• Published 17th Sep 2016
  • 1,399 Views, 15 Comments

Millennia: Eye of the Storm - Thunderblast



Recovery can be tough, especially for those trained for long periods to endure stressful environments. In the months following the liberation of Manehattan, a Marine deeply affected continues his fight in a gradually-losing mental battle.

  • ...
2
 15
 1,399

PreviousChapters Next
3. Field Week - Part I

"So, Star," my barrack roommate, Nightpath, began from the small kitchen we had, cooking something for dinner. "How was leave?"

"Tedious, to keep it brief," I answered from my bed, holding a book just above my chest.

"Tedious?" He repeated in question, keeping his voice just above the crackling of the pan on the stove.

"Boring...?" I glanced around the book with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, right," Night chuckled lightly. "Sorry."

A few months ago, he threatened to pound me into the dirt with little to no remorse. Now, he apologized for not understanding certain words. How things could change in so little time.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, continuing to read my book.

"I heard, er... I heard Haywalker is having you see somepony. Are they tolerable?"

"It's a she, and yeah. I would say so," I answered as I flipped a page. "A bit of a hike and instincts to find her office, though."

"Where is it at? Midtown?"

"It's in the area of that new tower they're finishing up. Close to the train station, as well, if that narrows it down. The door is in a back alley, and that kind of had me on edge."

"Oh, yeah. Never trust the Manehattan streets. There's too many insane ponies out there looking for an easy bit from somepony."

"Amen to that," I let off a little chuckle, sitting upright and setting the book on the desk between our beds. "I just hope she will be good enough."

"Only time will tell, I guess. You'll know as it goes by and you'll make a decision."

"Well, I have good vibes about it... for once," I muttered the last part.

"That's good," Night replied, momentarily silencing. "On a slight subject change... Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

My brow raised a second time. "What's tomorrow?"

***

"All right, Marines, listen closely," Sergeant Hardstaff began while we sat in a small gathering room.

"If you haven't collected all of your warm clothes, you sure will need it for the days ahead. For the following week and a half, Fort Fetlock will be holding battle simulations to look over each and every one of you's performances in combat.

"Now, I am well aware that we went through this during basic training, and more recently, a real life situation right in our own backyard. This is exactly why these simulations are being hosted by the Equestrian Army."

The beige unicorn to my side raised his hoof. Hardstaff glanced at him. "Yes?"

Silver Edge lowered his hoof. "If it's the Equestrian Army, why are we required to go, sir?"

"Good question," Hardstaff nodded once in his direction, shifting slightly. "Regulations have changed. Any and all battle situations, minus naval exercises, mind you, are now required for all branches, minus the Navy once more, to attend. It ain't a competition, unless you would like to see it that way. It is just to see how well everypony will handle in a life-threatening situation.

"More so, First Lieutenant Arc Nobis will join me in observing your progress throughout the week. Don't worry, he will not cut any of you for the slightest mistake. He is just there to observe."

A very light collective chuckle came from around, even cracking a small smile from myself. A sergeant with a sense of humor was a good sergeant, a rare commodity in a squad these days it seemed.

"If anypony has any questions or objections, please feel obligated to speak your mind now, while you can," Hardstaff then said, eyes scanning over the room. "None? Positive? Alright. Head back to your barracks, grab everything you'll need."

He then picked up a single piece of paper from a nearby table. "While I trust none of you will need it, we will hand out a small shopping list, so to speak, for each of you to make sure you have the required gear. Dismissed."

Those of us seated rose from our chairs, filing in to a half-neat line to leave, taking a 'shopping list' from another Marine standing beside the door with a small pile of the paper. Nightpath and I took ours, siding each other as we exited into the hallway, and later, out of the building.

To my side, Night went over the list, trailing slightly behind and allowing me to lead him to the barrack.

"Insulated coats and pants, gloves, helmets, woobies, spare covers... No clue what the rest of it is," he glanced up.

"What the hell is a woobie?" The name itself made me grin slightly.

"You don't know what it is?" Night looked at me with a bit of shock, as if somepony had driven a spear through his heart.

"Nope. It sounds comfy, though."

"It's a thick blanket! You don't have one?!"

"Do you?" I looked over his way.

"Don't you?!" Night's head tilted, eyes wide with astonishment.

I shook my head, facing forward once more. "Where can I get one, the surplus store?"

"That's where I got mine," Nightpath nodded. "We may as well head over before we get back."

***

Off the train at a remote platform, centered in the middle of a tall, snowy pine forest, we were finally here. The ride to Fort Fetlock was not nearly as lengthy as I'd anticipated, much to my appall.

Once outside, pony-driven covered carriages parked up in unison beside the station with differently-uniformed soldiers hopping out and packing each of us and our bags in as tightly as possible, all before we were hauled off to the nearby base.

