37. Manners Maketh Man
Farmer Bruener Has Some Ponies
Manners Maketh Man
“Sir! There are ladies present. I would think that means there are gentlemen present also.”
— Sharpe
Patience: What you have when there are too many witnesses.
— Anonymous
The military chain of command can be much more like a spider’s web than actual links of steel. Social media has only increased the number of threads over the last few decades, in a way that dedicated intelligence professionals both loathed and used frequently. Facebook and Twitter photos of military equipment frequently have timestamps that indicated both when and where the photo was taken.
For example, reporters or spies—sometimes difficult to tell apart—tracked practically every Russian vehicle in the Ukrainian invasion of 2014 to the point where they could not only identify exactly which BUK anti-aircraft unit shot down a civilian airliner, but the exact path it took on the way to be deployed, and exactly how it was spirited away afterward. Military intelligence operatives tracking cell phone signals could only add marginally to that by identifying the names and service branches of the crew, but also the messages the soldiers sent to each other on forbidden social media or texts.
Messages like the one Lt. Comena had just received.
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Time: 1340 Hours 29-Jun-2015
Location: Camp Rainbow, Randolph Kansas
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Nick gave his cell phone a quick glance when it buzzed, then thumbed a one letter response that meant he was buying pizza for Private Rodriguez in thanks for his timely pre-planned alert.
“That’s the signal. Time to adjourn the meeting,” he said to the eight other soldiers who were slogging their way through paperwork in one of the MP’s tents. “Lt. Colonel Clarke has boarded the helicopter at Ft. Riley and is en route to the local landing site, ETA about twenty minutes. Since we have not been officially notified of his exact arrival time, I’m presuming he wants to make a surprise inspection, so I need everybody to act surprised. Gold teams should be deployed at their respective tanks and Blue teams dispersed among the remaining ponies, doing assigned tasks. If your teams don’t have tasks, give them some. Murphy, how is that baseball game coming along?”
Corporal Murphy tucked away a piece of paper as part of the cleanup with the rest of the tank commanders. “The ponies ain’t got no strike zone, but we think slow pitch softball rules might work, if we can get one of the unicorns to turn a regular baseball into something softer. On account of they ain’t got mouths big enough to catch a big softball, that is. Sergeant Hardhooves says it entertains the photographers, so I presume we’ll be able to get an exhibition game going this evening. Blue shift and off-duty MP units should be enough to fill up a team.”
“Good. Arbury, do you have the theatre in the barn shut down?”
“Not quite, sir.” Sergeant Arbury waved one thick-fingered hand in the general direction of Farmer Bruener’s big hay barn, which had been ‘repurposed’ as an indoor theatre once the exterminator had finished spraying for fleas and the mother cat had been relocated. “A couple of the elderly Equestrian ladies put in a request to watch the Hallmark channel whenever we’re not using it for—” Arbury coughed quietly “—training films. Also, they wanted to watch some martial arts movies. Humans move in interesting ways, I suppose.”
“Try to keep it on the Hallmark channel instead of Kung Fu Theatre when Clarke is inspecting, please.” Nick looked around at the soldiers making preparations to close down their meeting. “Where’s Rogers? I thought he was supposed to be here at least for snide comments.”
“Was meaning to talk to you about that privately, sir.” Sergeant Spasowski passed Nick a non-regulation iPad with a plastic flap cover. After examining the photo displayed and flipping through several more, Nick closed the cover with a solid click.
“I think I want to see this for myself, Sergeant. If we have time before Clarke gets here.”
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Time: 1346 Hours 29-Jun-2015
Location: Camp Five-o-Clock, Randolph Kansas
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Captain Kevin Rogers was in trouble the moment he saw his opponent’s blade move. Pumpernickel was fast, even if he was fairly green with a sabre, and Rogers just barely managed to deflect the tip of the steel with his own guard before trying for a riposte by reflex. It was a move more suited for the collegiate mat than a circle of pounded-flat dirt, and although he managed to score a definite touch against the white-striped pegasus, it left him open for a full sweep of the Equestrian’s blade, clutched firmly in powerful equine jaws and swung with all the muscles in the big pegasus’ neck. Despite the enchantments on his fencing outfit, that much steel slamming into Roger’s ribs hurt, and knocked him flat.
There was no time to recover because the pegasus promptly pounced much like a lion, only to get the tip of Rogers’ practice blade straight into the armored chest. Of course, since the pegasus outweighed the human by a significant ratio, that only let Pumpernickel land on top of Rogers with an explosive whoof of expelled air as the blade skittered to one side.
“You’re dead,” he managed to wheeze.
“Just stabbed. I’ve been stabbed before,” stated the sweaty batpony through his mouth-grip on his training weapon. He lifted up one wing to show a particularly puckered white line along the base, right next to his muscled chest. “That’s where I got the Clan Starlight honor blade. Kept his arm pinned or he could have taken off my whole wing.”
Kevin gave the nearby supposedly sleeping equine spouse a short glance, along with the smaller batpony she had likewise secured under one wing, but before he could ask, Lamina opened one yellow eye partially and looked back. “No, he wasn’t defending me. He was being stupid, like usual.”
