A Sailor's Notes

by Thunderblast

16. Second Chances

To my immediate disappointment, as well as my mother's, our reunion was cut far too short by orders. Mere hours following the conclusion of pass-in review, every graduated sailor now had a new task; to get to their designated stations on time.

The nice part about the journey to the airport was parents could now accompany their sailors, allowing precious time to spend before they move on to the next step in their career. It was rather relaxing to sit down with Mom for the first time in two months and catch up with her.

In that span of time, she'd somehow managed all on her lonesome. Come to find out, Misty stopped by to help in her free time, much to Mom's appreciation in my absence.

She'd even handed Mom a neatly-written letter for me to read once I graduated.

---

Dear Anchorage,

Assuming you are reading this and not speaking to me in person, I apologize wholeheartedly for not being able to attend your graduation. I wrote this ahead of time just in case, and it is to my understanding that you will not be returning home immediately.

I just want you to know that I miss you, and I love you. I am proud of you, too, for finding the courage to challenge yourself and earn yourself a title of inexplicable worth.

So go out there and be the best damn sailor you can be.

Anchors Aweigh.

~Misty

---

I raised my head to smile at Mom upon finishing. Without saying a word, I wrapped my hooves around her in a warm, tight embrace. Needless to say, I probably confused her with this gesture at first.

"Give her one of these for me next time you see her, would you?" I said.

Mom's lips curled in her own grin. Her hooves soon looped back around my torso. "Yes, sir."

I blushed some at that. Of course she did it to poke at me. "Please, Mom, don't call me that."

She laughed for a good few seconds, before planting a motherly kiss on my cheek.

On arrival to Chicoltgo Airport some forty minutes after leaving North Shores, we learned my flight's departure to Manehattan was two hours from the moment we stepped off the train.

However, being one of the world's busiest airports came with its setbacks; the queue for security into the terminal I needed stretched back into the check-in hall and consistently moved at a snail's pace. Sure, military on orders received some priority through the lines, but the number of other fresh-out-of-boot-camp sailors mutually heading off to their next assignment would counter that perk.

In order to be at my gate on time, only ten more minutes were spent with Mom. Because of an extra day booked at her hotel, she would not head home until tomorrow morning, meaning she could not accompany me to the gate even with a pass.

And so we exchanged final glances from where I filed in to the shortest of the lines. Like a mother habitually would, Hazy stood in the check-in hall long enough to watch me vanish around a corner to process through the hectic environment that was airport security.

⚓

On approach into Manehattan, even before landing, I knew I was in for a treat.

As we prepared to land, the pilots circled us over the city, before looping out over the harbor and back around to line up for the airport. In doing so, outside my window, the magnificent sight that was Naval Station Manehattan passed roughly three-thousand feet below.

From above, in between low-lying clouds that hung over the area, I mentally pointed out a singular carrier, two amphibious assault ships, five or six destroyers, as well as a few frigates and cruisers in the mix. Even with the ships present, there were still plenty of empty docks that belonged to a carrier strike currently group out on deployment.

In the time between losing sight of base and wheels down, I daydreamed myself boarding one of those ships. It had been brought to my knowledge by Chief Stygius that, on completion of 'A' School, we receive our orders. It was more of a 50/50 chance between getting slapped with shore duty and being put on a ship, and that part did have me somewhat on edge.

Along with me on this flight were six or seven others from my training division or the other two. The rest from our groups jetted off to duty stations across the country, potentially also including East Harbor—the little base back home, outside of Gander Cove. However, of them all, the one here in Manehattan was the largest, and first impressions from the air made it clear why it retained that title.

Some ten minutes of taxiing after touchdown later, myself and the other graduates were greeted in the terminal by a trio of petty officer third and second classes, sent to supervise our arrival and ensure nopony winds up lost. From there, we collected our seabags from baggage claim and headed up an escalator to the first floor entrance, where a collection of taxi carriages awaited.

Definitely a different welcoming party than the one heading to boot camp, and a new mode of transportation, as well. While trains did service Manehattan International, just like Chicoltgo and had the station suspended above the ground, it was made clear that no extension had been made to bring a stop at the naval base, much to our shock.

From the airport to base was another thirty minute journey, followed by another ten minute wait to process everypony in, no thanks to the clueless master-at-arms in the guardbox.

