Barney's Mission (By: GreaverBlade)

March 23, 2065

“Fwuff me.”

Barney stood stock still as the flashlight shone over him. Angry voices in a language he didn’t understand getting louder and closer behind the blinding light shining down on him.

“Come again, Private Barney?” A voice came over the comms headset Barney was wearing.

“SCREEEEEE!” Barney let out a piercing cry and ran directly toward the soldier carrying the flashlight. Before the man could grab him or draw is weapon, Barney veered to the right, as fast as his short legs could carry him.

A raid alarm started blaring overhead. The entire base was alerted to his presence now.

“Sowwy sawgent, Bawney bad fwuffy and meanie tewwowist awmost captuwe Bawney!”, the fluffy spoke softly in to his comm bead.

“None of that talk, private! You are one of our best. We got the intel, your infiltration was successful. Now get out of there and try to make your way to the rendezvous point.” Sergeant Trask’s voice came back over the comm link.

“Bawney nu tink make won-da-boo, sawgent. Whowe basie am awert now! Bawney find gud pwace to hide. Bawney caww when Barney safe. Bawney out.”

No reply came back over the radio, and Barney checked his surroundings. He was in the shadow of a Quonset hut, really in no concealment at all. He was a deeper murk in shadow, but a patrolman with a light would reveal him in a hurry.

Barney carefully made his way around the back of the hut, looking for any open doors, boxes, or barrels he could hide in. Barney was a trained military fluffy. No, Barney was more than that. Barney was a veteran. Most military fluffies didn’t come back from their first mission. Barney has completed dozens of infiltrations and returned safely. Nearly unheard of in the SMRT-I/E company.

He spotted an especially large building and made his way towards it.

August 8, 2060

Barney had started life as a poopie smarty feral foal. He had been caught, brought to a shelter, and was only days away from incineration. No family wanted a poopie brown foal, with the barest start of a dark green mane and tail. Especially not an angry smarty. Then the scary men came.

They were dressed all the same in a green the color of Barneys tail. They told the other humans at the shelter they wanted all the poopie fluffies they had. Smarty or not, they wanted them. Barney was loaded in to a box and then in to a big truck, and taken away. Barney thought he was finally getting his due as a smarty. Barney was very, very wrong.

Barney lasted longer than most. Sergeant Trask took a full two weeks to break him. Between the beatings, the nights in sorry boxes, the terrible food, and the non stop yelling. Trask didn’t speak to Barney the whole first week. Trask only yelled. At the end of the two weeks, when Trask opened his sorry box, Barney was on his side, weeping.

“Wan’ die.” Barney said softly. “Wan’ die. Wan’ die. Wan’ die.”

Trask reached for Barney. He didn’t even flinch away, he was so broken. The sergeant picked him up and held him close. He started petting him.

“Wan’ die. Wan’ die. Wan’ die.”

“I’m sorry Barney, you don’t get to die yet. But it’s good that you no longer fear death.”

“Wan’ die. Wan’ die. Wan’ die.”

The sergeant carried Barney in to a long building and set him on a strange long table.

The sergeant walked away for a couple minutes and came back with a metal tray. Barney’s eyes were still closed. But he could still smell.

“Wan’… dat smeww. Wut dat smeww?”

“That’s military grade spaghetti, Barney. Uncle Sam’s finest pasta.”

Barney opened his eyes. The sergeant was smiling at him. “Go ahead Barney. Eat.”

“Why munstah gib Bawney nummies?”

“Because, Barney, we needt you to live. You were a bad fluffy. You were a bad smarty. But we think you can be a good fluffy, if you work hard enough.”

“Bawney can be good? Bawney can get wub?”

“Yes, Barney. You can get love. The love of a country. They will never know you, but in their hearts, they will thank you. You can also get more spaghetti.”

“Bawney wike wub. And sketties. How Bawney be gud fwuffie?”

“Barney will work hard. Harder than he can imagine. He will do what he is told every day. He will not question what he is told. He will eat kibble, and he will like it. He will get spaghetti when he is good. He will get nothing and go hungry when he is not. He will listen, and he will learn.”