Passing through the front gates and pulling off in a patch of a mud-snow mixture, some soldiers opened the rear hatch and two by two, we hopped down, filing in to a rather large yet neat rowed group while more Marines were brought in from a few miles away.

Along with Sergeant Hardstaff, another taller uniformed stallion stood to his side, a similar insignia patch showing off proudly on his shoulder. Between branches, insignias differentiated to suit what ever branch it belonged to. Even our ranks were slightly different than the Army's.

At the top of his lungs, Hardstaff started to speak to all of us at once. All fifty or sixty of us...

"Eyes and ears open, Marines! This is Sergeant Major Sparkplug, he will be leading each and every one of you throughout the next week. I will be turning the reigns over to him," the night-blue pegasus said, his ice-blue eyes scanning over everypony with a stoic look to them.

To his side, a mud-brown earth pony stepped forth, sharing his facial expression and shoulder showing off his rank on the opposite side of Hardstaff's.

After a good moment of staring over us, he began. "Marines!"

***

In order to accommodate every pony coming in from all over the land, numerous rows of simple green tents had been constructed ahead of our arrival. Each one could house three to four ponies comfortably.

To keep the peace on base as well, we were all placed away from the Air Force ponies. It seemed the high-ranks in power over Fort Fetlock were well aware of how much Marines enjoyed teasing and poking competitive banter at the airponies. Airponies... as in ponies in the Air Force, not ponies that were literally planes, if those even truly existed.

Nightpath, myself, Silver Edge, and even Ashfall banded to share a tent, leaving our bags on the cots and regathering outside as ordered. Without a word said, in a couple of single-file lines, we were led to the mess hall.

As expected, the line was tremendously lengthy. Only sympathy was to be felt for those at the very rear who were also waiting for a hot breakfast. Thankfully we had managed to bag a position toward the middle, and the line did moving quicker as more staff piled into the kitchen.

Bringing my tray to a vacant spot on one of the numerous long tables, one notable mood in the air was suspicion. Not from me, but the soldiers stationed here giving us nasty or overall unwelcome looks.

It half worried me. Only half, knowing some sort of conflict between sides would be quickly resolved by base officials. Or, perhaps the soldiers are just extremely cranky here. The base was, after all, in the middle of nowhere, leaving everything they would ever need to be here.

Seating beside some other Marines, along with Night, Silver, and Ash, the conversation began.

"Excuse me for sounding like a sheep, but, this is going to be a baaaad week," Silver said, poking his scrambled eggs with a fork and resting his cheek on a hoof.

"What makes you say that?" Nightpath asked, blinking.

Silver glanced up to him, leaning in close from across the table and speaking much quieter between us. "Battle simulations? Just weeks after we fend off a rogue militia? What are the odds?"

He did have a point, even though there could have been tens of explanations. "Don't get yourself worked up. That was the real deal, this is not."

"Star, come on. You're no less shaken than the three of us combined," Silver motioned his hoof in a circle. "Why would they force us to do this?"

"How can you be sure this wasn't planned ahead of time? These typically take months to prepare, Silver," I replied, setting my silverware down. "Not to mention other possible reasons."

"Do enlighten us, then," Silver eased back, staring at me. "I am waiting."

I shot him a quick look. "Just eat. We have a long day just today as it is."

Scoffing, Silver rolled his eyes and lifted a forkful of eggs to his muzzle. "Fine."

***

Waking to the startling trumpet cadence in the early morning, just prior to dawn, my eyelids fluttered open, the whites visibly bloodshot. I groaned exhaustedly, shifting onto my side from my back to further tuck myself beneath the warm sheets, leaving just my head—and the bares of my hind hooves out the bottom—exposed to the frigid January air.

Left without a choice, I groaned a second time and sat upright, rubbing the cold tips of my ears. Tonight would definitely be spent with a beanie on to keep them from freezing off. That's quite frankly the last thing I'd need this trip.

Climbing out of the cot, the dark blue beanie was the first thing I grabbed, slipping it snugly atop my head and sniffing deeply to clear my nostrils. Even out of the cold breeze, there was no real temperature difference under cover, and the only real warm places around were the mess hall, the central office structure, the armory, and the medic's office.

Granting my mind some time to fully boot up, the memory hit me that today was a rucking day—only one of the most dreaded. Back in basic training, ruck marches were far and few in between, and it was a simple dirt modified racetrack. Who knew what this place had.

"Hey," I spoke up quietly to not startle anypony else. "Guys, wake up—"

"Go away!" All three of them answered, one or two of them muffled by their pillows.

Rolling my eyes, I nudged Silver's cot to gradually rock him awake. "Come on, the cadence sounded. Get up."

Grumbling incoherently, Silver rolled upright, eyes rolling down from the back of his sockets as his lids slid open, his maw parting to let out a deep yawn. "I hate them. I was sleeping soooo goooood!"

