Equestria Divided: The Sailor's Creed

by The Historian

The Burning of Baltimare I: The Docks

Act I - The Burning of Baltimare

The whirring engine and pitching platform told Lieutenant Ranas she was aboard a small boat, bouncing along the sea's surface, skimming and spraying water out its sides like a scalpel running along skin. The ocean's life blood trickled behind, coalescing into a fine white line of foam that rippled and turned as it mirrored the craft's past motions. A bounce told her the surf was less than calm, but her leaded belly stayed strong, the wave a mere raindrop in an ocean of experience with the waves and their heavy bucks and sloshes. Her eyes drifted down to the craft, its hull slashed in one place where a Hydra's tooth had managed to gouge a nice slash along the upper hull. It wasn't leaking, but looked rather horrific. To the boat's crew, it was a sign of pride.

Holland stood next to her, his unshaven face a symbol of the chaos of the past few days. His green, brown, and black uniform was already a mess, that of it that wasn't covered in copious amounts of body armor, storage devices, and ammuntion pouches. His rifle was slung tight, his green eyes shifting from side to side, his body perched like it was about to be hit by a freight train, and with a glance Ranas' eyes flitted to her sidearm. "Keep your eyes open." She said to herself more than anyone else, although Holland nodded. The others kept their weapons trained and scanning, the black machine guns slowly maneuvering.

It was quiet in the town ahead, the architecture strange and foreign: almost like a short type of victorian house, but... off, somehow. Ranas couldn't place it, she was no architect. The prevalence of bright, pink colors was somewhat offputting, however. In the distance, she could hear a distinctly human noise coming, but she couldn't tell if it was screams, laughter, or conversation over the engine's din. It slowly began to die as they approached the pier, their guns at the ready, and she peered onto it.

"Holy shit." She murmured, her eyes darting to and fro at the assortment of creatures walking - no, trotting - across the landscape, a few of which stood eyeballing them as their craft approached, its sleek and sail-less nature likely confusing them, considering the assortment of wooden sailing ships and galleys located along other piers. They, however, approached the largest and most easily accessable for Long Beach.

"Contacts, make it...fifteen?" Said the forward gunner. "Fifteen little horses, fuckin' pastels. Does that one have wings?" He asked, the camera on his MG clearly recording for posterity. If there would be posterity, but Ranas quickly tucked that question away. Too much baggage.

"Keep it clean, Petty Officer." She retorted. "Don't want the eggheads to start crying." Holland chuckled at that, turning the craft closer to the pier, a few of the small horses leaning over the side, one or two even waving. Ranas waved back, her blue and gray camouflage contrasting nicely with one of them on the deck, who seemed to be smiling just a tad more than the others. She turned back to the crew. "Put them on safe, now." She said, and guns swivelled up to the air and away. "Have 'em at the ready, but keep it peaceful until otherwise stated."

The Lieutenant grabbed the radio and called in to the Long Beach. "Lima Bravo, Lima Bravo, this is Romeo One, over."

"Lima Bravo is Lima Charlie. Send it, over."

"Contact with locals established, over." She responded. A few of the horses looked curiously as they slowly but surely approached.

"Interrogative, appearance and disposition, over?"

"Sapient-looking horses, count is fifty or sixty dockside. Vessels are primarily wooden sail or oar, over."

"That's affirmative, Romeo One. Continue with mission, squawk if necessary. Eagle One is on the pad and ready inside five mikes. Lima Bravo and Romeo remains on station for emergency evac inside fifteen."

"Rodger, Lima Bravo, Rome One out." She finished, the unspoken understanding that five minutes or fifteen, they'd be coming in to collect corpses in most scenarios. Slowly, the engine puttered out as Holland let the boat coast the last few feet, the crew already grabbing a ladder and holding it up. One of the ponies - small horses were ponies, right? Anyways, one of the ponies grabbed the ladder's top, hauling it into place with a hoof and his teeth.

"Since when could horses move their legs like that?" Asked Holland.

"Since they could build buildings, have altruism, and be colored like some children's show?" She asked, the ship finally halting and a pair of lines roping them onto several supports. Slowly, a small clearing grew around the ladder, and she pulled back the hammer on her pistol and unstrapped the holster. The next minute would be do or die.

