all of it back. Oh, god. Oh, fuck! I regret everything I have said and done. I retract my statement earlier. This is something I could not get used to every morning!
After that mile-long trot, Hardstaff brought us to an open grassy courtyard sided either right or left by dormitories and office buildings—or administrative facilities as they were called in the military. Here, we dropped into an almost-prone position with our hinds stuck straight out behind us, with only our forehooves propping us up, and thus begun executing push ups to our best ability.
He wasn’t anticipant of any amount done, therefore all but three in our group quit before the ten mark. The three who continued, however, their bodily appearances told they were ready for the exercise portion of boot camp. Thankfully the sergeant only considered this a ‘test’ to determine where everypony’s physical boundaries sat, and judging by the grimace he had on his face the whole time, he was far from dazzled.
“You call those push ups?” he yelled, directing it particularly to us twelve but not leaving the three out of it. “A three year-old could do ‘em quicker and better than you pussies! I better see each of you pulling fifty at a time by the end of this week! Is that clear?!”
“Yes, Sergeant!” Fifty? Holy shit, I went in my mind. I can hardly reach six now! There is just no feasible way fifty is going to happen. Not for me, anyway. The first push up alone had veins popping out of my forehead and sweat slicking the back of my neck, and it wasn’t a thin layer, either. Hell, I was merely standing here and droplets simply kept on rolling with my t-shirt damp and clinging to my coat.
After a few moments of pain, I set myself a pace: two push ups at a time, separated by a second to catch my breath. It worked, though not as well as initially planned. Over the course of a minute, my limbs felt as if they were becoming pasta noodles in boiling water. Strain radiated in every muscle as each one alternated between relaxing and stiffening at each push-up, and my lungs were burning with every breath I drew in.
It wasn’t for much longer where I kept myself propped up, until my arms went completely limp, and I fell flat to the grass, huffing and struggling to regain a steady pattern of breathing. Fatigue from a severe deprivation of sleep imbued my weakened form, withholding all leniency. I can’t have slept more than three or four hours, and it was beginning to take its toll on me.
A pair of dark hooves came to a halt a foot from where my head lay, silhouetted by the moon above and blurring out as consequence of exhaustion. Despite this, I could still make out Hardstaff’s voice loud and clear as it rang out. “That’s it, Conscript, you’re done for!”
Above the adrenaline of exercise, his words had me in a state of panic. My head jerked up from the ground, making direct eye contact with the sergeant. “S-sir, please, I-I can to this! Just give me a chance!” I begged.
The dark pegasus cocked his head a little. “What, do you think I’m kicking you out?” he then burst into a fit of laughter. I simply stared, bewildered by the context. “Get up,” he ordered. I did as told, grunting under my breath as I fought feeble hooves from giving out under my weight.
“You ain’t out of the Marines, kid. You got heart from what I saw. Twenty push-ups in two minutes ain’t bad for a newbie, but I expect that number to be higher by the end of week three. Is that clear?”
Twenty? That’s more than I thought I counted. Good thing he kept track of it, otherwise I would have had to make something up. “Yes, Sergeant,” I responded behind breaths.
“Very good.” Hardstaff bobbed his head in a single nod, raising his hoof to point off to my left. “Go get some water so ya don’t pass out.”
I glanced over to where he was pointing, seeing there to be a few other recruits gathered at a fountain station off along the edge of the grass, taking turns. I shifted back to the sergeant, nodding in return, “Yes, Sergeant,” before making the bitter journey.
Water never truly struck me as sounding so refreshing in my entire life. That is, right up until this specific point in time. As a pony whose preference of beverage oscillated between milk or pop, I never thought I would see the day—or night in this case—where water was the sole commodity I thirsted for the most. I don’t even know how long I hunched over that fountain, maw wide open and gulping down every last drop that streamed from the tap.
***
Day four of the P-Days began like the ones before it. Wake up before sunrise, jog around the base, then perform a repeat of fifty push-ups in front of Sergeant Hardstaff. While it likely wasn’t me adjusting so quickly to the routine, exercising on day two and day three went far smoother than the first.
The sergeant had decided to go easy on us today. Only fifteen push-ups, which virtually every pony accomplished with little issue, followed by running from end-to-end in the grass. No one understood his intentions, although a few predicted we were in for something different later on, something we weren’t accustomed to.
Consequently, those ponies weren’t wrong. Just past dawn and before breakfast, Hardstaff gathered us at some drinking fountains and ordered each of us to take long swigs. It came across as peculiar at first, but within a few minutes after the fact, it made more sense as we approached the medic’s ward; a two-story, hospital-like clinic run by both sailors and Marines with rates in the medical field.
He brought us in back, into a widened corridor where one entryway in the somewhat darkened hall sat open with light from within spilling out across the floor. An earth pony mare, periwinkle in color with a jet-black mane tied up in a bun, took in one recruit at a time and let them out a few minutes later to assist the next.
It was when the first few stallions emerged that an anxious tingle plagued my essence. I became fidgety in the chair I sat in along with a few others, and my hooves developed a garish quake in response. I suppose part of that would concern having not yet eaten, although I knew it was strictly because I had a pretty clear concept of what is to come.
