Core

by totallynotabrony

5: Khakis

Chapter 5: Khakis

Source

“Let me guess,” said Rarity. “Candio phase was more fun, but also more work.”

“Yeah, that was kind of a common theme at OCS,” agreed Rainbow. “Overall, though, this was almost like we were real people. We could still get RPT’d, but we didn’t have to go to the position of attention or shout when talking to the class team. In fact, it was kind of fun having Indocs do that to us.”

“And dessert, did you get dessert?” demanded Pinkie.

Rainbow chuckled. “Yes Pinkie, one of the Candios started making pie for us all. We were also finally allowed to have dessert in the chow hall. And coffee.”

“I never thought you were much of a coffee drinker,” said Twilight.

“You get less sleep in Candio phase. You have to be up before the rest of the regiment and go to bed later. It’s true that I’m not a caffeine addict like some, but occasionally a cup of coffee during a rough morning was nice.”

“And what about checking out the city?” asked Applejack. “You had to find this bar somehow.”

“We didn’t screw anything up too badly, so they allowed us one evening of liberty every weekend.” Rainbow nodded and smiled at the memory. “After so many weeks locked up, it was great.”

“Speaking of great, did you get my second care package?” questioned Pinkie.

Rainbow nodded. “I did. It was more than enough to share with the rest of the class.”

After the previous Candios had graduated on Friday morning and moved their things out of the hatches in the west wing of Nimitz, Class 19 moved in. The new rooms offered a great view of the bay and the bridge. There was a nice breeze that kept the wing cool, but the new Candios had to tie their curtains with boot blousing straps to keep them from blowing around.

Assignments for running the regiment were handed out. The two class teams had gotten together and decided where each Candidate would work best. Oberta was picked over Bravo’s President to be Regiment Commander. Dash was made H Class staff, and Public Affairs Officer. Her duties consisted of supervising the underclassmen and taking pictures, respectively.

Each Candidate got new collar devices depending on their position. They were “railroad tracks” as most of the pins consisted of parallel gold bars. As PAO, Dash got two bars. As REGCOM, Oberta got six.

The devices were handed down directly from the outgoing class. The pins Dash received were well worn, having spent much more time at OCS than her. She dutifully affixed them to her collar, feeling the new weight.

Friday afternoon, they were allowed to go to the King Hall mail room and get unrestricted packages, called Candio Boxes. It was a widespread practice for friends and family to send them once their Candidate had entered the final phase. Some were larger than others, and Dash’s was the biggest.

“What, is there a desktop computer and monitor in there?” asked Leest. Jokes about lack of internet had been circulating among the Candidates for weeks.

Dash checked the return address and grinned. “No, it’s something better.” She opened the package to reveal a giant frosted cake from Pinkie. Small icing figures of Marines beating Indocs decorated it.

While her package contained the most excellent confection, most other Candios received some sort of goodies from home, generally candy. A few enterprising mothers had baked cookies and stacked them in tubular Pringles cans to keep them from being crushed. Most of the class had descended into a sugar coma by that evening. Dash, however, had to restrain herself. She was first to stand Officer of the Deck watch.

It was similar to the BOOD position, except she was in khakis and there was no roving. Dash had to stand in one place for four hours. At least this time her shift was only 2000-0000.

She saw the King Hall rover making the rounds. The King watch was manned by ODS. The rover checked the pool, the utilities, the class buildings, and Riley Hall. He stopped by Nimitz to check with Dash. She had nothing to report.

His visit gave her something to think about for a while, at least. Would she rather be bored? Certainly not, but wishing for something to happen would probably not be advisable. Dash thought back to the flooding incident.

After turning over the watch, Dash went to bed. The gentle sound of waves from the nearby bay lulled her to sleep. At 0400 her alarm clock went off.

It was only after becoming Candios that the class was allowed to have alarms. Dash was pleased to see that hers worked. She and Leest put on their PT gear and went to set things up for the lower classes.