Since Laminia was also resting on top of the sheathed griffon sword, Kevin really did not want to press the issue. He had seen the way that otherworldly blade could carve through softer metal, and it was bad enough to be hit repeatedly by the practice swords the Ft. Riley engineers and Equestrians had made yesterday when Pumpernickel had asked. As the only military member who had fenced sabre in college, Private Rogers né Captain Kevin Rogers (USN) had volunteered to teach the neophyte. The problem was that Rogers fenced according to civilized rules, while the burley batpony was perfectly happy to accept a wound if he could kill in return.
Well, maybe that wasn’t a problem when something was really trying to kill you. Still, despite every enchantment the military unicorns had put into his outfit and the dented fencing helmet, Rogers was getting a well-needed workout beyond the level of his SEAL training, with probably as many bruises.
“Jesus Christ, Rogers.” Lieutenant Comena was built much like a dark brown bear, and came out of the surrounding bushes with a most unsubtle crunching and popping of branches. He gave one look around the clearing, a brief nod to Laminia, and removed his cover to wipe the sweat off his bald head. “Were these bushes here yesterday?”
“Equestrians put it together,” said Rogers, who had managed to get to a standing position so he could check a particularly sensitive rib. After determining it was merely bruised instead of broken by taking a deep breath, he took off his fencing helmet and gestured with the flat-edged training sword. “Hardhooves, mostly. Brought in some plum bush cuttings, a couple of hedge tree⁽*⁾ seeds, and a locust tree seedling. Keeps the press out, and gives the cavalry a space to unwind.”
(*)Osage Orange trees have inch-long thorns, enough sap to gum up a chainsaw, and spit vicious sparks when burned. The only reason farmers don’t have a little war of extinction on the hateful species is they make good hedges and fence posts, because they don’t rot either.
—
“And a place to kick the tar out of you.” Comena put his cover back on and shook his head. “You might as well stay here and play pinata with Pumpernickel. There’s no way you’d get cleaned up in time for Carbon Copy’s arrival.”
“Fine with me.” Captain Rogers executed a perfect presentation of arms salute in Comena’s general direction, then put his helmet back on and returned to a guard position, facing his opponent. “Reserve me a spot in the hot tubs for this evening if you can,” he added, referring to the pair of foam hot tubs that had ‘just appeared’ in the Bruener’s back yard several days ago, along with a sign advertising Manhattan’s Pool and Spa. They had proven quite popular with the Equestrians, and also with a few soldiers who were in good with Jon Bruener.
“Oh, and Nick,” said Lamina just as Comena was about to escape. The batpony mare tapped the hilt of the real sword she had in front of her. “This is the Honor blade of our family now. Goose Down has been officially adopted by us, and if anything should happen to make her unhappy when she returns from her guarding task at Dizy World…” She tapped the hilt of the sword again. “She said she has not received a telephone text from you this week.”
“I’ve been busy,” said Comena, who looked like he was about to sprint into the surrounding bushes.
“Would you like me to speak to this Lt. Colonel Clark about getting you some more free time?” asked the batpony with the faintest rising of her lips, which exposed sharp white teeth.
“No, ma’am.”
“Or see if you would be willing to assist Captain Rogers with my husband’s training?” added Laminia.
“I’ll… find time to text her,” stammered Comena. “Real soon. Before inspection.”
And he was gone with nothing but the rustling in the bushes to show he had ever been there.
Author note: Rogers fenced sabre at Harvard. One of the Royal Guard unicorns got together with the Ft. Riley engineers to make practice sabres the same weight and balance as Pumpernickel’s griffon honor blade. They’re practicing with a few variations you don’t see on a fencing strip, since the Guard believes ‘Train like you fight’ is mandatory.
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Time: 4:35 P.M. Monday June 29, 2015
Location: I-95 approaching Glencoe, Florida
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“Decision time,” called out Dakota from the driver’s seat. “We can take a break at the Wal-mart here, although we’ll probably get caught up in rush hour traffic, or we can drive straight through I-4 down to—”
“Just a minute,” said Karla, still thumbing on her phone. “State has a special request for us to meet a VIP at the Disney area tomorrow. They’ve reserved a suite at the Grand Floridian and they’d like you to do a meet and greet this evening.”
“How many people?” asked Widget with a sudden quaver in her voice that Dakota could recognize as nerves, even though she was almost directly behind him.
“They don’t say. That normally means quite a few.” Dakota could see Karla’s lips compress into thin lines as she scrolled down on her phone, and he turned his attention back to the road so they wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of an accident this close to their goal.
“Do I have to go? asked the young unicorn.
“It would be nice,” said Karla in an obviously pained wince that betrayed her real opinion rather than the official subordinate government employee position she voiced.
“No you don’t,” said Dakota firmly. “If they wanted you this bad, they could have asked you a day or two back. The newspaper does this kind of thing all the time. They call it ambush journalism, because people lower their guards when an interviewer drops in unexpectedly at the last moment and scrambles your schedule. It takes advantage of a natural tendency not to object because it wouldn’t be ‘nice’ to the asker. Claire, do you still have the number for the Disney public affairs office that called yesterday?”
The young woman was also on her phone, holding a notepad and a pen. “Just a minute, Kota. Yes, we’ll call you right back, ma’am.” Looking up, Claire checked the paper map against the highway road signs. “Eddie put me in contact with a Jan Swartz of Princess Cruises, and she says they’d be overjoyed to have us overnight on the Caribbean Princess on our way to Disney tomorrow morning. They’re tied up tonight between cruises so it shouldn’t be a bother, and it’s only about an hour from there to the Disney parking lot.” Claire stared at her phone for a moment, then continued slower. “They made a nice contribution to the Ponyville charity fund.”
