Caravan
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The day has dawned bright and early in Afghneighnistan.
Celestia's sun has risen bright and early in the morn.
Afghenighnistan, that harsh and turbulent land caught at the the crossroads of pony, zebra, and griffon.
Protectorate of Equestria, land of pity and scorn.
The sun shines down
Upon the gorge below.
Snow white -- rocks brown.
Through it ponies, donkies, and zebras go.
The bearers, warriors not,
Drive along the caravan.
If a foe would them spot,
Death to every stallion.
And mare, too,
Though far fewer they were there,
For the traditions forbade them, if the were wont to do,
If they could the weight of the packs even bear.
They made plans kept from others
To ferry their contraband
Weapons, gear, for their brothers
To defend their land
Against invaders from afar,
Who came with promises of prosperity,
But only brought the land torch and scar,
Slaying them for posterity.
The one at the head
Was a mule, their guide through the hidden road.
He bore flax and a carpet red
To conceal her deadly load.
The rest all carried trade goods,
Crops, textiles, food, totaling in tons.
Their faces concealed by scarves and hooves,
Buried like their hidden guns.
Rifles, pistols, shotguns, and more,
Medicine, rations, radios, drugs, gold…
Armor, scopes, magazines, and brushes to clean a gun's dirty bore,
They bring these and new recruits to replace the old.
They came from throughout the world.
A few from the nations -- from Equestria rich, from Zebricy old, from Miền Sói ravenous, from Griffiya proud,
Most were from the tribes of Afghneighnistan, by whom the black flag first unfurled,
Each of them believed the cause worthy of the burial shroud.
Most carry a burden upon their shoulders.
They grumble, but take it gladly
As they trek amongst the boulders
Though later their bodies shall ache badly.
These make up the column’s core.
They are surrounded by other ones,
Ones who protect them through the war
With AR’s, M14’s, Kalashnikovs, FAL’s, RPG’s, grenades, and light machine guns.
The caravan presses on
Towards the gleaming mountain distant.
They set out before the crack of dawn.
They dare not slacken, even for an instant.
The pilot, their guide, their vanguard, creeps ahead.
He is an old veteran of innumerable battles, has never lost a fight.
A dozen scars adorn his head.
His hand holds his black rifle, AR18, his beloved Armalite.
They are but a half day's march from the equestrian border.
The previous night, they had clashed with some soldiers, killing one royal border guard.
The guide knew that this meant not all was well and in order,
For the Equestrians were now angry and would doubtlessly come down hard.
The caravaner learns his trade young.
There are the arts of endurance and managing packs.
He must learn every route through which goods can be brung.
Later he learns the arts of business, navigation, and fending off attacks.
He knows the risks of their trade,
As do they all.
If a single mistake is made,
They shall all fall.
Though clandestine, they were not unknown
To their numerous foes.
Some were tribesmen and kin their own,
But they were the least of those.
Sometimes, in those harsh lands,
Robbers would seek the caravans for plunder.
But woe betide those who trouble these bands.
Too late they see their blunder.
The caravan is watched by old guards.
These are the toughest, the bravest veterans.
They would rather die than cede an inch, their resolve iron hard.
Only the best are chosen for the task of protecting the caravans.
They are strong and fit.
They are resolute at heart.
They will give their lives to defend it.
Or else be torn apart.
To reach their tribesmen was the plan.
The road before them still was long
For the men driving the caravan.
Alas, despite all their efforts, it all went wrong.
For thereupon a distant hill
Lurked a thermal scope watched by a scout.
He wished them all ill
And so on his radio, he called theirparty out.
His brother had the night before been slain
At his post at the Afghneighn border, Van Hoover to the south.
He wanted retribution for his pain.
He hailed on his radio, eager was his mouth.
""Bravo three-actual, Caravan spotted on thermal scope.
Twenty-plus foot mobiles heading south on route Golf seven-niner, out."
In that instant, the caravan had last all hope.
With a puff of static, their lives would soon be over without a doubt.
Alas, they did not yet know
That they had been seen
By a deadly foe
Who alerted their sworn enemy.
In a base many miles away,
The telephone rang.
The commander heard the orders clear as day.
His troops would destroy the gang.
There could be no mistake.
It could only be a caravan.
The merchants knew the roads to take.
Ignorance was no excuse for any man.
The commander, Shining Armor, rose from his chair
And called for a runner, a young clerk.
And so one did appear, young Flash Sentry, the private with blue hair.
They had been sent from the Crystal and Empire to where they could do their best work.
He gave precise direction
To prepare the soldiers for their task.