Being under instruction with the last Candios had taught the now-unified Class 19 their jobs. Dash helped check out equipment from the BOOD and set it up outside. Standing on the other side of the curb with her new PT shirt on, Dash was finally beginning to feel her change in status. The other classes formed up in the street, standing stiffly and trying to appear invisible to the drill instructors. It was interesting to see things from another perspective.

A full day of herding the other classes around was somewhat hectic, but Dash figured that it would become easier with practice. A few of the OC’s were tasked with helping Candios get things set up for the arrival of the next class of Indocs.

Half the Candio class would get an evening of liberty on Saturday Evening, and the other half would be off Sunday. It had been decided that Dash’s surprising appearance would be best used to keep the Indocs on their toes after they arrived. Instead of having her around on Sunday, she would get her night off then and get the opportunity to terrorize Indocs later.

The work party at Nimitz was busy laying blue tape. Dash was in charge of the small group of OC’s, but was also doing her part to apply tape. She was in NWU’s for the work, but stood apart from the others as the only one without a glow belt. That was something else pleasant about being a Candio.

The workers seemed to be enjoying themselves, probably remembering their own Indoc experience and glad it was about to happen to someone else. Dash knew how they felt. It was fascinating to get a behind-the-scenes look, to finally learn how and why things worked the way they did.

Before anyone was allowed liberty, Lieutenant Crossing and Chief Valdez gave the class a lecture. It pretty much boiled down to using their heads and not being stupid.

“Don’t let any civilians borrow your cover, and it’s not advisable to let them take pictures with you,” said the Lieutenant.

“Do not get in any fights,” added the Chief. “If it happens though, make sure you stick with your buddies for strength in numbers. End the fight as quickly as possible and then leave.”

“Avoid a place called Slots. It’s just outside the front gate and it’s bad news.”

“And don’t go to The Rhino. DI’s hang out there.”

Lest had been given Saturday off and came back late smelling of alcohol. As she removed her summer white uniform, she recounted a few stories of the evening. The small group of Candios she was with had gone to the movie theater to catch up on what they had missed.

“Was there a lot?” asked Dash.

“There was tons of stuff—not just movies—that slipped by while we’ve been here,” said Leest. “I picked up a newspaper, and after reading it I feel like a time traveler.”

Leest pulled out her phone. The Candios had been allowed to have them for the trip into town. “I heard that the Guinness Book of World Records just recognized this song as the most liked video on YouTube. I downloaded it when I got to a place that had WiFi.”

She played it. Dash frowned at the lyrics. “What the heck is Gangnam Style?”

“I know, right? This came out in July, just after we got here.”

Dash decided that liberty was going to be a rather strange experience after being locked up on base for nine weeks.

Sunday morning was quiet. The show was about to begin. Dash picked up the PAO camera and took a few photos of candid Candios getting ready for the show they were about to put on. All of them seemed nervous, despite the fact that they were supposed to be the intimidating ones. It was hard to believe that their own Candios had only had the job for a couple of days before meeting Class 19. Still, trepidation was easy to hide behind a veil of shouting.

The Candio Lounge was located in a part of the building off limits to lower classes. It was good for having meetings and posting messages. There were refrigerators and coffee makers. Taylor had been sent ingredients in the mail to make pies, and graciously donated a few to the whole class. Dash took a few pictures of Candios taking a break before the Indocs arrived.

She was standing in one of the hatches near the top of the stairs when the first group came through the doors. She heard the drum beating and a Candio giving the welcome speech. Then came the clamor of confused, too-quiet voices. Hard to believe that was once me. I’ve changed so much.

The shouting carried all through the building as the day wore on. Dash stayed out of sight. When the evening finally came, She put on her white uniform. The polyester cloth seemed rather fragile compared to the burly NWUs she was used to, but she doubted there was RPT to be done in Newport.