Some of my fellow recruits read magazines piled on end tables during the wait, and ponies were called in by name in alphabetical order, which would put me near the middle. I had this time to prepare myself, although it surely would not suffice regardless. The best I can hope for is to not once make contact with the needles they will use.
One prominent rumor I had caught wind on was that, in basic training, the medical exams were by far one of the worst parts. This was due to the infamous ‘peanut butter shot’, where they supposedly inject a large dosage of penicillin and study your physical behavior in the days after to see how one reacts to it. The name originates from the fact that the viscosity of the penicillin is comparable to peanut butter, and that it can be a nuisance for up to two days, depending on how you might tolerate it.
That, of course, is just one of many shots part of the procedure and by far the least I am ready to take. God, I hate needles. With a passion. Thinking about it brought me back to my colt days where my former pediatrician would surprise me with two or more shots per visit. What would normally take five minutes went on for thirty or more, depending on my mother’s patience.
Of course, before medical insurance was something affordable, she would have to pay out of pocket for each shot, and every minute I wasted of the doctor’s time. Those were some embarrassing times, ones I can laugh at nowadays. At least now I have more control over my fear, even if it eats away at my core and renders me frozen if the anxiety is fierce enough.
As the final stallion before me went in, I grew more tense than ever. I resorted to deep, heavy breaths in attempt to quell the sense of antipathy rising out of control. A part of my mind repeated every so often, saying, “You’re scared of a few needles, but not the fact that you practically signed your life over to the country’s will, that you could potentially become gravely wounded or killed in battle?”
The respiratory pattern did its work over the course of a couple of minutes, and while my muscles still had not eased up, I was somewhat calmer than I had been. Nonetheless it wouldn’t prepare me, but if it can reduce tension… perhaps the process will be less painful.
“Next!”
Oh, shit.
I gulped, pressing up from my seat and standing with a wobbly comportment. Glancing to my left, at the door, I saw the periwinkle mare peeking her head out and briefly made eye contact. She motioned her hoof for me to come, disappearing back into the room. With a shaky breath exhaled, I followed her in.
My eyes maintained separation from the left side of the room, where a small counter was situated and, presumably, the syringes as well. With little hesitation, I climbed up onto the exam table, dangling my hinds off the edge and pressing my forehooves at my sides as the mare closed the door.
Trotting over to the counter, the mare, whose uniform resembled the Navy’s upon closer examination, swirled her hoof on a small tablet’s screen. The glow illuminated her face for the most part against the lukewarm, and rather eerie shadowy nature of the meagerly-sized room.
I simply sat there in silence, keeping my focus elsewhere while she tapped away. When the mare placed the device down, the thump of it on the counter top was enough to make me almost jump out of my skin. In that instance, my head had jerked toward her, and my reaction startled her in return.
“Bit jumpy this morning, are we, Star Shooter?” the mare amiably remarked, taking a couple of steps closer. “Looks like you could be my biggest patient thus far.”
“W-what?” I sputtered. That could mean a multitude of things, and my mind was already jumping to too many conclusions for me to suitably handle.
The mare medic offered a reassuring smile. “Your records show that you are, in fact, four years behind on proper vaccinations. Thankfully, most of which are what everypony is due to receive. That said, while I cannot give them to you today, I’ll inform your division leader that I will have you back in a couple of weeks while I order in what you need.”
My eyes grew wide as saucepans, “What… I n-need?” uttering nervously.
“Don’t worry, it isn’t anything too serious. On the bright side, we will get most of that done today! How does that sound?” she asked, beaming.
I didn’t quite share her enthusiasm. “Sounds great!” was my reply, returning a distinctly fake smile.
“Perfect,” she nodded, reverting her genuine smile. “First off, I’ll need to weigh you,” she said, gesturing toward a weighing pad by the door, adding afterward, “Please, step over here. Take off your shirt while you are on it, clothes can add a little bit of extra weight.”
I did as told, leaving my t-shirt on the exam table and stepping up to the pressure plate. It sank almost unnoticeably under my hooves as I fit all four of them into the space, and the two of us watched the spike on the meter move further to the right, into the two-hundreds. My jaw absolutely dropped to the floor.
“All right, two-thirty-six. Not bad, not bad,” she nodded to herself, likely taking note of it on her tablet.
“That’s horrible!” I shouted with wide-eyes, unable to remove my stare from the gauge. “Am I that fat?!”
The mare lifted a hoof to her muzzle, hushing a nicker and taking in a breath to regain her composure. “For a stallion of your size, not so much. How old are you?”
“I’m nineteen!”
“Oh.” Her ears stood up, one flicking. “Well. I imagine it will not remain for much longer.”
Her and I simply stared at each other for a full minute in silence. Mostly it was just me looking like I had learned the worst news possible. Technically speaking, I suppose it was in a way.
“Anywho,” she began, poking her hoof toward the table. “Have a seat. We’ll get started shortly.”