Commander Shining Armor spoke with severe inflection.
Flash Sentry was never one to ask.
With a salute, he hopped to
And left Shining alone.
The Commander's desk had but one photo in view.
It was of a purple alicorn princess, wearing regalia and sitting on a throne.
He looked upon it and pondered, when she became royal, ruler of Equestia's East,
Did she know what awaited her?
Did she have any idea of lurking, odious, Aghneighn beast?
Or did the idea just not penetrate the mountains of gold and silver and her ivory tower?
But Twilight Sparkle hadn't so much started the mess
As she had inherited it from Luna and Celestia, who had millenia with the crown.
she hardly knew what to do, despite her practiced, facile statements to the press.
Despite her best efforts,things were breaking down.
In truth, she feared for what the future held ahead,
She had ordered more troops to the field
So that the tribes would sue for peace instead
Of continuing their stout refusal to yield.
The death toll steadily rose
While the rest of the world and Canterlot with critical eyes watched her trying
To reconcile the foes,
And despite her best efforts to save lives, only more and more kept dying.
Flash sentry, the orange pegasus, ran
And alerted them all
Of their commander’s plan
And the nature of his call.
The soldiers received him.
They understood his words and passed them on.
Their job was to risk life and limb.
They would march and fight from dusk to dawn.
The soldiers came from many places,
Some joined for noble reasons, and others for less.
These were all strong, fit, tough, and skilled, the best, the aces.
They were rangers, and they only knew victorious success.
They had half an hour of time
To decide who would go.
Those chosen got ready, they packed and cleaned their weapons free of grime.
They did not know their mission, but it would doubtlessly be dangerous, though.
Each soldier prepared his gun.
They all carried weapons Kalashnikov designed to be strong.
AK-47, AKM, AK-74, PKM, and many variants, a single weapon each for everyone.
They never failed to perform, no matter the conditions, round counts, abuse, or what went wrong.
Their arms were strange for their land.
Equestria favoured M16, M4, M14, and M249.
They were from the Equestria, but armed and managed by local command.
Guns were guns and kills were kills; these worked just fine.
Celestia and Luna swore to protect the rulers of that land,
and so they gave them choice fighting men.
Through their aid, the protectorate continued to stand,
But, without their support, all would be lost then.
Why would these demigod sisters two
Care for a land apart from their own blessed state?
Why, for if the chaos in Afghneighistan grew,
Then it would come over their shared border into Equestria and therein spread strife, bloodshed, and hate.
The volunteers went to the yard and stood at ease
While they awaited for what came next with no small apprehension.
The stalwart stood firm, while the anxious blamed their shivers on the breeze.
Then Shining Armor, the Commander came forth and they stood at attention.
They all respected him like he deserved,
A proven veteran of the Canterlot Royal Guard
Hero of Equestria, favorite of four princessses, had for many years and with distinction served
As a soldier, as an officer, as a patriot who always worked hard.
He shouted, "Attention! Let me keep this brief," he began.
"A column of hostile ponies and materiel has been found.
Your mission is find the caravan,
Ambush it, kill them all, and burn it to the ground."
He told them the basics of his plan,
How they wold be inserted and retrieved by air,
He informed them of the area they would search for the caravan
And of other things to beware.
He sent them off to prepare, but retained the officers to brief them further.
They were Second Lieutenant Pound Cake, an Equestrian from Ponyville.
Hauptmann Schierling, a zebra of immigrant stock, and their embedded Afghneighn observer.
The latter had been hardened by Chechneya, the latter greener than the grasses, of which ponies ate their fill.
They were told the coordinates, boundaries, and timetables.
They were given maps, compasses, and communication gear.
Then they were dismissed to return to their stables.
For security, they could not let their subordinates of these things hear.
Things were tense in the stables.
All involved were making their final preparations to go.
Some wrote letters or logs, some checked their gear, some munched hey and oats at the tables.
Things were about to get serious, and that was all anypony but them could know.
The mission could not fail.
The stakes were always high.
They had to destroy it from head to tail.
Anyone could die.
Everypony knew
What it meant if a caravan got away.
The cargo it carried would be used to
Bring death and suffering without delay.
The plans were made.
They grabbed their kit and boarded the helo.
They were carried by the spinning rotors, and the religious ones prayed
As they flew over the desert below.
They wore what suited them best.
The gear varied between each guy.
Some went light, while some wore a helmet and an armored vest.
But each of them wore camouflage to fool the eye.
They had been for six years
At war, initiated by them not,
Through expensive in blood, machines, and tears;
The rebels had fired the first shot.