A small smile crept its way onto my muzzle. "Wish I could say the same. Now, come on. Get up, get ready. Don't want Hardstaff getting Sparkplug on our flanks."

That alone must have been some sort of motivation, for they were up and moving within seconds. Ashfall was the only one out of all four of us who didn't wear anything but his t-shirt to bed, despite the cold. Yep, he was definitely related to Anchorage somehow. It only added on to that theory of Silver's.

Prepared for the day at last, or somewhat, the four of us exited our tent and headed off for the mess hall. As said by the sergeant the night before, breakfast was optional before the run. All of us, minus Ashfall, agreed to at least put something in our stomachs, just enough to hold us over until lunch.

***

Leaving the chow hall no more than a few minutes later, Sergeant Hardstaff had been found toward the flagpole in center of the place, already with some Marines and other soldiers with their overloaded backpacks already on them. Ashfall was one of those Marines. A quick glance our way told me that we were missing something.

"You four!" Hardstaff called from a distance. "Over here," he waved his hoof in a motion for us to come.

Exchanging a glance with Silver, I took the lead over to the others, falling into formation. Hardstaff walked up to us with that questionable look we all knew.

"Your sacks?" Hardstaff asked. "Where are they, boys?"

"Do we pack our own or collect them from somewhere, sir?" Silver spoke up.

"I would have hoped for you three to pack your own, but never mind that. We have spares," he grinned in an almost-dark way, trotting off to the side, and later dragging back three heavily-packed green backpacks.

Just him pulling the bags along, as if they were feathers, showed off Hardstaff's true strength. It surprised me as much as I think it shocked everypony else.

"One for each. Get 'em on, and we'll get started," he ordered, sliding them close.

Nightpath grabbed hold of his ruck sack, slipping his hooves through the straps and allowing it to rest on his back. Not once did he grunt or groan. Damn those large stallions like him...

Silver picked his up with magic, much to Hardstaff's dismay. A simple tap of his hoof to Silver's horn doused the sparkles entirely, the pack dropping from a foot up onto his back, forcing him to lose his stance and fall down, struggling to stand himself back to all fours.

I reached to the bag to slide it closer, then lifting the bulky sack up and carefully slinging it over my shoulder, utilizing my currently-useless wings to make sure I wouldn't break something when the bag did finally set itself down. Man, was it heavy. It had to be weighing at least a ton! Not the metaphorical type, either.

My hooves began to lightly tremble beneath me, back being pressed downwards while what muscle I had exerting an opposing force in an attempt to balance out comfortably. I emitted little to no noise as the struggle to remain on my hooves went on, and whether or not I did make a single peep, Hardstaff most certainly—and thankfully—didn't notice.

***

Having being brought to a secluded, winding dirt path that weaved out into the dense pine ocean surrounding Fort Fetlock, Hardstaff stood off to our left, siding an Army corporal scribbling on a clipboard.

"Y'all know the drill. When every last one of you reaches the end, come on back, and we'll start over. This isn't a race. Treat each other respectfully, and help each other out," Hardstaff said sternly. "That is our primary goal. Consider this a bonding exercise."

Reaching back, Hardstaff slipped a pistol from his leather belt holster, cocking it once. The sixteen of us remained facing forward. My eyes intermittently darted between the night blue pegasus off to the side, and the dirt path ahead as far as the eye could see.

I waited. And waited. And waited some more. When was he going to—

BANG.

In an instant, my heart exploded down in my chest. My breath quickened, and my mind fell into a sort of internal panic at the deafening pop. Soon realizing the gun was aimed skywards, all senses were recollected with a quick shake of my head, galloping after the others who had already darted forward.

The weight on my back and shoulders was near unbearable. Regulations for ruck marching surely had to have changed, or I was falling rusty. Or, I was never good at these kinds of runs. Again, basic training did not have much of this whole type of exercise.

I clenched my teeth, only to have them chatter as a result of the brisk winter air. Despite the heavy clothes and gloves, my limbs were freezing. That same air slithered up my sleeves like a snake, sending chills down my weight-pressed spine.

Sooner than expected, however, I caught up with the others. Some of the soldiers had actually begun to fall behind. One let out a deep groan, his hooves giving out entirely beneath him, his sack falling forward and pressing his head painfully down into the dirt path.

I skidded to a stop immediately, chest heaving. Turning back to the fallen pony, who now squirmed agonizingly beneath the heavy backpack, I reached a hoof out, took his own, and gave it a yank, jarring part of him free from his own weight and using his formerly-trapped hoof to push himself up, gulping deeply for oxygen as his muzzle lifted from the snow.

The brown stallion wiped down his uniform, then glanced up at me with a warm smile, raising a hoof up to his cap to tip it. "Thank you, Marine."