“Did they say anything about crowds of photographers or VIPs lined up to shake hands?” asked Dakota over his shoulder.
“I made sure to ask. She’s willing to discourage the lookie-loos if we follow the captain’s directions and you have an exclusive to take pictures, so there won’t be any strange photographers swarming over you like the State department event certainly has.” Claire considered her iPhone with a curious expression. “How much do you get paid for good publicity photos?”
“Anything from a twenty up to a car. A small car,” clarified Dakota. “So, Widget. You want to head out to Disney tomorrow, and make your nightly blog video from a cruise ship tonight?”
“Does it fly?” asked Goose quickly.
“No, it floats,” said Claire. “And it sounds like they’ll be tied up to the dock anyway, so you’ll get to see what a cruise is like without all the seasickness and crowds.”
“It would be nice to see one of your ships,” mused Widget with an obviously unvoiced thought about wandering around inside with a screwdriver.
“As long as it doesn’t fly,” added Goose. “And you probably shouldn’t bring back too much of it since we ordered all that stuff from Mister Amazon.”
“Let’s take Highway 1 on the way down there,” said Karla with the printed road atlas in one hand while trying to look out the window. “If we’re not pushing for time, we can stop at one more antique store and drive along the beach road.”
Claire poked her phone again. “And the cruise line says they have an early morning tour lined up for the two of you at the Kennedy Space Center. Short and sweet so we can still make it to the Disney area tomorrow and early, so no staying up all night.” She gave a short glance at Karla, then over at Dakota, before checking her phone again. “You know, Universal Studios has their Harry Potter park here, if you want to duck out on your State department event. They say they’ve got a special escort from the movies for you, if you’d like. Just one, so you’re not mobbed.”
“Ooo,” said Goose. After watching several of the movies during their trip, she had viewed the inclusion of Thestrals in the movies to be something worthy of intensive rebuttal, and was obviously looking forward to the discussion.
“As long as we don’t get dragged into some sort of stuffy meeting with a bunch of stuck-up politicians,” clarified Widget. “And they’ve got some interesting rides there… Which I promise not to take apart, even if it looks like it wouldn't hurt anything,” she quickly added with a growing smile. “This will be fun!”
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Time: 1746 Hours 29-Jun-2015
Location: Equestrian Security Camp Post One, Randolph Kansas
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“Join the Army,” grunted Nick as he heaved at the end of a wrench with a shaft the size of a wrist. “See exotic new places. Learn how many different kinds of dirt exist on the planet and how it packs into uniforms.”
“One more pull should do it.” PFC Harvey Seiphert had soaked down his uniform with sweat, but hefty muscles under his shirtsleeves threatened to rip his ACUs clear off with every flex. Nick did not even try to match the private’s weights at the small rec facility the Army had set up in a nearby tent, but he could still do more reps on the lighter weights. Harv was just built for heavy mass movement, and few things required more effort than cracking the track on a M1A2.
“Four pulls,” grunted Nick. “Four. One. Is. New. There we go. We’re not going to be chasing T80s over the fields, but that should bring these nice shiny bolts torqued to spec.”
Both soldiers stood up and stretched, taking their gloves off and stowing them with the rest of the gear while a small group of press watched and took pictures. It was not a very exciting press pool because there were no ponies involved, and a bunch of grunting soldiers heaving around metal track links was probably not going to even get to publication. That is unless there was some sort of bloody accident, which would put the pictures right on the front page.
Nick was determined to keep that from happening.
When Lt. Colonel Clarke made his inspection tour, Nick had been about as ready as a human could be. A great deal of that credit belonged to Sgt. Spasowski and his encyclopedic knowledge of paperwork. The only thing Craig could find was a few missing rubber pads on Four-One’s tracks, and that was inevitable. Of course, it was unacceptable to the colonel. Each of the tanks in the platoon were dinged for that defect, and it burned Nick just a little. A little bit of exercise was the perfect thing to apply to that burn so it did not come out in words. He did still have to use words, though. Careful words, since the press were so near and recording everything.
“Specialist Frey,” said Nick into his Motorola field radio, “Four-One is ready for a test drive whenever you are set. How are things going with Four-Three?”
“Stripped some threads and had to swap in another track link,” came Frey’s tinny reply through the encrypted radio. “We’ll have it wrapped up in ten minutes or so.”
“Caution takes precedence over speed,” said Nick. “Coordinate with the Equestrians for traffic control before you crank the tank. I know all the kids are out of town, but let’s not take any chances.”
After all, it would be a mixed blessing if one of the tanks ran over a journalist, and far more work. Nick was actually missing a combat deployment where all the locals could at least be considered hostile instead of trying his best to keep STRAC and smiling in the dusty and hot Kansas sun.
(*) Skilled, Tough, Ready, Around the Clock, which involved more dress pleats and shine for the upper brass’s consideration than a deployed soldier might consider important at the time while under fire.
—
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Time: 7:05 P.M. Monday June 29, 2015
Location: Randolph Kansas
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Jon was getting a little more comfortable with the Equestrians every day, but he was still looking forward to them going home and giving him some breathing space. A prime example of that was the Polaris ATV he was driving at the moment, which took a bit of work to bring back to operating condition after the Cutie Mark Crusaders drove it into Tuttle Creek reservoir. Since then, Colbert Hills had donated a half-dozen golf carts to the ongoing refugee/tourist project, which was a little like giving Equestrian teenagers whiskey and car keys. He much preferred—and was safer driving—his ATV for brief trips into town and around the farm, mostly because he only had one set of keys, and he was darned well keeping them in his pocket. Well, until somewhere a week into July when the return portal opened and his guests left.
