First published
Some actions of the military are kept highly confidential, and never spoken to outside of those who have the clearance for them. Others are so secret that only those ponies who absolutely need to know are told. Secrets are kept for the safety of those involved. One wrong word to caught by a clever ear could end lives and empires. Of course, some tales remain extra-secret due to the potential for embarrassment.
Thus, everypony knows about them. Such information is classified as FOR UNOFFICIAL USE ONLY.
Document controlled by Lieutenant 'red Sage
Coversheet is Form EBF0032, and can be found here if you need additional copies.
//FUUO//
The documents contained in this folder have been classified FOR UNOFFICIAL USE ONLY. Any attempts to use the material herein for productive or useful purposes is strictly prohibited. Use of this material for business, legal, or educational purposes is forbidden, and carries a punishment no greater than summary termination of gainful employment.
//FUUO//
//FUUO//
Stable Sergeant Smiles was probably named by a very optimistic mother. She'd likely hoped that her little baby pegasus would grow up as a friendly colt and become a stallion surrounded by good company, gracious and happy at every turn. Then when she grew old, he'd be there, a kind face there when she needed company in the evening of her life.
She couldn't have picked a worse name for him.
"So," growled the sergeant in a voice like wet gravel being dredged over cold stone, "I finished reviewing your complaints, corporal."
"You did?!"
Corporal Livid Lance on the other hoof, was named by very wise (but either lazy or lax) parents. A unicorn indignant even from an time before he could say 'mad', the corporal was still rump-rustled over being ousted from his home at the tender age of twenty-four to go pay for his own living. One job after another had ended due to his inability to suffer their standard working conditions, until nothing remained at entry level other than to enlist in the guard. Through a time-honored triumvirate of lies, blue-falconry, and rump-kissing, he'd made it to the rank of junior NCO.
"All fourteen of them, yes." Half a ream of paper fell from the sergeant's grip to smack the oak grain desk with a hefty thump. "According to standard protocol, after three consecutive forms, I am required to ask you for a verbal statement of grief and an affirmation of all the forms you turned in."
"Well..." Lance inhaled, righteous fury burning in his chest, "Four days ago, Corporal Stonewall showed blatant disregard for proper decorum and chain of command in my presence. I respectfully corrected him, but he became belligerent, and insulted me personally. I can not bear to see our beloved guard demeaned in such a way!"
"I see." Smiles stood and slowly plodded over to close his door. "I hope you know, corporal, that I take all complaints very seriously. Especially when they concern poor military behavior."
"I agree, Stable Sergeant! I am senior in the rank of corporal by sixteen days of Stonewall, and should not have to suffer such lambasting at his hooves!"
A few more prods of the sergeant's armor-shod hoof ensured the soundproofing spell for classified discussion was enabled, ensuring nopony would hear any of the further conversation. Lance felt his heart thud with anticipation. He knew this moment, where the official would take his story, give him credit and distinction, and ensure good favor.
"Well then, do you wish to formally affirm the complaints you have submitted?"
Taking a deep breath, Lance puffed himself up even further. "I sure do! Furthermore, I volunteer to carry out disciplinary actions to Corporal Stonewall."
The sergeant let out a grim chuckle. “Oh I’m sure you would.”
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Stonewall hurried over toward the last bench in the row, tightly clenching a tray piled with steaming red goodness between his teeth. Mixed hints of tomato, basil, and grain all left to cook twelve hours too long wafted into his nostrils and left flecks of drool on the tray. It was slipping by the time he skidded to a halt at his seat. All around him armored hooves clanged on the concrete floor and boisterous discussions filled the wide open hall with cacophony.
“You trying to digest your food before it even gets to your mouth?” The guardspony across the table chuckled as a mass of saliva splashed onto the table, followed by the tray. Stonewall worked his tired jaw a few times.
“Aww, stuff it, Haft. I don’t have a magical horn like you. You’re just jealous I can actually stomach this stuff.”
Haft Hold nodded somberly, twirling his spoon around in a small bowl of ‘Tomato Tuesday Terror,’ slowly stirring the seeds and solid chunks to one side of the mush. Next to him, a new recruit by the name of Tagalong had already emptied his bowl, and was trying to stare anywhere other than at Haft’s spoon. It wasn’t working.