Dash piled into a car with Oberta, Rodriguez, and Lambert. It was Oberta’s, as the rest had shown up without vehicles of their own. After passing through the front gate, they entered the city. After carefully avoiding Slots, Oberta pointed the car downtown.

Newport was built along the southeastern edge of the bay, and the late summer weather had attracted plenty of tourists. After finally locating a place to park, the four Candios set off to take in the sights. The sidewalks were crowded, and they had to be careful not to get separated. The white uniforms helped.

The downtown strip ran for half a mile along the bay. It was dotted with restaurants and drinking establishments, with many expensive yachts anchored close to shore. It was there that they found a place called The Landing. It was mostly open-air, with a decorative trellis over the bar and a small stage where a casual band was playing.

Dash had never been a heavy drinker, but she had been thirsting for something other than canteen water for a while. The four of them settled in to relax with something pleasant to sip.

The bar was not very crowded, but there was a fairly large group over in one corner. A somewhat inebriated man stumbled away from them and towards the bar. He stopped, staring at Dash. “Huh, and I thought I was far from home.”

He spoke in accented British English. Dash nodded to him. “I joined the Navy. What brings you to Newport?”

The man gestured over his shoulder. “My best mate is getting married to a girl from Texas. Logically, Rhode Island was halfway between there and England.”

“What part of Texas?” asked Rodriguez.

“I don’t remember. Why don’t you go ask her?”

As it turned out, Rodriguez and the bride had grown up in neighboring cities, and before the night was over the four sailors had been invited to join the wedding festivities. Despite the huge differences in background, nationality, and lifestyles, they all had a great time. Dash was sorry to leave, but the midnight curfew was not negotiable.

Dash had never been the most outgoing of ponies, but perhaps being thrown into Class 19 and meeting so many new faces all at once had made her a little more open and interested in the variety of life choices there were. She was on track to be a pilot, but that didn’t mean there weren’t interesting things to learn about other careers.

On Monday morning, Dash found herself escorting a member of H Class to King Hall Medical for treatment of some kind of sinus infection. While the Candidate was being taken care of, she struck up a conversation with a few people in the waiting room. There was a nurse going through the ODS program, a junior enlisted Marine from the on-base detachment, and a NAPS student.

Between them all there was almost nothing in common, but that made the conversation all the more interesting. It seemed like each had questions about the other groups that they had seen around the base, but never got the chance to interact with.

ODS wore khakis and NWU’s. Their training was only five weeks, and was generally reserved for doctors, nurses, and lawyers entering the Navy. Just from watching them around base, Dash could tell that they had it much easier than OCS.

The Marine detachment could be seen working out often, but no one really knew what they did. Dash got a little bit of explanation from the Marine she talked to.

NAPS were distinctive with their black uniforms. Their course was one school year long, to academically and physically prepare students for entry into the Naval Academy. In effect, it was like an extra year of high school, or perhaps pre-college. NAPS had their own sports teams and sometimes played local schools.

Realization hit Dash as she was talking with them. I really have gotten better at cooperating with others. It worried her slightly that she’d barely noticed her personality being molded and shaped during her time so far at OCS.

Luckily, she got to put those thoughts on hold that afternoon with a good shouting session. It was the first time the new class of Indocs had been introduced to Candidate Officer Dash, and she made sure to leave an impression.

“Speed, volume, and intensity!”

“Aye, aye, ma’am!”

“You can do better! I’m louder than you all put together!”

Dash was able to press her intimidation even further, able to get in the face of even the tallest Indocs. She knew that some people didn’t take a rainbow-colored pegasus like her seriously, and it was amusing to watch them sweat and try to maintain their bearing.

On the PT field, a couple of them made the mistake of referring to her as “Candidate Officer Cupcakes,” based on her nicknamed Candio shirt. Dash quickly straightened them out.

Speaking of amusement, the Candios were allowed to visit San Jacinto in small groups. Many of them would be assigned to surface ships after OCS, and a bit of familiarization went a long way.