They had first come on invitation from the sovereign
Asking for aid from abroad to protect his state
Against his enemies within,
Who terrorized his people with death and hate.
The land was put to the sword.
The terrorists were to blame.
They would sign not sign any peace accord,
They chose to set the country aflame.
The terrorists were brave
And committed to their cause.
It was only when put in a grave
That they would give pause.
The rangers were tougher and braver still,
Selected from the best and toughest in the service of Celestia,
There was nopony, nothing they could not kill.
Worldwide was their fame, the rangers of Equestria.
They alone held in Canterlot, when the Changeling army came.
Whatever monsters threatened the land, Ursa Majors, dragons, or manticores, they always beat them back.
No matter where the princess went or what faced them, they always protected them the same.
Beyond the Crystal Mountains, in the Frozen North, they answered every bandit, wolf, and griffon attack.
The terrorists trekked through narrow, shallow canyons.
The leader called them to halt and rest.
Thirsty, hungry, fired, and footsore, threw down their packs did the companions.
They would spend the night in a village six miles to the west.
The village is an old place.
Mud brick houses and walls of stone.
Though neutral, an easy choice is did face.
They would help the caravan, only because amongst them were there relatives known.
They were not involved in the war,
And did not want to partake,
But kinship and loyalty they valued more,
Thus they their choice did make.
It was the nature of their tribe,
Always prone to brutality and violence,
Which one could not with riches bribe,
As they carried on their ways in silence.
The soldiers well knew their acts.
One could well swear them a friend with naught but good will,
And have forged contracts and pacts,
Only for those selfsame friends to suddenly turn on them and kill.
They fought without reason or goals.
All the government sought to do was modernize the land.
What was so wrong with infrastructure, rule of law, public schools, and hospitals.
Why did they fight? No one could understand.
They had no cause to fight.
The government and soldiers thought them friends.
The government did always try to treat them right,
Not knowing they were just a means to ends.
The Equestrians and Afghneighns were so unlike.
The former fled from conflict, the latter embraced strife.
The Equestrians preferred order, security, and would rather talk than strike.
The Afghneighns valued kinship, honor, and would fight to protect their way of life.
Neither was truly good and right,
Nor was one wholly evil and wrong.
Being so different, it seemed inevitable that they would fight.
The tragedy was that there was no reason why they could not try to get along.
Amber dusk began to fall.
The helicopter descends.
They disembark on a mountain tall
To maintain the stealth upon which all depends.
Afghneighnistan, harsh mountains, arid land,
Stained with blood since time immemorial.
Revolving around the machine gun, how many lives have been lost in the sand?
Its wind is the lamentations and screams of ghost of the slain, incorporeal.
Nothing good comes from here.
This land has never known peace.
It is despair wrapped in fear.
Only death can give release.
Their foe dreads being found
And like a fox it will flee
When it senses a hound
Rather than risk discovery.
They scout up and down, all around
All along the entire slope.
True to the scout’s word, the caravan is found.
For them there is no hope.
The hope was lost when the border guard was killed.
Princess Twilight Sparkle ordered security made double.
She had weak points in the defenses filled.
If not for that, the caravan might have made the journal without trouble.
The caravan had started out in Griffiya, before going to Zebricy, Chechneya, and The Zone there
In order to acquire arms and find new warriors to recruit.
They found both the things they needed, found recruits, and even had much to spare.
Their leader had wanted to get back quickly with their loot.
At the end of Equestria, on the border with Zebricy, there is a range of mountains and crags high,
Nearly impassible by the ground,
Except for one gap carved by a river, which meanders through the land dry.
Cutting through here would save the caravan the many days needed to go around.
But this shortcut came at a cost.
The long, safe road went through uninhabited Zebricy, shorter road through watched Equestrian land.
The guide had succeeded before, so he took the gamble, and lost.
They made it through quickly, but not undetected, and so provoked a hunt for their little band.
The rangers are split in two.
One party for each end.
They know what to do.
They prepare to their prey’s flesh rend.
The mountain provides the perfect stage
For the deeds to be done.
The ground is harsh, brown, barren – weathered with age.
Here lives shall be undone.
Barbed wire is strung across the narrow gap
Ahead of the caravan.
Even if they escaped the trap
The rangers would spare no man.
Soldiers take position on each side
To deny the terrorists cover in the rocks.
The caravan has nowhere to hide.
They are trapped in the kill box.
The hunters wait with Kalashnikovs ready
To fire when the time is right.
Their aim is steady.
Now they drive the trapped beasts with fright.