Afterwards, the adventure wasn't over yet. We still had to meet with our new superiors to confirm our arrival, enrollment in 'A' School, and get our lodging squared away. And by lodging, I meant a rack on the ship, as it turns out most graduates don't have their own barrack dorm until they make E-3, or Seapony.

By this time, I was exhausted as all hell. Being the dead of winter, it was already getting dark at this hour. Were it up to me, and damning the cold altogether, I'd have crashed on the nearest bench and called it a night.

It wasn't until almost 2100 when all of the paperwork was complete, and we were individually shown to our temporary ships. Mine was the EQS Northesk, one of the newest destroyers of its class. Because I won't officially be assigned to a ship until after the completion of ET 'A' School, I had to curb my excitement here. This would simply be my home for the next few months to a year. Hell, after 'A' School, they could send me elsewhere based on the fleet's demands.

The racks weren't anything special, as to be expected. In fact, about three inches on the length and width had been shaved off in order to conserve space aboard the ship whilst retaining a comfortable sleeping space. Personally, I had no issue with what was given.

Although, sharing the compartment with only one other sailor who had a whole three months of being here on me, and the fact that he simply was not talkative would grow on to bug me at some point.

But that didn't matter now. In fact, the peace and quiet was perfect, and within two minutes of laying down I was out like a light.

⚓

At the crack of dawn the next morning, I rose to the familiar tune of morning reveille blasting through the ship's 1MC. At least, that's what it felt like, having been in such a deep sleep seconds prior, and arguably the best slumber I've had in months.

Today was the first day of 'A' School for Electronic Technicians, based here in Manehattan. Needless to say, it left worry in my mind to think about what I should expect. With no experience in that field, I questioned whether I'd made a mistake or not.

At the same time, I assured myself that everything would work out. It was even the recruiter's word that ponies gain the experience they need through these classes, but that could have been one of his lies that I overlooked.

Showering and getting dressed took no longer than ten minutes altogether, and after grabbing a quick bite in the galley, the Navy's version of a mess hall, I headed to the school, on the south end of base in the sector nicknamed 'Rate Row', because this is where every pony whose rate bases their school here must go for their classes.

In all, the campus consisted of five rectangular buildings made out of brick, glass, and steel, some interconnected by sky bridges and labeled by letter and position, surrounding a marble statue fountain in the center of the plaza.

Though confusing at first, some signs pointed in the right direction based on type of rate. Mine situated on the second floor of School Hall B, the southernmost structure of Rate Row, standing between School Hall A South, and School Hall C South.

Campus didn't appear to be too terribly busy, though it could be that I arrived at just the right time between the start of class. Then again, it was brought to my knowledge that some particular classes are scheduled later in the day, or even overnight in some rare cases.

I stopped myself a hundred feet before the building's entrance as a few others walked past to head in. My light blue irides raised to study the exterior, up to the shingles that consisted of the sloped roof. I wanted to move forward, but something prevented me, as if my hooves were frozen in ice. Just to make sure I wasn't actually, my gaze fell to the ground to find nothing holding me back.

Was it anxiety? Probably. It would have explained the butterflies in my churning, twisting stomach. I'd made it through boot camp just fine, so why on earth am I held up here?

Just then, my left ear swiveled to the tone of a voice from behind. "Hey there! We've met before, haven't we?"

The voice I recognized almost instantly, and I gave a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm whether it was who I remembered it belonging to. It was that recruit, from swim call back at North Shores, in a canter to catch up with small saddlebags of class necessities at his sides. He definitely came prepared.

I almost couldn't believe it at first, until recalling how he had also chosen ET for his rate. Unless somepony in his division resembled me down to the hairs on my back, questioning my familiarity felt more like a joking remark to see me again.

"Of course. Gallant, was it?" I checked.

He nodded. "Glad to see you made it!"

I returned the nod, lips curling upward. "I can't thank you enough for helpin' me in swim call, man. You really saved my flank."

The tangerine stallion smiled warmly. "Hey, don't mention it. I help out where I can. So, ET, huh?"

Once more, I nodded. "That's right. First day, first... anxious impression," I said, words shuddering at the end. Instantaneously I regretted admitting that out loud.

Gallant's hoof came up to rest on my shoulder cordially. "I heard it's just orientation. But this isn't even 'A' School yet, it's technical training. I wouldn't fret about it too much. Besides, we're in this together again."