With luck, at least one of the golf carts would still be in condition to go back to Cobert Hills.
The house that Dakota Henderson had bought in town was in full pony-renovation mode, with several of the small horses on the roof and a blue Howie’s recycling dumpster at the top of the driveway for loose shingles. Jon pulled his ATV up on the lawn and gave a wave to the roofers before the boss came trotting up to see what was going on.
Big Brick’s dark red coat was speckled with sheetrock dust and flecks of construction debris, but he looked as happy as a pig in mud and about as dirty. “Hey, Jon! Come on in and get a beer. Blake’s looking over the studio we’re installing with Mister Rowe, and once we get the last of the wiring done, they’re going to start rehearsing.”
“Won’t it be a little loud!” Jon pointed up at the roof where Cost Overrun was holding a modified pneumatic nailer in one hoof and stapling down shingles just as fast as Little Brick could pull them out of the bundles and slide them in place.
“They’ll be done by dark.” The small earth pony held the door open for Jon and followed him into the first floor of the old house, which had obviously been subjected to the pony version of Severe Sheetrocking as well as Full Rewiring, and a number of trips to Home Depot. “Redid the whole house wiring when we blew out the fusebox the first time,” continued Big Brick. “Twelve gauge grounded with GFCI breakers for the bathroom, and replaced about an eighth-furlong of sewer pipe that had cracked. Hi, hon. About got the light done?”
Double Billing looked over at Jon, apparently not paying any attention to the ceiling fan directly above her or the screwdriver attaching it to the fixture, both illuminated in her pale green hornlight. “‘Bout done wit de wiring, dear. We snaked a bunch of Pex through de walls while we was wiring and we’ll have water soon as de humans downstairs get dat new heater in place. Dat PVC stuff was crumbling when we touched it. He’s gonna be real glad when we’s done.”
“How… um… much is this going to run Mister Henderson?” asked Jon carefully, since he had not yet received the bill for the two days of dramatic home improvements his own residence had experienced recently.
With a shrug, Double Billing removed an iPhone from her mane and began to poke at it with a plastic stylus, one of the many ‘Bruener Seeds’ giveaways that Jon had thought would clutter his house up forever.
“Probably a tek under ten thou,” she said eventually. “Little more once we add that shed in the back yard where we’s gonna have to put the mower and yard stuff since the basement’s all fulla sound studio stuff now. Plus labor, of course.”
“Of course. Quality costs,” he said out of reflex.
“Doin’ it right is cheaper than wrong and over,” said Double Billing with the iPhone stylus in her teeth, since she had progressed to juggling several tools and a notebook. “Blake and his boys are going to break in the studio good tomorrow, an’ the kids are going to be back from their tourist trip the day after, so we need to make sure this is all done up right.”
“I’d love to drop by to listen then, but I got a text from my daughter, and it sounds like UPS is dropping off a package or two here.” Jon considered the house under de/reconstruction. “If you’ve got a spot to put it until Mister Henderson gets back, that is.”
“Th’ kitchen’s clear, so we can stack ‘em there an’ toss a tarp over ‘em.” The unicorn moved the stylus to the other side of her mouth and chewed on the back end of it for a moment. “We ordered some stuff ourself wit dat Amazon ting, but there’s some sorta mess in your big city, so it’s gonna be delivered here late.”
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Time: 7:15 P.M. Monday June 29, 2015
Location: UPS Sorting Facility, Olathe Kansas
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“We just get done with one set of gifts from all over the world and twice as many come in the next day. I don’t know how many trucks worth of junk we’ve sent to the dump and how many more are going into storage to be sorted out by the State department for the next ten years. Then you got ponies who order things off the internet that we gotta separate out.” Raife Peterson leaned back against the F-150 pickup truck and took off his gloves. “Ah think you critters is more trouble than you’re worth, even with the overtime.”
Morning Roast yawned and gave a high hop to get into the truck bed, which took a little boosting by Raife in order to get her over the tailgate. Once safe inside, she promptly curled up on the mat and gave a second yawn. “I’m starting to agree with you, Raife. If my sister Moondancer hadn’t invited me to Ponyville for this, I’d be back in Canterlot making coffee instead of inspecting an endless series of packages until they blur together. Can we go back to the apartment now? Overtime is great, but my horn hurts,” she added, opening one eye so she could look at the stubby tan horn poking gingerly out of her reddish curls.
“You just want to turn on the TV and lay around on the couch while I make dinner,” said Raife, although he moved around toward the driver’s seat. “I'm just glad the local Ladies’ Aid sent us a bunch of casseroles or we’d be eating TV dinners while watching Gravity Falls.”
“It’s the best television program I’ve seen on your technologic thingie yet,” protested Roast weakly. “My sister is going to go green with envy when I tell her— Hey, don’t knock any of my packages over.”
Raife started the big Econoboost V6 and looked back through the open window in the back of the cab. “If we packed your boxes in the bed, you could sit up front. The apartment is only five minutes away.”
“They might blow away, and I’d miss my nap,” said Morning Roast, nuzzling down into the mat and closing her eyes again. “Now hurry up. I want to see what trouble Dipper is getting into.”