“You should just give him it. You don’t ever eat your terror.” Stonewall paused, spoon halfway to his mouth to give a knowing look to Haft. Tagalong was slowly starting to jitter, fueled by the prospect of enough calories to maintain his massive frame.
Haft sighed and levitated his bowl up to slop the vegetable gruel into the recruit’s bowl, earning a squee shortly cut off by food inhalation as soon as the mush finished falling. Typical for any new recruit out of training, Tagalong managed to finish his entire bowl before Stonewall had consumed a half-dozen bites.
“You’re allowed to taste it, you know?” demanded Haft. Not getting any answer, he sighed and reached into his bags for a small tin of crackers.
The faint screech of metal tearing open atop the tin was loud, far too loud to be heard over the normal bustle of dinner.
“Whoa, did you beat up Lance?” asked Tagalong.
Both of the junior guards were looking over at the chow line. Most everypony else was doing the same. Conversations started again as a mass of whispers, quickly building to a clamor louder than before.
“What?” Stonewall craned his neck to see what all the commotion was about. Livid Lance was limping up to the back of the chow line, staring straight at the floor. Both of his eyes had dark rings around them.
“Whoa…” muttered Tagalong. “What the hell happened to him?”
Stonewall finished savoring the pasty texture for a few moments, then made to educate the newcomer.
“Well a few days back he made fun of me in a not-so-fun way for being an earth pony. Well, Tag, you’ll learn real quick just to give that crap right back. He swore revenge after I told him not to get his horn stuck in the ceiling. Guess he just likes to pick fights or something. I didn’t beat him up, though. Haven’t talked to him since then, actually.”
Up near the line, the cook started ringing a large bell, and bellowed out for everypony to hear. “SECONDS!”
Faster than a pegasus fleeing a dragon, Tagalong was sprinting toward the chow line, while Haft slowly lifted another cracker into his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster.
//FUUO//
//FUUO//
The common pony lived for the weekend. After the standard forty-four-point-five hour work week, the money they’d slaved for was meant for making merry.
Sadly, for the Royal Guard, the weekend was only one day long. Sunday, after all, was dedicated to the Sun. Monday was celebrated with an extra-early muster to watch the moon at its zenith before the duty day began.
Saturday was the only day off the guards had, except on a three-day weekend. Well, it was actually a two-day weekend, but some sadistic staff officer kept calling them three day weekends, so the name stayed on the announcements posted on the bulletin boards in the barracks. Unofficially, such weekend were known as a ‘duece’.
Yes, there were plenty of giggles about dropping dueces on a duece.
On the Thursdays at the end of the duty day, every pony in armor would be eagerly anticipating the sweet long hours of freedom. No mopping floors, no berating by the jerk who’d been there for long enough to earn another chevron, and certainly no standing around like a gold-plated piece of palace furniture. Well, unless you were one of those suckers with weekend duty.
The end of the duty day always seemed to stretch out before the long weekend and there was a very good reason for that. Each platoon officer would gather his or her troops together for a ‘security speech’. During that time, the lieutenant would detail all of the possible dangers the troops might encounter out among the citizen-folk, and how to defend against those threats without the safety of a paperwork barricade.
Crescent Platoon had just received a new commander earlier that week. Lieutenant Yew Leaf was a hardy young earth pony buck ready to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, in every possible way. It hadn’t taken long for his sergeant to realize that the new officer wore his armor after duty. There was a very simple fix to that too.
“Ten-HUT!” hollered Sergeant Garnet. Her voice boomed over the room, bringing all the rowdy discussions of bar-crawling and brothel-brawling to an end as Yew Leaf entered the room. She could have sworn his eyes went wide as the sight of twenty soldiers standing firm. One moment passed, then two, then Yew Leaf realized what he’d come for.
“At eeeeechh-HK!” Yew hacked and wheezed for several moments until the spit cleared his windpipe. “Ahem. At ease, guards.”
The room stayed silent, but twenty pairs of eyes followed as Yew Leaf pulled a scroll from his back and started to read from it.