The squeaking of her boots was all she heard, that and the pounding of her heart, as she mounted the ladder, Holland directly behind. Three and two was the split, with three sailors on the dock and two holding the boat until things were cleared. She climbed over the top, rising to her full height, and looking...over the crowd of ponies. They were a bit smaller than she'd expected: in fact, pretty much everything was smaller than she'd expected. Almost as if her mind had involuntarily scaled everything. A few gasps and wide eyes met her ears as she extended to full height, one or two backing involuntarily. The blue furred and gray maned one calmed two of them, her black, white, and red cloak covering her somewhat, a jester's hat embroidered on the flank. A group parted, and she approached.

"Greetings, stranger." She said, in an elderly woman's voice. Her face was somewhat wrinkled, and Ranas could tell she was getting there in her years. "I, on behalf of the church and government of Baltimare, welcome you to the same. We ask only for peace and reverence, and a small tithe of whatever you consider valuable for permission to dock here." She said with a smile, her hoof extending into the air. Ranas approached in a handshake, only for the hoof to hit her hand.

As she shook it, Ranas responded in kind: "I greet you as well, ma'am. I am Lieutenant Julia Ranas, of the United States Navy and the United States Ship Long Beach. We're but an advanced force, here to ascertain condition of the port for her to come in and weigh anchor, as it were." She said smoothly, the other two of her crew mounting the ladder, and impressing the ponies even more. Where most were three foot four, Ranas was five foot two, and Holland and the other Sailor stood at six one and five nine, respectively. One cried out from the audience,

"They look like minatours!" The old woman turned with some grace and composure, and her steely gaze made the offender hide.

"You've got Hydras and Minatours? Ma'am, I'm not exactly one for monster hunting." Said Chief Holland. Ranas chuckled.

"We're sea people, Chief. I think we'll be alright."

"Yes, well..." Said the lady. "I'm Mayor Sea Strider." She said, motioning to her flank. The image of a small boat was startlingly well-done. "and this is Baltimare, as you may have already gathered. I must ask, from whence do you all hail? I've never met ones of your species before." She said, motioning to them.

"We're humans." Said the sailor with them. Smith, Ranas believed his name was. "Homo Sapiens Sapiens, if you'd like to get technical."

"Well, we're ponies." She responded, motioning to herself and the group. "Though we have three subspecies. Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies. You'll really only find the latter in baltimare, although we do have some minority groups here. I believe I even saw a Zebra once."

"All sapient?" Asked Holland.

"Oh, yes. What species our size have you met that aren't?" She asked questioningly. Many awkward faces were to be had.

"Uh..." Said Holland. "All of them, until a week or so ago?"

"Really? You must come from such a dull place." She said. "Anyhow. I suppose I'll have to clear the dock so we can chat. Do tell your "Long Beach" or wherever you're from to come in. I'll have one of the pilots fly in and show them the way." Before Ranas could get in another word, she turned and shouted. "Everypony! Meet the Humans, travellers from far lands! Leave them be for this day, so that they might become settled in Baltimare. Go in her name now, so that we might attend to business..."

===

Somewhere Else, A Day Later

"Are you sure?" Asked the hooded figure. They were in a dark and secluded room, the pink turning blood red in the light of the torches. Only a singular painted wood object lay in the room, its shell preserved with many different spells and incantations, frozen in time. Carved immaculately by Unicorn and Pegasi alike, before the dark times came, it was her ultimate symbol of power.

A pink face, wreathed in a great smile, with the word "Smile" engraved in large great print on its end. Both of them had prostrated before it before the meeting had begun.

"Any new tool for her use is worthy." She said, motioning to the coffin. "Anything for Priestess Seeking Answer to use is necessary, I think. And, in the short term, the people will have something other than war come to the shores of Baltimare. New friends, to teach true Cult hospitality."

"And when we steal their friend and use her?" Asked the High Priest, his hood slowly lowering. Parts of his skin were missing, covered in patches of other fur, in many colors. "What happens to our sanctuary then, Strider?"

"Isn't that mine to worry over?"

"No, it isn't, and you know it. What if they burn it out of us? What if they find her in the wreckage: what we've tried to do, what we've done? The Cult will be slaughtered, and then the only smiles will be in Tartarus. Is that what you want?"

"No. I want to see the Mare rise again. That's what I want, Cranky, and maybe you're too assed to care." She chuckled.

"You're treading a dangerous line. One that differentiates between a smile with muscle and a smile made of muscle. I'd expect some more respect from someone so old and wise."

"Age can make us crazy, Cranky Doodle. Perhaps you've prolonged yours far too much." She said, stepping towards the doorway, a gray and technicolor hoof slapping it closed.

"You say too much, and too callously." He sneered. "When she rises, it will be you that dies first."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you'll just die of old age before we get there." She turned, and then cried in pain as a hoof connected with her face. And then another, and another.