They were driven out to the pier where the ship was docked. The cruiser was smaller than Saratoga, but lack of rust and a few crew members on deck made it look much more lively. The small group of Candios stepped to the bottom of the gangway, trying to remember the lessons they had received about going aboard ships.

As usual, Oberta’s prior experience paid off. He strode up the gangway, stopping halfway and turning towards the ship’s stern where the stars and stripes flew. After coming to attention and saluting the flag, he proceeded to the top of the gangway and presented his ID to the Officer of the Deck. As the two of them traded salutes, Oberta said, “I request permission to come aboard.”

One by one, the rest of them repeated the process. A young Lieutenant Junior Grade from the ship greeted them and led the group on a tour.

“I was in OCS a little over two years ago,” he said, laughing. “As we were pulling in, I got a little nervous when I saw the bridge. You spend twelve weeks staring it, waiting for the day you get to cross the bay and go home, and the yearning will just about drive you nuts.”

The tour circled the decks, showing off the pair of five-inch guns and more than one hundred missile tubes that were aboard. It was interesting to actually see some of these things after studying them in class.

After visiting the helicopter hangar, the guide led the group down to the Combat Information Center, the central area where the ship was run. The air conditioning was turned up to protect the computer equipment crowded inside. There were glowing screens everywhere, including four sixty-inch flatscreens mounted to the bulkhead. The compartment was lit by a dim blue glow. It actually looked more high-tech and futuristic than the movie Battleship had portrayed. Dash had seen it before leaving for OCS, half hoping she might learn something.

“In your classes, you’ve probably heard about the Aegis Combat System,” said the guide. “Cruisers and destroyers have it. Basically, it integrates all the sensors and weapons aboard into one package to track all targets within two hundred miles and kill every single one of them if necessary.”

“I was meaning to ask,” said Weisowitcz, excitedly. “How does the radar work? I know it’s phased-array, but I’m not sure on the specifics.”

“Stop nuking it. That’s top secret compartmentalized information. I don’t know all of it, and I couldn’t talk about it if I did. But rest assured, it’s PFM.” The man grinned. “Pure freakin’ magic.”

Despite being designed in the 1970s before the dimensional doorways opened, Aegis ships were still among the best in the world. Dash wondered idly what might happen if they let a magic-wielding nerd like her friend Twilight take a look at it.

The tour continued up to the bridge. There was a great view of the bay from up there. Nothing was going to budge Dash from going to flight school, but she had to admit that sailing might not be too bad.

After disembarking, the group stood waiting for their transportation to return. The weather was pleasant, and Dash took a moment to stretch her wings, hovering a short distance above the concrete surface of the pier.

Weisowitcz appraised her for a moment. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask, how exactly do you stay in the air? Your wings are proportionally smaller than a bird’s and don’t seem to move very fast.”

Leest broke in. “PFM – pegasus freakin’ magic.”

The next few days passed as uneventfully as OCS could. Dash mostly did her job supervising H Class. About once per day, a random DI would come in and start a session of RPT. Usually, the class was rescued by rapid intervention from Gunnery Sergeant Cothic. Rainbow began to suspect that it was a tactic to endear the class to him, perhaps similar to how her own DI had “saved” 19A from Gunnery Sergeant Raikes. Everything for a purpose… Even in Candio phase, she was still learning.

Dash’s position of PAO kept her doing new things. The possibilities of aerial photography seemed to entertain the class teams, and she was called on often. At the drill completion, for example, one of the grading DIs asked her to fly over the assembled classes to see which candidates would keep their bearing. It was also a rare picture to see a formation from directly above.

Speaking of drill, Dash had thought she was done with it. As graduation drew nearer, the class teams began grabbing Candios whenever they weren’t busy and making them practice the graduation ceremony. That required precise marching movements and timing. Each new Ensign would go up on stage to be formally recognized. The OCS Commanding Officer would be there, as well as some random Admiral brought in for the event.