“First things first, let me say how glad I am that we’re a family now. I couldn’t have asked for command of a finer group of ponies! Now, let’s see....I’m supposed to make sure you all get a proper security speech. I know all of you will be very safe over the weekend, but I want to make sure absolutely nothing happens to my favorite ponies on this planet.
“First of all, command staff has noted an increase in small herds of mares grabbing up guard stallions and carrying them off for ‘fun times’. We usually get them back afterwards, but oftentimes the armor is missing. I just want to let everypony know that this doesn’t count as a PT session, and you will be charged for any missing armor. Make sure to take a buddy with you everywhere to avoid such situations.
“Next, remember that changelings are always out there. I want to promise all of you that I will not be at any bars this weekend, or ever, so if you see me there, especially female members, that you seize the changeling masquerading as Royal Guard officer. Every successful changeling capture is worth a day off duty. Sergeant Hardplot in Autumn Platoon currently has the record at thirty-seven, so let’s try to get Cresent Platoon to the top!”
“Lastly, I know that drinking is fun, but safety comes first! I want you to all promise right now to me that you won’t have more than two drinks at any one time while you’re out this weekend.”
Silence reigned in the room, so strong that the hoofsteps from the next floor up through a solid two meters of stone echoed in the meeting space.
“Well, you don’t get to leave for your weekend until I get that promise.”
A chorus of groans and sarcastic voices chimed in, promising that every last word was a hooves-behind-the-back subversion of the rules.
“We promise, LT!”
“Excellent!” beamed Yew Leaf. “You all have a great weekend now, and make sure to be there early for Sunday Sun worship!”
Everypony groaned again, until Garnet cut them off.
“LT, I’ve got something for you.” She held up the small package wrapped in brown paper that Stonewall had been holding during the speech. “The platoon pooled some bits to buy you a welcome present!”
Eyes watery with joy, Yew Leaf trotted forward to take the package, which soon lay in shreds as he ripped it with his teeth. A small cloak woven from brown cloth lay in his hooves as the scraps of paper floated to the floor.
“What’s this, sergeant?”
“It’s a cloak, sir. It’s a kind of civilian clothing..”
Yew Leaf stared at the cloak for a few moments before blushing at the laughter blossoming throughout the room. “Dismissed! All of you are dismissed! Stay safe this weekend!”
Guards filed out the door, leaving their commander working his jaw silently while he stared at his new cloak, thinking about how handsome he’d look wearing it over his armor.
//FUUO//
Once upon a time, the guards were allowed a long weekend once a year without having to take leave (provided they still completed Sun-day and Moon-day worship while away). This often caused nervousness in the senior leadership, wondering if the guards would stay safe and complete all their assigned tasks. Then, one weekend, they didn't have to wait and worry -- their worst fears became real.
Three years ago on that very weekend one guard had forgotten to leave a paperwork trail back to the barracks. He got lost and was unable to find his way home, and wound up taking shelter at a local bar. In the time before his sergeant caught up with him, poor Binky Bash had consumed a total of five beverages, and been snu-snu'd by a local mare. The event was so traumatic that the guard had immediate Hockholm syndrome, constantly seeking to go back to his tormentors.
Since that unfortunate event, all guards under the age of thirty winters had been mandated to fill out a few short items notating exactly when and where they would be visiting which residences during their time out of the barracks. These forms were to be filled out in triplicate. When the entire process was completed properly, one copy would stay with the clerk for records, one copy would be dropped by the guard as he went along his way, and one set was burned for kicks and giggles to heat the records room.
Guardspony Ridgeline was sorting through his forms, making sure that everything was in order. One page slipped and fell out of the pile as he scooped it up and dumped it wholesale into his saddlebags before running headlong out of the barracks. There was no way he could be stopped now. The door slammed behind him, plunging the room into silence and darkness.
For twenty minutes nopony disturbed the quiet, until the door burst open with the same violence it had closed. Stable Sergeant Smiles strode in, his eyes immediately taking in every detail, noting how the beds had been made with suspicion. He flicked a bit out to one of them and had to lean out suddenly to catch it in his teeth as it bounced from the bedspread. Everything was exactly as he had expected. Well...aside from the loose piece of paper under the desk.
With a triumphant growl, Smiles scooped it up, and cast his eyes over the parchment.
"Oh Ridgeline...we are going to have so much fun when you get back."