"How would you like to die now, Miss Mayor? Think anyone will notice? Anyone will care?" He asked. "The second I let it slip in sermon you betrayed us, and the only thing left of you in the books is a footnote filled with cries of treason and sodomy. You'd do well to remember that."

With a hee-haw, and another smack, the donkey exited, his flesh cape trailing behind. Sea Strider sat shivering for a minute, before rising. She had meetings to attend.

===

"Cut to two knots. Back water on my mark." Said Commander Downey, his stern face covered in haggard beard and his eyes bloodshot from two sleepless nights at sea. His coffee cup practically looked like water, with how little was left in his personal stockpile after these few days. Despite his haggard appearance, though, his mind remained sharp. It was nearly time to rest.

"Cut to two knots, aye." Answered the helmsman, twisting the joystick controller backwards. The pair were sitting in tandem, Downey in his command chair and the helmsman to his front-left in a two console arrangement. When first desgined, the LCS was essentially a Star Trek bridge, as far as design goes. Long Beach and Block II didn't change any of that. She was still a overly science fiction filled joke. But it was their science fiction filled joke, and they made the best of it.

Long Beach coasted gently along the pier, barely moving as she eased into place, crewmen on the helipad and on the pier waving and calling on the radio in order to more effectively ascertain the situation on the ground, and make sure they helmed into the right area rather than the wrong. The pier, after all, was hard to consider as "stable".

A few ponies chatted with the ground team, their rifles slung on their backs and mouths moving in what appeared to be a rather calm and collected conversation, for meeting intelligent pastel ponies and all. When they'd passed the word on the radio, Downey had spat out some of his (non-watered) coffee and had practically decided to give them all psych evals. Then he'd gotten some photos and promptly shut up. Now he'd have to play diplomat in addition to being practically hungover on sleeplessness.

Downey supposed he'd had worse nights in his career.

"Back water." He announced, and the forward water jet began pumping out water, slowing their speed to nil. "Station keeping, Helm." His voice echoed. He sat down as the ship shuddered to a halt, lines snapping to her fore and aft, tossed by seamen and seacolts alike upon the deck of the Long Beach, her hardy crew quickly rushing to tie it ashore. Downey sipped another bit of coffee down, and looked to the rest of the bridge crew. He cleared his throat.

Downey's hands raised the 1MC to his hand, and he looked out on the city before him, the crowds of pastel onlookers stomping their hooves, a few raising in the air and kicking their hooves in greeting. He smiled momentarily, although his thoughts were less happy. "All hands, this is the Commander. Secure the watch. All hands rig for shore activities. Force protection level is high, there will be a 24/7 security watch on the fore, quarterdeck, and helipad. Pending local meetings, there will be no shoreside activity save as Navy business. Please understand that this is for their benefit, not ours. We represent an entire species and the United States, conduct yourselves as such. Out."

His voice echoed through the chambers, and crewmen began wrapping up headphones and turning off consoles, the ship's bridge slowly shutting down as the crew prepared for portside activities, including maintenance, maintenance, and, well, maintenance. That was all you could do without a naval base or proscribed shoreleave, which was doubtful in a land of pastel ponies. Downey frowned and rose. "XO, you have the conn."

"Aye sir." Said the less-haggard but still tired Executive Officer, who promptly took Downey's chair as he exited. Downey ducked through a watertight hatch and into the belly of the beast, the tight corridors and crawlways leading straight into the hangar bay, where work was very much underway. He stepped out into it, a CONEX cargo container on the elevator being sifted through by aviation maintenance crewmen and the two helos and four other aircraft tossed in their respective corners, their hulls crammed together to make room.

During a normal maintenance cycle, most other craft were moved on to the ultra-spacious deck, capable of fitting any size helicopter from an Osprey to multiple Littlebirds, depending on mission configuration. But, in a port cycle, they were broken down, with folded wings and bodies pressed up together like two cuddling lovers. And then the four... other pieces of equipment sat motionless, their small size and shaping requiring less cramming. Four MQ-8E Fire Scout UAVs, built to be far more autonomous and effective at combat than their predecessors. They were the four horsemen of the apocalypse, as far as Downey was concerned.

He passed through, getting polite nods and snaps to attention as he exited the bay, answering each in turn. The smell of the sea, and of the city below him was a far cry from the stale air of the Long Beach's bridge, and Downey sniffed in a whiff of the spray, smiling at the familiar feeling. Shouts across the hangar deck told him the crew was still hard at work down below securing to shore, and he quickly made his way below to the mission bay, the assortment of crewmen down there surprising him, most simply gaggling around the door to watch the occurences beyond.