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Time: 20:46 Hours 29-Jun-2015
Location: Equestrian Security Camp Post One, Randolph Kansas
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By the time Nick made his rounds to ensure every rubber pad was in place on his squad’s tanks, it was getting close to mealtime. By the time he finished coordinating with the rest of the National Guard units in place, it was getting toward evening, and of course, Lt. Colonel Clarke had set him up with several press interviews behind the back of the Army’s Public Affairs section which was certain to come back and bite him in the ass later.
Still, he sat for the interviews since it was only prudent to pour cold water on the press and their hot takes on interdimensional romance. There were only so many times he could repeat the same lines, the same quiet discouragement of a romantic relationship with a horsey alien military cadet before snapping and saying something terribly unfortunate, but he managed so far. He was just glad he was going to spend the next twelve hours on duty, buttoned up in Four-One, and—
“Shift change. Blue teams report to your duty stations.” Sergeant Simon Spasowski’s voice was crisp and direct over the radio, although not as the Army Signal Operating Instructions Manual instructed with the correct call signs and unit designations. Since there were so few new National Guard units involved, at least the ones who were assigned to protect the pony site, communication protocol could afford some slack.
Nick made it back to Four-One without any real disasters interrupting his trip. The disaster happened after he arrived.
“Seiphert, what are they doing to my tank?”
It was fairly obvious what was being done to the tank, since the armored shield over the auxiliary power unit was off, and there were parts everywhere. Two ponies looked up at the interruption, or more correctly, down since they were up on the tank supervising the mechanical vivisection, with Sergeant Hardhooves lounging casually in the background wearing the expression of an experienced NCO not in the line of command for the ongoing process and just coincidentally in the vicinity.
PFC Seiphert saluted perfectly from his position as mechanic supervisor above it all. “Sir, we had a request to perform expedited maintenance on this piece of equipment in order to—”
Heavy Roller interrupted. “Laminia said she’d rip my unmentionables off if we didn’t fix the squeak in this power generator. Apparently it was causing her some discomfort, so we put it at the top of our list, so the tachometer sensor on your truck is going to be delayed a day.”
Silver Spanner shuddered ever so slightly, much like she had when she looked into the engine compartment of his truck and caught sight of the big Power Stroke diesel. When he had asked the mechanical specialist ponies about his tach issue yesterday, the unicorn had practically towed him to his truck by one ear. The couple had been going through broken vehicles and equipment like a whirlwind, so in the interest of not seeing them start to break things to keep busy, he had allowed his truck to be put in line behind Brunener’s disassembled Winnebago Rialta. Still, he had not really expected them to start working on military equipment so soon. The looks she had given the massive turbine engine of Four-One had been almost pornographic, and the concept of a couple of ponies making like bunnies inside the M1A2 engine compartment…
He turned his attention back to the APU and thought about his most recent encounter with the sulky batpony, particularly in the way she had her ears folded down while the whining APU was in operation. Officially, the tank was supposed to remain combat capable at all times while deployed here, but Lt. Col Craig had required them to crack the track on all four units at once so this was not the first time it was offline today. Nick was not about to risk having his own unmentionables removed because he was fairly certain Laminia was speaking literally and was not putting forth an empty threat. For the sake of interdimensional peace—and bodily integrity—changing out a bearing or two was cheap.
“How long until you’re done, Heavy?”
“Fifteen minutes. Honeybunch is really excited about your hardware.” The hefty earth pony beamed at his busy wife, who had her horn lit up in a pale white light that washed back on her face from her focus on the bearing in the middle of the APU. There was a trickle of sweat working its way down her cheek as various parts whirled and spun in her magic, but Heavy did not seem to notice just how… excited his wife was becoming during her work, because he kept going on about the job. “Would have been longer, but Private Seiphert was able to get a spare bearing from your ess-four.”
“Oh, he did?” Nick gave his loader a dry look. “Nice initiative. Now I’m gonna need to write this up. Have you been studying that Developing Leadership During Unit Training Exercises publication I printed out for you?”
“Ehh…” Harvey looked hesitant. “Haven’t really had the time, sir.”
“Dig it out and study it tonight while we’ve got some slack.” Nick climbed up on Four-One to get a better look at the ongoing upgrade. “I’m going to have to do your performance evaluation when this is all over. Sure you’re not considering going career?”
“No, sir. Four and out.” Harvey grinned. “Got a cousin in the Forest Service. With a five point veteran’s preference, I’ll be out in Washington state’s forests playing ranger a month after separation. They’ve got real trees there instead of these Kansas weeds.”
“And done,” declared Silver Spanner, floating a dark, grease-covered steel donut out of the APU’s disassembled guts. Her face was lit up in a beatific smile which seemed to be directed both at the equipment and her husband in equal measure. “Got the spare?”
“Here, dear.” Heavy Roller bit down on a set of kitchen tongs and fished a new silver bearing out of a nearby coffee can. Once his wife picked it up with her magic, a few small drips of grease made a trail over to the APU and its new home while the heavyset earth pony got out a red shop rag and cleaned up after it.
“I like your engineers,” said Silver Spanner as she worked. “All your parts fit without having to do any tweaking. Well, most of them. Some of the parts get installed in the oddest way, considering you don’t have magic.”
“You haven’t seen the antique equipment that Marines get.” Nick caught the quiet throat-clearing noise that Hardhooves made and followed his line of sight to an incoming soldier of the human variety. “Wait, head’s up. Lt. Colonel Clarke inbound.”