“Bawney wiww twy.” Barney was sitting on his rump, slowly eating the spaghetti. His stomach hurt from the terrible kibble, and he wanted to enjoy the taste.

November 15th, 2060

Barney did more than try. Barney did. Everything he was told. No complaints, no back talk. And he grew. Three months in to his training, Barney was figured to be about six or seven months old. He was lean, he was brave, and he was sharp. Barney learned how to be quiet and sneaky. Barney was trained to get in to places fluffies weren’t supposed to go. Trask was with him the whole way.

Barney had learned how to handle paint. Trask made damned sure of that, but Barney knew Trask did it for the mission. Trask would pull out the sorry stick and wallop Barney in his flank. Barney wouldn’t even flinch any more. “Fank 'ou suh, may Bawney hab anuddu?” Trask would give Barney a nod of respect and move on.

February 28, 2061

Barney finished his training at the top of his unit. There were other fluffies. None of them as big, strong, or smart as Barney. None of them embraced the mission like Barney.

At the ceremony, Trask approached Barney. “Private Barney, where do soldiers go when they die?”

Barney looked straight ahead and yelled back, “Bawhawwa, suh.”

“And how do soldier’s earn their seat in Vallhalla?”

“Compweting da missun, suh!” Barney bellowed.

“At east, private.”

Barney relaxed a little. He was still up right, but he was looking around him. He was also smiling. He’d done it. He’d been broken down, and built up in to a soldier. He’d reached the point of wishing for death, and now he wished that if he had to die, it would be in service to his country.

Sergeant Trask sat down next to Barney. “I have good news, private. I will be commanding your unit, and we’re deploying on your first mission.”

Barney looked over the the sergeant. Barney knew the sergeant wasn’t his daddy, but that didn’t matter. The sergeant was something better. The sergeant was his “commanduh”.

March 23, 2065

Barney knew this was his end. He accepted the fact. He was just glad he was able to send Trask the information before he’d been caught. Barney looked back over himself. He wore his headset that let him talk to Trask. His close cropped fluff had be daubed with greens, grays, and blacks to help him hid better. The pack strapped to his back, what Trask called the “I/E device”. Barney knew Trask could see what he saw through the “shiney bawks” attached to his helmet. “Looking good, Barney”, the voice game back. The fluffy continued on his search for a place to hide.

Barney was looking around when he noticed a familiar sign on a door. The hazard marking that looked like a bomb blast. “Sawgent. Bawney fink dis ow-di-nunce stowage. Bawney regwoup hewe.” “Affirmative, Barney.”

Barney stood up on his hind legs, and worked the door handle open with his mouth. Carefully, quietly, he made his way inside.

Barney whistled softly to himself. At least as much as a fluffy could whistle.

“Sawgent. Dat’s a wot of 'splodies.” As Barney looked around, Trask took in the racks upon racks of artillery shells, crates of drones, and cases upon cases of small arms ammunition. And best of all, the surface to air missiles that had so hamstrung operations in this sector.

Barney kept walking through the munitions warehouse, when he caught the sound of voices. And this time, it was in words he understood.

“…yes, we appreciate the deliveries. The Americans have been in an uproar over the damage my organization has caused. Too bad we’re too well protected by cliffs, and too well stocked with the missiles you provided for their so-called supreme air supremacy to help them!”

“Always a pleasure doing business. I’d say business is booming, but booms are sort of what you specialize in, eh?”

Barney scurried under the lowest shelf of a shell rack and watch the two humans walking through the warehouse, inspecting the vast store of destructive power.

“Can you believe they sent a fluffy to infiltrate our camp? One of those filthy creatures. It somehow made its way in to our command center and was shoving papers everywhere. The men say it had a camera on its head!”

“Are you worried about your plans leaking out?”

“Not particularly. As far as we can tell, the fluffy only found outdated information. Whatever its mission was, that mission was a failure.”

Barney was stunned. His mission failed? “Barney, come in.”

Barney moved further under the shelves, behind some crates so he could whisper a reply.

“Sawgent. Baddie hoomin wight? Mishun faiwed?”

“Not entirely Barney. That’s the leader of the terrorists we’ve been fighting, and the arms dealer, McGonagall. Knowing their location is still valuable. It’s going to be hard fighting, but we’ll have to directly assault that compound. And I need you out of there before that happens!”