That made me smile. He really was an optimistic pony, wasn't he? It felt reassuring enough to break the chains of fear, to have somepony familiar by my side. That's when we started walking toward the door.

"After class, depending on our orders, want to maybe hit up the rec hall for some games to wind down? If you're into that, of course," he offered politely.

I blinked some. This called back to my time at Camp Wallop, the good times, before everything went south. "I'd be down to learn. What are you into?"

Gallant kicked his hoof to knock a pebble forward. "The usual, like pool and air hockey. But ping pong is my favorite."

Yep. Now it was all coming full circle. This time, however, I had the ins and outs of the game.

"Really?" I furrowed an eyebrow, grinning cockily. "Think you can beat me in a one-on-one?"

His ears perked attentively, looking over at me and returning his own smirk. "Do I smell a challenge?"

I chuckled at that, pulling the door open for him. "You bet it is."

Gallant paused, baring his teeth in that ear-to-ear smirk across his muzzle. It was more of a knowing glance than anything, as not another word on the matter was said on entrance to the school hall.

⚓

The first week of the supposed six of pre-'A' School Apprentice Technical Training course went by rather quickly. Of course, the first couple of classes kicked off at a pace where everypony was on the same beat as each other. That's sure to change, but at least I don't feel lost.

As the second week passed, and even the third, Gallant and I found the difficulty increasing. They had us work with basic electronics and circuitry, and moved on suddenly to digital theory and fiber optics.

But just like grade school, there was homework. Always homework. Except it wasn't your average booklet that you take home and spend an hour or two on, no—they gave us real tools to work on real electronic parts, with our knowledge based on instructor demonstrations and educational videos played on wall projectors.

My performance wasn't bad, either. In fact, for the time being, I was up with the top of my class. Now came the part where I repay my debt to Gallant for his help at boot camp. It became blatantly evident in our second week that he was struggling, and so after class each day I offered my own help, even if it meant sacrificing what little free time we had each day.

It boosted his confidence in the course, and over the passage of time throughout week three, I noticed an increase in our instructor's satisfaction over his work. For all he was aware, Gallant had simply taken extra time to sharpen his skill to catch up with the rest of us. No one needed to know he was seeking help from somepony.

The only downside was the weekends. Because ET classes ran only on weekdays, and since we weren't nearly official electronic technicians yet, we get slapped with some of the low-end work around base. This ranged anywhere from night watch, to basic grunt tasks, such as moving heavy shit around with or without the aid of tools designed specifically for that purpose, to helping out in the galley kitchen.

On the Saturday preceding week four, the first weekend of February, I had been tasked with perhaps the lowest of the low: cleaning the passageways and half of the compartments of the EQS Galliot, another destroyer based here in Manehattan.

The difference between it and the ship I slept on was apparent; floors were heavily worn down but still fairly intact, hatch locks and the doors themselves moved looser from use, and even computers in some compartments were outdated, too. While belonging to the same class of destroyer as the Northesk, it was clear this ship was among the oldest built. Perhaps it would do me good to learn its age and other little details about it.

Everywhere I went, bouncing across passageways left and right, back and forth, I toted along a wheeled yellow water bucket with a built-in wringer, and a mop slung over my shoulder like the rifle they trained us with for watch.

The work itself was tedious, yet it didn't fail to make me break a sweat. Whoever was in charge of monitoring the ship's interior temperature must have had the heat cranked, and these ships most definitely trapped heat. I could only imagine what it's like in the summer, particularly when sailing in hotter regions such as Saddle Arabia. That must be like standing inside a floating oven.

As I moved about the ship, for some odd reason, the hatch leading into the galley from this side was locked. Worse yet, it was locked from the inside. From my current position on the ship, it meant I had to backtrack and reenter through someplace else on the weather deck and loop back around to where I needed to work.

While topside, dragging with me my mop and mobile bucket, I turned my gaze skywards. There were few breaks in the clouds with thin rays of sunlight punching through to the surface, with a beautiful blue peeking from the other side of this otherwise gloomy blanket.

However, in the corner of my eye, something else roped my attention.

My sights drifted to the right, fixating on the mast, and a somewhat silhouetted figure stood atop it. There is a little platform at the top of every destroyer's mast, called the crow's nest, designed for sailors on watch.