Nick scrambled down off the tank before saluting. The colonel was obviously unused to being outdoors in the Kansas summer sun, or about any sun for that matter. The rusty red on the bottoms of his ears and the bridge of his nose gave a fair indication that tomorrow would be a little less Clarke-y, or at least with some zinc oxide smeared onto the more sunburnt spots.
“How’s the position, Comena?” asked Clarke with a casual glance at the two ponies, seeming to miss the way that Sergeant Hardhooves had just faded off into the background. “And just why are two civilians tearing into your vehicle?”
“Bearing failure,” said Nick quickly before Harvey could open his big mouth. “Calling into brigade for maintenance would take several days, if the service vehicles could even get here through the traffic. PFC Seiphert procured the parts through our S-4 and the tank will be operational in a few minutes. Down less time than it took to do the track replacement,” added Nick when Clarke looked as if he were about to start criticizing.
“We really appreciate the practice,” rumbled Heavy Roller in the resulting silence. “This baby is one of the finest examples of small engine design I’ve seen.”
“I’ll say,” added his wife, who had her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she manipulated a half-dozen wrenches at the same time. “Runs on about anything short of grease and packed into such a small space. Harvey says there’s an upgrade in the works, too.” She swallowed, obviously attempting to keep control of her breathing. “Gonna be water-cooled, more power and more electronic controls.” Silver Spanner stopped with a low moan, but quickly recovered and kept doing whatever she was doing in the innards of the APU to get the bearing installed.
“I suppose.” Lt. Colonel Clarke, completely missing the subtext and having apparently exhibited the correct amount of military control over his subordinates for the immediate future, gave Nick a brief nod and turned to depart. “Keep me updated in case of any change. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nick with a final salute. He waited until his superior officer was out of sight before turning to Harvy with a discouraging expression, aware of a set of pony eyes watching him from a nearby shadow. “Since there was no immediacy to this, you should have informed me first. I would have approved it in a heartbeat, and I wouldn't have been caught flat-footed in case Clarke had made it here a few minutes earlier and decided to ask me questions about my tank. Did you check with Sergeant Spasowski?”
“No, sir. I was—”
“Or the Four-One TC on Blue shift? I’m not discouraging your initiative, Harv,” clarified Nick. “In a combat situation, this would have been just fine. Even if we were getting ready to deploy somewhere, with all the chaos and mess involved, there’s nothing better than hearing somebody say they saw a minor problem and fixed it. The thing is we have more generals around this area than fleas, and they’re all itching to do something to prove they are needed. I’d trade them all for one muscle-bound Yankee who can tell the difference between a HEAT or sabot round when it comes time to load the gun, and who doesn’t lose track of the encryption codes for the radio. That’s you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Seiphert bobbed his head in a brief nod and added, “I suppose I should settle down in the tank and read that leadership publication tonight?”
“With the radio headset on so you can poke me if anything important comes in. I’m going to take a few notes on your future commendation, then be sound asleep in the TC seat for the rest of the night.” Nick turned to the pony couple by the APU and to a lesser extent, the senior NCO of the pony military. “This isn’t going to do anything weird like make the tank blow rainbows or anything, right?”
“Not unless you want it to,” said Heavy Roller with a look of deep contemplation that stirred an alarm in the back of Nick’s mind. “However—”
“Not now, Hev.” Silver Spanner gave a last twist to an unseen mechanical part, then pushed the APU on its built-in rails until it clicked into place with a hum of generated power. “That should do it,” she added with increasing speed. “Now if you humans would care to bolt the guard back in place, my husband and I will be in the Bruener’s shop for the rest of the evening. Come on!”
With little additional encouragement, Heavy Roller followed his wife at a brisk trot, quickly breaking into a gallop to keep even. Nick watched the two of them vanish into the darkness, gave Harvy an open-handed gesture to keep him in place, and asked, “Sergeant Hardhooves, do you have any questions?”
“Not unless you want to enlist in the Royal Guard,” said Hardhooves, poking his armored nose out from behind the tank. “Does my heart good to see an officer do his job without kicking the ones below him or sucking up to the ones above. And to see one who isn’t afraid to get his hooves dirty,” he added as Nick picked up a wrench and started to thread an APU retaining bolt back in place.
“Being shot at focuses the mind.” Nick started ratcheting the bolt in as Harvey began assisting. “Every piece of gear, every soldier, every radio frequency, every command, if it’s all in order when the shooting starts, you’re fine. One piece of the puzzle missing and it all goes straight to shit. You can plaster over a lot of missing parts during peace, have a lot of officers who can’t find their own shoes and men who sneak off to smoke a joint, but deploy the whole lot across the ocean…”
Harvey spoke up suddenly while getting a bolt threaded into one of the mounting brackets. “For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the battle was lost. For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail. Or a bolt.”
“Huh,” said Hardhooves. “We have a saying much like that. Without the rider, of course.”
“Of course,” said Nick, focusing most of his attention on the ratcheting wrench. “I heard a rumor that your whole Guard got nailed good and hard during Princess Cadence’s wedding.”
Hardhooves seemed undisturbed. “We needed a good kicking. Shining Armor had been trying to shake some sense into the fossilized organization for close to a decade, like trying to push a rope. Now he’s off in the Crystal Empire, and it is amazing how much more attention our officers are paying to their jobs after having the changelings make us look like fools.” The short pony clapped a hoof against Nick’s broad back and turned to leave. “I’ll let you finish up so you can call Cadet Down.”