“Fwontaw assauwt? Sawgent, wots of gud sowjuws wiw go fo’ebba sweepies!”

“Barney, it’s the only way. Not, get out of there.”

Barney sat. And thought. He couldn’t let the soldier die. They were his brothers and sisters. They were his friends. And Barney was just a fluffy.

“Sawgent, Bawney sowwy. Bawney mus’ dis-ow-beh owduhs.”

“What are you saying Barney? Fall back!”

“Sowwy, sawgent.”

With that, Barney let out his loudest SCREEE he could manage.

He got moving. Ever few seconds pausing to let out another SCREEE. The two humans started yelling, and Barney could hear one of them shouting for reinforcements.

“Catch that filthy creature! We’ll torture it for information, and then roast it for dinner!”

Barney could hear more enemy soldiers rushing in to the building. Perfect.

Barney stopped his SCREEE’ing and looked for something to really get the enemy’s attention. And then he found it. And open crate of grenades. Barney grabbed one in his mouth, and quickly trotted to the largest piles of shells he could find, clambering his way to the top.

He let out another piercing SCREE to get the humans attention again. “DUMMEH TEWWOWISTS! BAWNEY GIB YOU AWW FOWEBBAH SWEEPIES!”

Barney made a show of holding the grenade under his hoof, and grabbing the pin with his mouth.

The terrorist soldiers had Barney surrounded, guns pointed at him. Their leader made his way to the front and called back. “Stupid pig-horse. You think a simple fragmentation grenade will blow those shells? I’m amazed your tiny brain could even fathom a plan that complex!”

"Barney released the grenade pin from his mouth, and spoke to the crowd. “Bawney gwenade onwy fo’ get attenshun. Bawney wan’ see aww da tewwowists.”

“This shitrat calls us terrorists. He doesn’t even understand the cause we fight for!”

“Bawney no cawe. Bawney onwy cawe 'bout one fing.”

“Barney, what are you doing?!” Trask’s voice was sharp in his ear.

“Compwetin’ Bawney mishun, sawgent.”

“What do you mean, Barney.”

Barney let out a slow breath. He could hear automatic rifles being primed all around him, the soldiers holding them worried to set off the stack of shells Barney stood upon.

“Bawney wiww hab skettines in Bawhawwa. Sempuh fwuffus!”

Trask understood instantly. He pause for a moment. But only a moment. Then he did it.

While a fragmentation grenade might not detonate the ton of shells upon which Barney stood, the four pounds of plastic explosives in his pack would.

Barney’s sacrificial blast leveled the munitions warehouse, and most of the surrounding compound.

Within 20 minutes, helicopters were in visual range of the giant cloud of smoke rising from what used to be a terrorist compound.

Trask sat alone in in the command center. A his eyes were damp. He looked up and stared at light fixture in the ceiling for a moment, before putting his head back down.


Not the hero we want, but the one we deserve.


Wow. That’s definitely one heroic fluffy.

Maybe they gave him a mare to relieve his stress now and then. His foals could then be trained like their daddy was.


I’m building this whole military headcannon in Notepad. I’ll be sharing the “rules” in a post at some point for anybody interested in the idea. And to be clear, these are rules like D&D has rules: you do what you want with them and make them fit your narrative.


aren’t you forgetting something?

…I have no idea what you are talking about. My name is clearly in the title and I didn’t just add it after seeing your message.

I love this story. Like most of us, I often hypothesize what would happen if fluffies existed. Provided you can convince the American public that they aren’t some Frankenstein’s monster that’s an affront to God and nature deserving eradication, you’d have a lot of very interested industries and organizations wanting them. Animal testing for pharmaceuticals and cosmetics, search and rescue, therapy and companion animals , militaries, and tons of legitimate organizations would be all for a genetically complex, chimera that can actually fucking talk. So thank you, this is now one of my favorite stories ever.

For something I wrote based entirely around a dumb hook and a single line, I’m pretty proud of it. Thank you!

1 Like

This is fluffn glorius. Five stars and 2 hooves up.


o7 hard