But this figure was much higher than the crow's nest sat, propped up only by his forehooves looped around the very top, where the mast reduced itself to nothing more than the width of a small communication antenna. From that height, assuming he or she's not a pegasus (nor did they appear to be from my position), or a sailor whose purpose is to work on such tall fixtures, a fall would be almost certainly fatal.

A part of me, despite being pegasus all around, felt anxious for them being up that high with no rope and harness to keep them from tumbling to certain death should they slip up. But as I pondered on it more, my adrenaline spiked.

Oh my god. That's exactly what they want to do.

My mind raced through my options here. The last thing I wanted was to startle him or her and accidentally result in them falling earlier than what they had planned. At that height though, it's possible they already see me, hoping I don't notice them.

Shit, how do I approach this?

The best thing to do under any circumstance is call for help. But I had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn't be the best action in this case. I had to do this myself, and hope somepony stumbles upon it by chance.

Nothing else flashed in my head as the correct course of action. But I had to start somewhere.

"Er... hey, you!" I called out, doing so at a collected level of volume so as to just let them hear me.

From where I stood on the weather deck, I noticed their head turn downward, towards me, as if acknowledging my presence.

"Can I help you?" he returned passive-aggressively. He had a deep voice, one that reflected authority in a way.

"What are you doin' up there?" It was a dumb question that I already knew the answer to. But I hoped it would start a conversation to distract him.

There was the faintest of sighs, mainly due to distance, and a short silence before a response. "Doing what I should have a long time ago, Sailor."

Definitely not a good sign. This went deeper than many cases of military suicides I've heard of. "And just what might that be? Don't you think it's worth talking about first?"

"Just get away. You don't need to see this." He stubbornly replied.

"Come on, just—talk to me. Tell me what's buggin' you. It's just me here, I'll listen."

"No you won't! Yo-you just don't want to watch me die! You don't actually give a shit about the why, just the how!"

That angered me. "The hell I don't! You ever think what goes through the mind of a foal, especially a young colt far away from his family, only to learn the father they loved dearly took their own life?! I'm not talkin' petty shit, either, I'm talkin' real... deep... dark, but preventable reasons."

Again came a lengthy silence. Perhaps that was something that got through to him.

"Please?" I begged. "Will you please just... at least give me an idea of why you're doin' this?"

The wind stopped just enough to hear the shallow sigh escape his lips. "My wife left me... a-and, she took my foals with her, too! We're in a custody battle, have been for the last two months... I was winning. No-now I learn in a court statement that she will assume full custody next week."

We jumped right into it, but this is a start. "What happened? Why did that change?"

"She came up with some bullshit last-resort story that I hit all three of them at one point out of anger when I swear that I didn't, and so the judge decided I have no right even calling to talk to my foals again."

"Was there any proof provided of this? Surely if you did, and I believe you didn't, there would be some evidence somewhere?"

"No, of course not! They didn't even question the details! Just... that I lost my temper one night, hit her hard enough to leave a welt, then took out the rest of my anger on our son and daughter in the same manner."

My brow furrowed. "So they just... believed her word?"

"Of course!" he cried. "Isn't that how all mares get away with this shit?! They didn't even bother with a polygraph, for either of us!"

All of this was just... awful. How could somepony put somebody else through this? I knew there were horrible ponies out there, but I couldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Not in my lifetime.

And sure, ponies also make up wild stories to gain the sympathy of others, although everything about this sailor's pain seemed too genuine.

"Look... I know it's tough. I know what it's like. This persisting feeling of... hopelessness, and despair. But, think about this... how will endin' your life make anything better?"

The sailor choked on his words softly as he responded. "I-it'll put my foals at ease, kn-knowing their abusive father won't be a problem for them anymore..."

Damn it, he's reached that stage where the mind just rolls with anything. "But they don't think that! If you never hit them, what on earth would possibly compel them to believe otherwise?!"

"Who else?!" he shouted in vain. "Their deceptive, conniving, selfish mother! It would be in her best self interest to brainwash them into thinking that, just like everything else she's force fed into their minds!"

"And you're just... going to let that happen? To your foals?" I queried, attempting to spark a change in his head that way. "You'd give anythin' to see them again. Your life should not be one of those things. If I were you, I'd go out there and fight for your right to see your foals again. How old are they?"

"M-my son... he's almost eight. Daughter, five." He closed his eyes. "Their mother has an active restraining order on me, so why bother? It's a mare's world we live in. Even if we're right, we're wrong. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked."