"Make a hole!" He cried through the crowd, and they parted as he stepped out onto the roll-on/roll-off door, effectively a makeshift gangplank. Below stood Lieutenant Ranas and a squad of sailors, along with a gaggle of ponies, obviously ones of authority. He nodded to Ranas as she snapped a salute, and he returned it crisply. "Report."

"This is Mayor Sea Strider. Sea Strider? This is the ship's captain, Commander Downey."

"Hello there." She said, extending a hoof. Downey moved to shake, and she slapped at his hand with it, and lowered it satisfied. "I suppose I'll tell you the same story I told Ranas, here. We welcome you to the city of Baltimare." Ranas rolled her eyes at the Commander, being out of eyeshot. He glanced at her sternly. Sea Strider continued unabated.

"We require that all visiting vessels provide us some sort of tithe. What kind is up to you, but it must be of sufficient value. Something we can use, not just a random gift." The Commander stroked his chin momentarily, and reached into his chest pocket, tossing her a big golden coin,

"How much is that worth?" He asked. She pondered it.

"This is sufficient." She decided, observing the strange etchings on it, of eagles and boats. "How much is it worth in your homeland?"

"Oh, quite alot." He lied. Ranas and Chief Holland were silently chuckling in the back. Anyone who's anyone in the military knew Command Coins were a dime a dozen. But they certainly looked legitimate. Downey's was from a crappy supply ship he'd been aboard a few months before, a waste unless you were the 'extremely' sentimental type.

"Indeed." She said, pondering the coin as she used her mouth to stow it away. "So, have you any questions for me?" She asked.

"Rules and regulations? We're not going to stay cooped aboard, so we'd just like to know some basic details on what's okay and what isn't."

"Well..."

---

The two bumped forward appendages, and nodded to one another. "I do hope your stay in Baltimare is good, Commander. I also invite a few of your crew: five or six, to visit the theatre sometime in the next few days. As you may or may not have noticed, our religion is extremely strong here, and the play going on there may be of some informative nature, should you have people willing to listen."

"Understood, Ma'am." Said the Commander, nodding and smiling. The two parted amiably, the blue-furred earth pony departing through a quartet of guards on the dockside, their red armor and steely eyes the only things visible, behind a smiling facemask and pauldrons with engraved smiles. Downey almost cringed, but wasn't about to show that weakness as he climbed aboard. A good three-quarters of the crew stared back at him, in the huge cargo bay.

"Alright, sailors. This place gives me the fucking creeps." He said, a few nodding with him. "They seem nice enough, sure, but too much so to just want us here for peaceable reasons. If you go ashore, go in groups of ten or more. Stay for only a few hours, and bring a tac radio and check in every fifteen minutes except as noted." He paced his way through the crowd, the metal doorway behind slowly raising like a drawbridge, until they were back inside the behemoth.

"I need six to ten sailors for a shore party in the next few days. The mayor of this place wants us to see a play. Not sure how good it is, but if you're a cultured sort, make it happen. Take notes, if you're nerdy like that." He chuckled. A few answered him. "I don't know what it is, but these smiles, engraved everywhere, it just weirds me out. Keep yourselves together, and arm yourselves. Keep it discreet. I'm not losing crew."

"We're representatives of not just the navy, not just the United States, we're representatives of Earth and all of humanity. Act like it. We'll have standby teams and a seahawk on deck for emergency rescue if you need it, but don't count on it. If you're in trouble, if shit's getting bad, start running. I don't think little ponies can chase down a US Navy sailor in an urban environment. Get on some rooves. That's all I have."

Many of the crewmen nodded, and they slowly dispersed down ladderwells and into mission pods, a congregation of Riverine guys slowly dissolving to just a half-dozen, two of which made their way to the overwatch area above the drawbridge, taking charge of the two machine guns there.

Downey disappeared as well, finding way to his quarters, where he threw off his aquaflage cover and collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. Too much for him to deal with, he drifted to sleep...

Comments

[smoers06]

And the cult of laughter rears their ugly face.... This should get very interesting....

[Kitsuneisuki]

Well, well, well. This story is just delving deeper and deeper into a pit of shiz and crap! This story gives me the shivers now... And I like it. Whenever this updates, it is good day... a good day indeed.

[Detective Chmilewsky]

I like it, but I think the whole "We are representatives of humanity" is a bit over the top.

[Another_Dead_Account1109]

Next Chapter?