Captain Schierling fired into the air with his gun.
The guide recognized the sound, an AK-74.
The leader urged them onwards faster.
Their guys didn’t use that gun; they favored the M4.
The rangers follow close behind.
Their prey is completely taken in.
Before long each one will find
His very own coffin.
Trouble! The guide gives a shout.
Panic strikes the caravan.
There is no way out.
All according to plan.
The caravaners are scared
They know something has gone astray.
The hunters make no sounds there
To give themselves away.
Clink clink boom!
Grenades fall down the ravine.
This signifies their doom.
They shall never again be seen.
The insurgents scatter, taking dives
Behind rocks and on the ground,
Hoping to save their lives
From the explosions all around.
On cue, the rangers stand
And raise their assault rifles.
They open fire and fresh blood spills onto the sand.
Bullets and lives are wasted like trifles.
Their victims panic and run
No one pays the wounded any mind
They think as unskilled irregulars do, looking out for number one,
The fallen get left behind.
Those not caught in the first wave
Returned fire from cover
And their legendarily fierce resistance gave
As their foes would discover.
Bullets flew all around
Guns roared. Ponies, Zebras, and Griffons fell screaming.
Wounded, dying, and dead covered the ground,
Their mingled bloods downhill streaming.
The guide returns fire with his M16.
He has known battle since he was young. He rushes not.
He takes his time, checks his aim, for he has seen
That enemies die best when you line up your shot.
Suddenly, something hit his arm.
Another thing struck his lungs and took away his breath.
He slumped over, severe was the harm.
He knew this was his fate and so accepted death.
The fight just seconds later ends.
The terrorists are slain
No one still stands living who defends
The clandestine baggage train.
The rangers gather all the spoils
Into one big pile.
As a reward for their toils,
They take anything which makes them smile.
Then comes a plucky sergeant with dynamite and aplomb.
He rigs the whole mess to explode
With a bomb
To stop anything from turning up down the road.
Everything goes up with a might blast.
Metal twists and things are blown to dust.
The caravan’s cargo is consigned to the past,
Now useless as rust.
The raid is at its end,
So the men call for their flight.
Though successful, there are some casualties, some fallen friends.
There will be shouting and crying tonight.
Back at the base,
The rangers report on their raid.
The Shining Armor keeps the smile off his face.
He knows of the price they have paid.
Back in his office again, he gazed at the picture of Princess Twilight Sparkle clad in her royal best.
Another successful raid is over and done,
In the name of peace, more ponies are dead, as per her unintended vision, her orders, her request.
But really, had anything been won?
By the light of his lamp, he looks over the names of the dead.
He puts a blank sheet of paper in the typewriter and begins letter number one.
He types "Second Lieutenant Pound Cake" at the head.
There will be grief in Ponyville when the Cakes get the news about their son.
Pound had so many years ahead --
Winner of Best Young Fliers competition,
Honor student, accepted to Manehattan University, and a mare he planned to wed.
Nineteen years all for naught, because of this one mission.
He had known the colt better than he cared to admit.
Letters from Twilight spoke of him, starting school, to learning to fly, his crush on Pinkie Pie.
The wished that Cadence or Twiley were there to help him through it.
They were supposed to be keeping peace and protecting ponies, but every day, more continued to die.
It was not the Royal Guard's place to question why.
It was theirs to serve the crown.
It was theirs to do or die,
It was theirs to follow orders, no matter what went down.
Shining thinks of the mourning party in the stable.
He wishes that they might save him a drink.
He must make do without, writing Pound died a hero to be buried with honors at Canterlot -- that old fable.
There is no innocence in distance for royals, nor comfort for commoners in ink.
The soldiers drink to celebrate the raid.
Each one takes three shots of spirits distilled.
One for themselves, one for their living comrades,
And one for those who were killed.
In villages throughout the land,
Cries of mourning throughout the night ride
Hiding their faces in their hands,
Grieving their family and friends who died.
They dried their tears and solemnly swore
That they would not let the killers get away.
There would never be an end to the war
Until they had avenged the day.
Luna's moon hung in a starry sky
And freely of her silvery light she gave.
Every night,the white cranes soar over the mountains and the valleys, releasing a mournful cry
While the black tulip stands like a witness, dark as despair and silent as the grave.
And thus the next day,
They send out a stallion.
He had only one thing to say:
Please send us a caravan.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading this little experiment of mine. I hope you liked it. Give me any feedback you have, please.
Inspired by the songs, "Караван" and "Рейнджеры" and "Пришёл Приказ".
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