He wasn't wrong there. But that's not to mean there isn't hope anywhere. "That's why I'm sayin' to prove your innocence! From what I've gathered from you so far, you just gave up before the fight was over! You shouldn't let her word to a judge dictate your right to defend yourself in court."

The sailor went silent for a few moments, much to my perturbation. When he spoke again, his voice was cracking under the weight of his emotion.

"Wh-where do I even start?"

My ears folded back part way. Out of the corner of my eye, I acknowledged the appearance of a master-at-arms and a chief petty officer watching from a few feet away in silence, letting it play out. Little was I aware a small crowd had formed on the dock over the course of the event.

"Start by coming down from there, nice and slowly, and let us help you. No punishment here."

There was another silence as he stared down at us three, as if in a contemplative muse. It signified in my mind that I'd gotten through to him, and he was reconsidering his intentions.

Steadily his gaze lifted to face forward, where he met with the river, the Manehattan Bridge, and grey skies.

It wasn't until almost two minutes later when he replied, announcing he was coming down safely, and immediately washing me with a tidal wave of intense relief.

Some anxiety lingered, scrutinizing his careful effort off of the mast. First he worked himself down to the crow's nest, then gradually down to the deck via ladder. There, we met up with him for when his hooves landed on safe ground.

His eyes were red and puffy with fatigue, and the fur on his cheeks matted down from tears. He swallowed heavily, looking me dead in the eye.

"Thank you..." he paused, flicking a glance down at my nametag. "...Anchorage."

I bobbed my head once in a nod. "I know exactly where you—"

Right there, I stopped myself. I recalled, back in boot camp, we were given a moment of truth. In that moment, we were asked to stand up and admit any faults in our past, ranging from depression to undocumented crimes, and anything in between that one would not be proud of.

But I also knew this—speaking up meant you go home, no questions asked. This felt like a rehash of those uneasy sixty seconds in that small, dark room. Saying all that I had in mind, even if to sympathize with this poor soul, would surely have its repercussions soon after.

"I couldn't bear to watch darkness claim another life." I said, much differently than originally planned. It still got my point across without hinting too much at my own past feelings.

I watched the tears glass over his cores, and in his deep purple irides I read the pain in his essence like a book. He hurt badly, and it was clear he acknowledged he needed help.

"I-I have one final court hearing next month. I'll..." he swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'll give them my story again, in full detail. It's worth a shot. For the sake of my foals, I won't miss it."

That brought a smile to my face. "It gets better from here, man. Trust me, it does."

With that, he gave a single, small nod, offering a thin smile in return, before both the master-at-arms and chief petty officer escorted him away, hopefully to get him some psychiatric help.

As I watched the three go under, all I could do was stand there, unsure of what to think. My mind raced through too many thoughts to focus on one in particular.

I hadn't even found out his rank until he was right in front of me—a Senior Chief Petty Officer, a whole seven ranks above me. It struck harder to learn this after the ordeal ended, but solidified the notion that dark thoughts and depression spare no rank, starting with my father two years ago.

When I did come back to my senses, some five and a half minutes later, my first instinct was to get back to the cleaning work I was doing. However, at the same time, I questioned how exactly I would stay focused on that task for the remaining three hours of my shift, against all that just transpired.

It then hit me hours later that had I not glanced up at the sky when I did, in whatever instinct compelled me to do so at that exact moment in time, I wouldn't have caught that stallion on the mast. It was almost as if my father was whispering into my ear with regret, telling me to help him—like I was given a second chance to prevent his mistake from carrying on to the next troubled soul.

All I knew then, was that I'd most likely just saved a life. His battle wasn't over, sure, but it could very well have been prematurely. And it wasn't exactly my business to, nor my obligation, but I'd make an effort to check on his well-being when possible.

For right now though, I could rest easy knowing two foals won't lose their father today.

Author's Note:

One more chapter.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

At the risk of sounding like I'm complaining, I thought you weren't writing stories anymore.

[Thunderblast]

9440644
Nah, I'm still here, just not as active as I'd like to be. This story has been my point of focus for the last few months, and I've also been working on revisions/total rewrites of the early chapters of Millennia: Beginning.

[Skyfire Storm]

Great work, dude. It’s so good to see Anchor do justice to his father in a sense by preventing another tortured soul from doing the same thing.

Can’t wait for the next chapter.