Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes

by totallynotabrony

Chapter 2

The Wash Margin Guard Station was so backwoods and so devoid of events that Melon had never had occasion to wear his dress uniform, nor seen anypony else do so. That is, until Mirror put hers on in preparation to leave for Canterlot.

There was not a single medal on her blouse. She had to have at least a few, of course. Active duty, long service, or some other such freebie. Melon wondered why she didn’t wear them.

The uniform was sharp, though. Mirror adjusted her tie and polished the buttons with her sleeve as the two of them waited for the ferry to the mainland. She’d asked Melon to walk with her down to the docks.

“You’re due for a Sergeant nomination, right?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How do you like your chances?”

“I’ve been stuck at Wash Margin for three years, so I’ve got very little to show on my performance record.”

Mirror nodded. “Well, for the mission at hoof, I’d like you to consider yourself an acting Sergeant. In your mind.”

“So I’m just supposed to think I am and not tell anypony else?”

“Right. Just do that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What are you going to do with your little band of merry mares?”

“For the exercise? Honestly, ma’am, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. This is my first time taking down the whole Guard from the inside.”

“What?”

“What?”

Melon was fairly sure she was joking. He asked, “What do you recommend I do?”

“Classic asymmetric tactics. Don’t take direct action, blend into the population, make the adversary think you’re as dangerous as possible.”

Melon nodded. Coming up with a plan to conduct mock attacks on other units participating in the exercise was difficult enough. Figuring out how to lead a group in doing so, and getting them to accept his authority, seemed harder.

“I think this is a trap,” said Mirror. “This feels like a trap.”

“Ma’am?”

“You know how the Wash Margin station’s been neglected by headquarters and everypony else. For politics or some other reason, it hasn’t been closed already. But I think this exercise is an excuse to make that happen.”

“Ma’am...respectfully...is that a bad thing?”

Mirror glanced at him and then at the buildings that lined the small island’s meager waterfront. “Admittedly, it’s a personal crusade to keep Wash Margin going.”

Her slit pupils went back to him. “Even still, it’s on your honor as a Guard to do your best. I expect a strong showing at the exercise.”

“Mixed messages, ma’am.”

Mirror nodded.

The ferry arrived. Mirror put a piece of string in her mouth and lit it. She walked up the gangplank to the ferry, but paused. She tossed Melon her lighter. “Here. Might come in handy.”

And then she was gone.

Pleasantly surprised, Melon looked at the lighter. The golden finish was heavily scuffed from long use. He opened the lid, seeing the insides were caked with soot. He’d never held it before, but had seen Mirror use it enough, either lighting something or just idly snapping the cover.

Melon tried it out, giving his hoof a flick. The lighter went flying, right into the water.

He plunged in after it.

Returning to the station a short time later, Melon tried to avoid his fellow guards’ notice, but met Chalice and Dew coming out of the barracks.

“Why are you all wet?” Chalice asked.

“Long story,” Melon said. It wasn’t really, but still brushed her off. He continued for the shower, but turned back. “Meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Find Scootaloo.” The order given, he went to clean himself up. Following the shower and drying, he paused at the mirror, staring at his reflection.

Melon was supposed to be in charge. Corporal - acting Sergeant - Melon Rind, Lunar Guard. A fancy title. He didn’t feel it.

How did Mirror feel? Was she nervous and hesitant? Did she bury it with her antics? Melon didn’t think he could pull off a perfect emulation of her, and anyway, the rest would be confused if he tried.

He put on his armor. That felt right, at least. The uniform helped remind him of his purpose. Melon frowned. But that didn’t change the fact that he was about to embark on something he’d never done before.

The three mares were waiting in the conference room when Melon arrived. Dew was animatedly explaining something magical to Scootaloo, whose eyes were glazed. Chalice was skimming through a pocket reference book.

Melon closed the door. None of them looked at him. He cleared his throat. That did the trick, but now they were staring, waiting for him to say something.

“So, the Lieutenant gave us our mission,” he said.

“Um, what is it exactly?” asked Scootaloo. “All I know is that we’re the red team and we’re supposed to fake-attack the other guys.”

“That’s it,” said Melon.

“That’s it?” said Chalice. “What are we supposed to do? Where do we begin?”

The three of them were back to staring at him. “We’ll play it by ear,” Melon said, more cooly than he felt. That wasn’t an answer, but none of them called him on it.

“Look,” he said, trying a different tactic, “This is new and different for all of us, but we’re all in this together. I think we should go to Canterlot. That’s where the main body of the forces are gathering.”

Dew asked, “Where are we staying?”

“Who’s paying for it?” added Chalice. “Aren’t we already scraping by on the budget we have?”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Melon repeated. “Get packed up. Travel light. We’re supposed to be covert, so no uniforms.”

That last order seemed to put the others in good spirits, at least.

The group of them headed back to the barracks to collect their kit. Melon hastily threw together his bag and then went looking for Sergeant Fit.

Fit was in the gym. Melon went over to him. “I could use some help, Sergeant. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Fit paused in his reps. “The Lieutenant wants you to lead the red team. Can you imagine what she would do?”

Melon shrugged. “I suppose I can guess.”

“Okay. Now take that down a couple of notches.”

Melon nodded. “I see what you’re saying. I’m just a little unsure where to start.”

“It’s my job to help you out,” said Fit. He slid back into the weight machine. “But at some point, I can’t keep holding your hoof. It’s your turn to make decisions.”

He was right, of course, though Melon was just hoping for a few ideas.

He said goodbye to Fit and left. The three mares were outside, having packed their bags. It was still strange to think of himself in charge of them. Melon paused for a moment, staring at the - at his Privates.

Before it got too uncomfortable, he shook his head. “Come on. Let’s find a ride.”

Comments

[johnnosk]

staring at the - at his Privates.

... That can be taken so many ways!