“The Admiral will probably give a speech that will be long and boring, but if you fall asleep, I’ll make sure your heart explodes,” promised Gunnery Sergeant Johns.

There was also a Pass in Review the day before graduation for friends and family that attended. It was a drill demonstration and parade march. The practice was almost more urgent than for the drill competition. After all, they wouldn’t want to look bad in front of their loved ones. A few Candidates with special offices learned how to drill with swords instead.

Dash reluctantly returned to practicing with her rifle. She had thought she was clear from drill, and found that her muscle memory had degraded somewhat from lack of use. It was yet another lesson.

Late in Candio phase, the class was taken to the firing range in the basement of Perry Hall. The class had used the building a few times for instruction, but nothing about the classrooms indicated that there were live weapons around.

They were given instruction on the M9 handgun by an older man with unusual insignia on his uniform. Dash tried to remember her gouge and realized he was a Chief Warrant Officer Five.

Oberta seemed amazed. “I’ve only seen a few Warrant Officers in the fleet, and never a Five. Savor this moment, Dash. You might never meet another one.”

Dash had known for a while that pistol training was coming, and gotten her friends to send her a special set of claws. It seemed ridiculous, but she could theoretically hold and fire a handgun with them.

There were a crowd of other instructors, including class officers and RDC’s. All of them seemed excited. Dash had noticed a particular passion among some people where firearms were concerned.

Safety was stressed again and again. While Dash could sometimes be a daredevil, guns were nothing to be trifled with. She was given a plastic holster and strapped it to her thigh. The instructors paid special attention to her, and she was grateful. This was not something she wanted to screw up.

Dash found that the pistol did indeed fit the claws’ grip. She was able to reach the trigger, magazine release, and safety, and pull the slide back by hooking the rear sights. It wasn’t very easy as the gun’s internal parts were stiffer than she imagined, but Dash managed.

Each Candidate was given four magazines with five rounds each. With a paper target seven yards away, the shooter would draw and fire two rounds, do it again, draw and fire one shot, reload, and fire one more shot. After that, draw and fire two shots, change to the opposite hand and fire two more. By then, two magazines would be empty. The target would move to fifteen yards and the exercise would be repeated, except the last four rounds would be fired from a kneeling position.

If this were a real qualification rather than practice, the shooter would receive a ribbon for qualifying. A bronze S or silver E could be added to the ribbon for Sharpshooter or Expert qualifications, which required better accuracy.

Dash wasn’t focused on uniform baubles as she stepped up to the firing line. Mostly, she just wanted to not kill anyone. Guns thundered on either side of her, still somewhat loud through the earmuffs she had been given. Her own weapon roared and jumped in her grip as she pulled the trigger.

She now realized the purpose behind the enthusiastic DI’s like Gunnery Sergeant Raikes, and the reason why the Candidates were always screaming kill. The military’s ultimate purpose was to defeat the country’s enemies, and they wanted the Class to be comfortable with that. Unlike other lessons, this one was somewhat jarring.

Dash was not a particularly good shot, but managed to at least hit the large piece of paper every time. Her competitive streak wanted her to practice and get getter. Some other part of her consciousness wondered if that was a good idea.

Luckily, Taylor had made pie again and there was something else to think about when she got back to Nimitz.

The last week was hectic, with training the next class and getting prepared to graduate. They all kept practicing with the rifles and rehearsing their movements. Dash was present to take pictures of the last uniform inspection of the upcoming class. Shortly after, she was training the next class's PAO.

It all culminated on Thursday afternoon. The combined Class 19 assembled in Kay Hall for one last unofficial competition between Alpha and Bravo.

The gym was decorated for the graduation. An audience made of friends and family members had been invited. Some had elected to skip Pass in Review in favor of only attending Graduation the next day, but the chairs set out were still nearly full.