"Star," I returned the smile with a small nod. "It's Star. And, you're welcome. Come on, let's get back in."

Nodding, both me and the dark mud-colored earth pony resumed where we had left off, albeit by each others' sides, rounding the small or sharp bends the path took, the other Marines and soldiers out of our sight for the moment.

"Alright, Star. Is... it just Star, or do ya have another name?" The pony to my right asked between breaths.

"Star Shooter," my breath quickened slightly in my reply. "You?"

"S-Skillshot. Nice name," he panted. "I-I thought all... Marines were cold hearted bastards."

Briefly glancing to him, I said back, "I believed all soldiers w-were sociopaths-in-uniform."

"Nah, that's... the special forces. Skyborne, Troopers, squads like those. Th... they're the sociopaths-in-uniform. Are y-ya sure you're a Marine? That uniform is..." he paused for a breath. "L-looks too much like the old Navy ones. What does the Navy wear now?"

"Blue digital. Luna decided it would be best... if our uniforms didn't match."

"You serve L-Luna?"

"I serve Equestria, n-no princess in particular."

"I-I suppose that's why everypony just calls y'guys Marines. Not Lunar Marines, not Lunar Soldiers, not Lunar anything. M-makes it seem less like the old revolution, y'know?"

"Y-yeah," I huffed out, rounding a bend with Skillshot and spotting the others a ways ahead. "T-thank Luna, they're not waiting for us."

"So you do like Luna!"

"What?" I snapped to look at Skillshot.

The mud-brown pony smirked with a small chuckle between pants. "Most ponies h-have a preferred princess these days. There's no real c-competition, though. Where ya from?"

"Come again?"

"Where. Are... Y-ya. From?"

"Oh! Coltlumbus. You?"

"Appleloosa."

Unbeknown to me, my steady pace I'd worked for had proceeded to slowly fail. My face and forehead were heating up, in spite of the winter breeze blowing into us as we ran. "Never been. Is it nice?"

"F-for a pony who loves the hot desert, homestyle cookin', and country folk, yes," Skillshot replied, notably palpitating harder.

"So, not for me," I chuckled softly to myself.

Skillshot snickered a bit as well. "Whew... Yeah. Perhaps not. Damn, w-where is the end?"

"You're s-stationed here, shouldn't you know?" I huffed, reaching up to my warm, dampened forehead and wiping the beading sweat off with my hoof.

The mud-colored stallion's chest was heaving much more deeply now. He did not sound good, not one bit. "T-this path wasn't h-here when I was in training. The old one was south of the base."

"Why make... a new one?"

"I-I wouldn't recommend questioning their l-logic... whew," Skillshot huffed, slowing to an eventual halt. "Give me a second..."

Stopping some short distance further, my chest bloated and deflated heavily as I'd begun to catch my breath. "W-we really should not be stopping."

Skillshot, with his head facing the ground, breathed deeply and loudly. "I know. I just—" suddenly, his maw closed up tightly, cheeks stretching out, like a squirrel with nuts in his mouth, and his entire face turning a sickly green shade.

"Skill?" My eyes shot wide with surprise.

"Mmmph!" He waved his hoof for me to stay back, galloping to the edge of the trees. Just moments after reaching the snowy grass, what ever it was he had to eat this morning was now hurled out in a thick, greenish-yellow chunky puddle on the ground.

Writhing at the sight, up I put a hoof forward before my eyes to block it away, angling my head just to the right as well and stood by for the miserable stallion to finish. A couple of soldiers behind us passed, one chuckling, and the other grossing out and running faster.

In a final splatter of puke, Skillshot weakly shifted my direction, wiping little drips of vomit free with his sleeve and groaning deeply. "I-I'm good," he puffed.

Lowering my hoof just slightly to glance over it, my one eye met his. "Positive?"

Nodding, Skillshot trotted closer, eyelids hanging lower in weakness. "Th-that sucked."

***

Many stressful—and painful—minutes later, the end was in sight. Scattered about, each was individually pausing to ease themselves and recuperate until the run back. Knowing orders, neither me nor Skill would have a moment without being left behind.

"There you are," Ash smiled faintly, breathing slower and calmer than the others.

I'd imagine he was used to these runs by now. He exercises often, too.

"We thought we would have to come back and look for you," Nightpath grinned. He, too, was faring even better than Ash. Then again, he was the largest out of all of us.

Coming to a complete stop, my hooves waited no longer before they gave out from underneath me, my face planting directly into the snow. The cold of it was the best feeling to my face since... I don't even remember when!

Skillshot sat down, ears drooping and sweat running down his forehead and neck. Neither of us replied to either of them. Frankly, we needed a minute to breathe first.

Author's Note:

Finally, after two months, a new chapter! Enjoy. :twilightsmile:

PreviousChapters Next