“It’s too late,” said Nick automatically.
“She’s nocturnal,” called Hardhooves over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
It took very little time for Nick to finish buttoning up the tank with Harvey’s help, which gave him more time to scratch some notes for a few nice attaboys when they were done. It turned out Specialist O’Mera had taken his own initiative to inventory and lube both the main gun ammunition and the co-ax ammunition bin, which normally might have seemed a little excessive, but with Col. Craig in the area, probably not. It made the crew compartment smell more like gun lube than normal, which was fine. Nick had gotten so used to the odor that it was difficult to sleep without it.
The sound of Harvey on the radio below and to one side and the faint scuttling noise of Rick on the top of the tank were comforting, although he could not hear Carlos sitting outside with a M4 carbine on watch. The whole short platoon going half-on and half-off for the night was about right for now, although it was doubtful that Harvey was going to get much sleep before swapping in the early morning. He left the hatch open with the near-silent hum of the APU providing enough air conditioning to keep the Kansas summer air under control, and leaned back as much as he could in the commander’s seat.
He had just begun to drift off when he felt the ever-so-faint brush of a velvet nose against his, and the distinctive scent of fresh alfalfa.
“You didn’t call.” When Nick abruptly opened his eyes, it took a moment to recognize Lamnia hanging upside-down with her head through the hatch so she could scare the everloving begeebies out of him. “She’s worried,” added Lamina with a grim sharp-toothed smile at the end of his nose.
“I was just going to call her,” lied Nick, staring cross-eyed at the business end of an adult batpony mare about twice the size of diminutive Goose. “I thought the unicorns enchanted the tank hatches to sound an alarm when—”
Laminia withdrew from the hatch, then produced a glowing iPhone held in one membranous wingtip which she promptly held to the side of her face. “Cadet Down, I found your military liaison. Would you like to— Oh. Yes, I suppose we can fly over to Dakota’s house and check on your delivery, if it’s not too late. Humans go to bed fairly early.”
She passed Nick the phone and excused herself with something about needing to check on a shipment of Amazons, vanishing a few seconds later into the dark sky. Nick considered the phone, then settled himself on top of the hatch and mustered up his courage for at least a short and certainly non-romantic conversation with the most obvious place to start.
“You ordered some amazons? Don’t you mean you ordered something from Amazon? And it’s going to be small enough to take back through the portal, right? Knives, huh? Well, I guess that should work. What’s this I hear about you two stopping at a cruise ship?”
He should have asked more about the knives. And how many.
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Always the questions you don’t ask…
Lots of Equestrians got hand-on experiences with alien technologies. This might be interesting when they go back.
Someone missed the warning memo.
Its not only the questions you don't ask but the assumptions you make based upon what you know.. How many tanks going to be locked away or examined to the molecular level after the ponies leave. the renovations of Dakota's home might be adding up but what will that home be worth as a pony renovated home once its done
Thank you. Having this to read vastly improved my day.
11215996
Its only One knife.
Its the Swiss Army Knife Demonstration Special.
I take it crypto codes are needed for secondary ad backup channels as at least one of them are PGP/TLSSSL or whatever that Noone knows what the codes are, not even the hardware its being decoded on due to the blackbox crypto module?
Saw an intresting stage somewhere, punctuated sequences. Generate 2 random sequences, Take the data bit by bit, then using one randome sequence you add the second sequence bit by bit, but the first random sequence says in which order the bits are added, interleaved?
Going to be intresting seeing how much tanks will cost to run when theyre electric, or have to have ddicated refineries, oil wells or bioreactors etc?
And then theres how many different types of lubrication?
oh you never EVER neglect the pone based waifus if he wasnt in the military and i wasnt sick as a dog id hand him his ass
11216026 Reminds me of an old joke: What's the longest command in the Swiss Army? Fix bayonets!
11216004 And has a water heater autographed by Mike Rowe.
11215996 He'll probably see his property tax skyrocket. Happens with every coat of paint.
11215985 That was the *cause* of the warning memo. I need to start a list:
Things Sweetie Belle Are Forbidden To Do
-Starting today, Sweetie Belle is forbiden from using the can opener.
-Also the microwave. Yes, cans open up when used in it, but that's not its purpose.
-All of the Cutie Mark Crusaders are restricted from the kitchen
-That includes standing outside of the kitchen and using magic to use the microwave
11216050
Cutie Mark Crusaders Rules Lawyers, yay!
"He should have asked more about the knives. And how many."
As a blade aficionado, the answer is always "Never enough".
Additionally? it'd be FUN as a side thing for "Things Sweetie Belle Are Forbidden To Do".
11216050 You sure the CMC don't need banned from any place with a kitchen by at least 50ft
11216050
Having just received the latest "good news" my own house bumped up its value... again. Sadly, I don't have any royalties or tourist attractions to pay for it all because a bunch of ponies lived at my place for several weeks.
You know, the longer this drags out, the more mule-headed stubborn ponies are gonna be to reopen the portal and keep coming back. This would be both a frightful blessing and an adorable curse. Still waiting for a changeling to pop up somewhere on the farm... probably Kevin since everypony from Ponyville considers him as dangerous as yogurt-- the really dangerous ponies hang out in that crystal castle in town but you didn't hear that from me.