Each Candidate brought their rifle. That morning, they had been given time to make sure their boots were polished and NWU’s were squared away.

The Regiment Commander, and both Battalion Commanders that served under him stood out front of the two companies. Instead of rifles, the three of them carried parade swords.

With commands from REGCOM, the classes alternated back and forth with drill commands. It was a standard Inspection Arms. Bravo, threatened with beatings on top of beatings, had improved to match Alpha. To untrained ears, they sounded exactly the same.

The classes were ordered to parade rest. One of the Class Officers invited the guests to take a few minutes to capture some up-close pictures of their Candidates.

It was somewhat difficult to stand perfectly still while ponies Dash hadn’t seen in twelve weeks stood only a few feet away taking photos of her. She allowed herself a small sideways glance. Her parents had come, as had Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pike, Rarity, and Twilight Sparkle.

After pictures, the audience went back to their seats. Class 19 executed a right face and marched in a box formation to music, passing in front of the crowd for their review before exiting the gym behind the curtain.

There was a lot of talking and excitement on the way back to Nimitz. They were only a short while from actually getting to spend time with their guests. That would be in the evening, at the Hi Moms event.

The Candidates lined up at the armory to return their rifles. Dash discovered that she had actually grown somewhat fond of her weapon. Not that fond, though. She glanced at the serial number one last time before turning it in.

The class changed into their Summer Whites. As their last duty as Candios, they each handed over their collar devices to the upcoming class. After that, it was time to party.

Twilight had gotten her U.S. driving permit, and while nervous at being behind the wheel of a large rented van, managed to get Dash and all her guests to the hotel in downtown Newport where the event was being held.

“It’s good to finally see you again, Rainbow,” said Applejack as they drove.

It took a moment for the blue pegasus to realize she was being spoken to. Disuse of her first name for several months had left a strange impact.

“Think how happy I am to see all of you,” Rainbow laughed.

“You’ll have to tell us all about it,” said Rarity.

“I sure will,” Rainbow assured her.

Twilight gave Rainbow a small package with two silver dollars in it. It would be used for the ceremony the next day.

Hi Moms was a simple affair. Hors d'oeuvres and beverages accompanied by a slide show created from various PAO photos taken over twelve weeks. Rainbow was easy to spot when she appeared in pictures. After the presentation, the guests were introduced to the two Class Teams. Several other DI’s, RDC’s, and Class Officers were in attendance, hovering in the background. Many of the Marines only seemed to be there for the alcohol.

The food hadn’t been very filling, and plans were quickly made for dinner afterwards.

“We’ll leave you all alone to catch up,” said Rainbow’s mother. Her parents headed back to their hotel while the six mares went to look for a restaurant. Rainbow’s bank account hadn’t been touched in twelve weeks, and she found a pleasant surprise waiting for her. She offered to buy for all of them but was turned down. This was her party, after all.

They found a restaurant called The Red Parrot. It was three stories tall with a bar on each deck—civilians call it a floor, Rainbow reminded herself—and lots of wood and polished brass. She noted that right next door was The Rhino, but didn’t see any DI’s.

Dinner was pleasant, and Rainbow caught up on a lot of things she’d missed. Her friends explained the mysterious phenomenon behind Gangnam Style, and Pinkie demonstrated the associated dance. It was lucky that she did it near the end of the meal so things were only slightly awkward while the bill was being paid.

They wandered down by the water, and Rainbow spotted The Landing. Feeling up for a drink, she invited her friends along. Once they were all seated with beverages, the questions about her OCS experience came out.

“I’d love to hear about the kind of problems they had to overcome to integrate a pony into the human military,” said Twilight.

“Day one was kind of tough,” agreed Rainbow. She took a drink and started to tell the story.

Source

Comments

[sockeye101]

Meanwhile, at the USNA...

[Ink_25]

“I request permission to come aboard.”

Aren't they required to refer to themselves in third person?

Her competitive streak wanted her to practice and get getter.

better?