Here we go. Control yourself, Star. Don’t look at all costs.
Climbing back up, I settled into a comfortable position and stared ahead, ignoring what she was doing. After a few seconds, I heard the snapping of medical gloves conforming to her hooves. She turned my arm over and began feeling the inner crease thoroughly, likely in search of a vein to draw blood from.
The gentle rip of a packet tearing open sent a small shock to my chest while she slipped out a wipe of alcohol to rub along a spot in that arm’s crease. It wasn’t much, literally just one swab before she discarded the wipe.
“All right, you’re going to feel a little pinch in your arm. I need you to bend your hoof back like a dragon’s fist and take a deep breath, can you do that for me?”
I nodded briskly, twisting my hoof back to point toward myself, inhaling deeply. Within a moment’s notice, a pinch and a shiver-inducing sensation of cold steel sliding into the skin came from the middle of my arm.
“Go ahead and breathe out, and relax your hoof.”
My head leaned back a bit, emptying my lungs completely and letting my hoof relax as told. I kept looking everywhere else but my arm as to avoid seeing my own blood as it snaked through a thin tube to a vial at the other end, filling it up.
“Ooookay, perfect!” the mare said, plucking the needle out painlessly, promptly placing a cotton ball on the inject site. “Hold that there for me, will ya?”
I nodded again, slower this time, lowering my gaze to press gently on the cotton ball, dabbing it every couple of seconds until minuscule droplets of blood no longer collected. My attention momentarily shifted to the medic, who capped off the reddened vial and placed it neatly in a slot along with some others of blood drawn from fellow recruits.
The sight itself, along with the rubber tube that still tinted red with blood as she placed it in a container with a black toxic symbol on an orange sticker label, had me both cringing and on the verge of sickness. For a few moments, a cold sweat slicked my forehead, and my heart raced. Down below, my stomach churned, and I gently grasped it with a hoof, hunching over the edge of the table a bit.
“I… I think I’m going to…” Before I could finish, my throat retorted in an enormous gag. My cheeks puffed out, and a horrid taste filled my mouth.
“Trash can!” the mare barked, pointing immediately to a small trash bin in the corner.
I practically leaped off of that exam table and landed myself right in front of the bin. Without a moment of hesitation, I let the torrent go. Yellow, perhaps greenish fluid shot from my maw as I hurled loudly, coughing mid-vomit.
It wasn’t much, in all, that came out. Mostly just that thick goop with an unpleasant scent and even worse taste lingering in my mouth that had me trying to spit that out with it. Stomach acid, more than likely, considering I hadn’t yet eaten today and have been running on an empty tank since five this morning, and it was now nearing ten o’clock.
A hoof rested along my shoulder, near where my neck and back met one another, rubbing gently. In her other hoof, the mare held a little paper cup of cold water from a fountain down toward me.
“Drink this. You will feel better,” she offered.
Shakily, I looked over at the cup, then up at her, taking it gently and gulping the water down in a single swig, panting after swallowing. “T-thank you.”
With her beside me, the mare brought me back to the table, where I climbed up for a third time and proceeded to lay down to breathe. I felt weak, like my energy had gone with the blood she drew. Is it normal to feel like death after having your blood drawn?
My head turned a bit, looking over while I lay on the table. “Would… it be possible to get the big one done last?”
The mare blinked. “The penicillin shot? I’m afraid that must come next. Regulations call for it.”
A groan released from my mouth. Reluctant to do so, I rolled over onto my stomach and lifted my head shakily, wiping at my lips. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
“Hmm…” her eyes narrowed a bit. “Tell you what. How about I administer a sedative, so you won’t feel it as much?”
“Let me guess, that needs to be injected too?!” I squealed out, voice cracking.
“Well, yes, but it is a very tiny needle. You won’t feel it go in at all, just the fluid. That will be cold,” she said, digging into a small drawer and producing an assortment of items.
As she did, a slight dose of dizziness set in. I felt as if the room were growing in size and spinning all around me, and keeping my head elevated became a chore. “M-miss?”
“Hmmm?” she answered, clenching a terrifyingly large syringe in her teeth and filling it with a bluish transparent liquid to the brim.
Upon seeing the needle, hysteria took over, but I felt myself weakening. I felt almost too tired to really panic, prompting to lay my head down and blink slowly with heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know if I can do this.”
She placed the syringe on the counter and took another alcohol swab, wiping it along my flank an inch behind my cutie mark. “You can. It all won’t last very long. See, I mixed the sedative with that water, because almost everypony thinks they need it after the blood draw. It’s just setting in.”
Taking the syringe in her hoof, she moved up behind the table. “Now, take a deep breath and count to seven. I promise I will have finished by then.”
Closing my eyes, bracing myself for the imminent pain to shroud my flank, I drew in a sharp breath and buried my muzzle into the cold surface and began counting.
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My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
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Interesting story so far. Good job on the drill sergeant's personality, and I love the Full Metal Jacket reference.
Cool story.
Seems like Star bit off more than he can chew...but I have a feeling this will make for a great story. Good job so far.