11216207
The foals were clearly weirded out at a minimum and perhaps actually scared. Still, he's a friend of Matilda's so there's not much anypony can do about it (especially if he went Skittlebug while we weren't looking).
He lives
Man, can’t wait to see how the Disney Stuff goes! And getting to go to Wizarding World as well just has me laughing! Will Goose or Widget ask about Walt Disney’s cryogenically preserved head???
No Captain Rogers is right, Pumpernickel should be counted dead. Bodies are weird things and injuries are chaotic, the difference between a minor flesh wound and bleeding out in seconds is often random. Then you get into the possibility of infection or surgical complications. Pretty much every serious fencing instructor I’ve ever heard of regardless of being HEMA, SCA, Bohurt, or even the more hardcore LARPS would consider Pumpernickel’s attitude reckless foolishness that needs to be completely retrained out of him.
11216121
Never enough. Never enough types, never enough duplicates.
Always good to see more of this. Though given Laminia's careful oversight, we should probably be grateful that Cadence wasn't a batpony before earning her horn.
In any case, looking forward to Disney and environs. That'll certainly be a sight to see. Especially the pony-starved paparazzi.
11216050
You know, I'm not even going to blame this on Cutie Mark Crusaders being Cutie Mark Crusaders. This is child logic through and through, and the adults have only themselves to blame for not catching it.
11216050
You forgot to prohibit them from operating any kinds of vehicle.
11215985
at least it wasn't tree sap.
That would be an interesting happening the next time the tank moves.
11216294
Yeah, but reckless disregard for his own health and wellbeing is true to his character. I believe they already tried, and failed, to train that out of him.
11216421
That's part of what makes the characters feel so natural.
11216245
Well Kevin seemed like a pretty chill Ling I expect he reformed with little issue. Of course the portal will stay open and be used, the fact the kids time traveled and seem fully comfortable in the human world suggests it's not out of the ordinary in their time to visit. Also once Twilight casts the spell to bring every pony back then will become obsessed with finding a way to go back and forth between worlds on purpose, because once Purple Smart gets and idea she makes it happen! Hopefully for Jon's sanity Twily learns to open it in a targeted spot to ease logistics.
11216421
Forgive a slow morning brain but It's been a while since I read this story so I can't remember all of what's happening, what's this about the CMC and microwaves and can-openers?
11216916
Sweetie Belle canonically burned juice. Georg doesn't need to add anything to the actual show.
11217078
Fair point I was just worried that maybe I had missed something in story
Do it, Nick. Take that girl out on a date.
We should be thankful there are no freshly minted gun nut ponies. Like ordering sharp objects from Amazon, you can order all the parts necessary to assemble a complete and functioning firearm from Brownwells. Including the ammo. As long as the buyer puts a little effort into removing material that's in the way.
Have you ruled out the possibility of Equestrian railroad employees being among the refugees? Or any pony railfans? Kansas City has plenty of railroad action with the UP, BNSF and the Kansas City Southern all meeting there. I'm sure there will be at least one rail-focused museum in the area. Not being a Kansas native I have no facts to offer.
I was able to help Admiral Biscuit by supplying local knowledge for the late chapters of his story Destination Unknown.
Awwww
I'm glad Goose is now officially adopted! The sweet thing deserves it.
I really hope they meet up with the Harry Potter guide, I wanna see who it is!! Daniel Radcliff? Tom Felton? Emma Watson?! The possibilities are endless!
All hands to look busy stations.
Ghost Pony in the Sky is Pumpy's themesong, I'm sure.
Though he thinks brands still on fire and hooves made of steel is a bit on an amusing exaggeration.
Large amount of OCs makes me feel like I am missing a fanfic or two or something.
Boy if that ain't ominous, I don't know what is.
11217128 She also produced a black, gloopy material that bubbled, and was apparently her attempt at toast.
It's somewhat ironic that Comena's call to Goose was delayed by Widget's parents and something done by order of Laminia even. I doubt Laminia makes requests of ponies with a few exceptions.
Didn’t do much good during the storm king invasion lol but that’s the futures problem
11333021
Ye, I'm talking about the same thing.
(how can Critical Thinking be studied in church schools?)
It's kinda funny how many people are gunning for a relationship that hasn't even really moved into first base... 😂
This chapter confused me, I swear I read half of it before but the other half is completely unfamiliar. Oh well more story is always good and it seems more and more likely Widget will have a little brother/sister/both soon to take over the business so she can do some exploring she wants too.
11250100
Lucky, goose and the others are part of the travelling tutor series.
It occurred to me today that Green Grass might find that wind-up fishing toy/game to be a really good teaching tool, to help little unicorns practice precise levitation. Might need the wind-up part customized for hooves, or maybe built custom for him to set up, but I can see him buying several dozen to hand out to UMYES ponies back in Equestria.
9556952
Reading the description on the site post, that's sort of what happened in the pilot for the old G1 show back in the 1980s
You know.... they really shouldn't make a habit of playing a game with humans like they are. Sooner or later they'll either face a ever fearful government or an agent or soldier that has a mind to not be pleasant.
Not to say ponies aren't terrifying in their own right, but against a species without claws, fangs, or any notable physical attributes outside endurance and a few biological advantages managed to become the dominant species of a class A cluster molest like Earths ecosystem they would do well to remember it was conquered with a pointy stick and sheer rage.
Never think, my little ponies, that boon has far departed from us. And never forget we grew as persistence hunters