Service before self.
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Service before self.
I am going to fight. I am going to die.
The dawn is in ten minutes. I must go then. This is always difficult.
I sit on my chair. My AKMS is in my grasp. They probably won’t let me use it in the field – we’re supposed to be using M16’s due to being part of the Equestrian Armed Forces, even though personal weapons are permitted for reservists on peacekeeping assignments.
The rough wood of the foreend feels unlike the rest of the assault rifle; rough instead of smooth, natural instead of artificial, mournful instead of evil. Loaded and readied, this tool of mine is maybe only eight pounds, but now it feels different. It feels heavier than a great boulder, but lighter than a feather. I check it again. Being careful won’t kill me. Magazine out, I press the button on the rear left of the receiver. The stock comes up from the bottom and clicks into places. I press it again and push it back down against the underside. Space is going to be at a premium on the train with it stuffed full of soldiers, and they’ll naturally have all their stuff with them, too. God, I pray I don’t have to share space for a guy with an MG . But it won’t kill me. Let my neighbor please be an officer with his little sissy pistol. At least smugness doesn’t take up space. It won’t kill me.
But train rides are the least of my worries. Crappy train rides from Canterlot to Klopdagar last just a few hours with being annoyed and uncomfortable the whole way. Getting shot means being maimed for life, if it doesn’t just kill me. That could kill more. Or just make me wish it had.
Death…
My thoughts keep coming back to it. There is no way in the world that I can deny what I am about to do is dangerous, and I may never come back. I have seen so much death and pain. Ponies are hit by bullets, or they catch shrapnel in their bodies, or an explosion strikes them, or a blade cuts them, or they burn alive… The sounds… words cannot describe. I hear them still, every night, they come to me in my dreams. The forth hundredth dream time was just as terrible as the first dream, just as terrible as when it happened for real.
I think of my family. I have already said my goodbyes to them. They were not tearful, at least outwardly. I want to tell them how much I love them and miss them. However, I know that if I did that, then we would have never had the end of it. I tell them of what I do, and they seem to accept it, if not fully believe it. How could my parents fully comprehend the concept of their son bringing his machete down to cleave the skull of a captured fighter as he pleads for his life in full view of his own family? How could my wife understand that I, who has shown her so much love and softness, can carry a heart of stone? How could my children understand that the father who cares for them so much can so readily murder the children of others?
Death.
I bring it to others, even as I strive to keep some from it. How does that work? I don’t think Celestia knows, nor does Luna, nor does Discord, nor does Tirek, nor does King Vortex. I hope God does, but I hope that I never have to ask him. I can’t afford to get the chance; I’m needed in Equestria. I must protect the state, serve the princesses, and provide for my family. Protection of others… that has always been the job of us pegasi since the days of Commander Hurricane, long before Equestria was founded, or even discovered. Hell, I mean, we were the first to stand with the princesses against King Vortex, when he tried to usurp supremacy and destroy the triarchy. The land would have broken had we not reigned in the atmosphere and weather… It did destroy the ancient palace in the Everfree, though... it took the lives of Commander Gleamwing and five hundred noble warriors, trained in combat and long in service. I guess they gave service before self. But what of me? I have gone four times before and returned every time, but can I go again? Service before self, but I am all I have. I don’t want to die, but I might. Everypony counts on me to survive. But they are sending me to die. I know how things are out there. What if I stay home? What if I desert? I could, but that would be wrong, but then, somepony may die in my place. But how is that fair; the summons are for me to go to the front – not for anypony else. I’ll be caught if I desert. I’ll be tried, convicted and imprisoned, but not killed. But is it really better to lose all honor and abandon duty for selfish desires and a caged life than it is to bear suffering with courage before death?
Service before self.
The words still resonate with me. Fear resonates with me, too. But my fear isn’t a physical thing; it’s something nebulous, of the mind – still real. Duty is more real; a signed contract of service exists, and there is one with my name on it. I signed it willingly, gladly, with my own hoof, with Princess Celestia watching the swearing in on the afternoon of the Summer Sun Celebration. All together, we, Earth Ponies, Unicorns, and Pegasi – the E.U.P., took our oaths to Equestria, to protect and service. Service before self. That is why we exist, no? I am but a soldier, a glorified, armed servant. What good is a disobedient servant? You shelter them, you feed them, you pay them, you give them a purpose, and they repay you with capricious ingratitude. No different from a deserter; you train them, house them, and pay them, only for them to not do their sworn duty to the greater good when the time comes.
I look down at the assault rifle in my hooves. It is but my servant for war. I feed it and maintain it and give it commands. It fights for me. I am just the same, but with words and missives instead of ammunition and touches to the controls. I wish I were just a gun, for a gun does not feel. A gun does not hunger. A gun does not know. It simply is. A gun does not run away. A gun does not fear. A gun does not disingenuously flirt with selfish cowardice, even as it knows that it would never take such actions. A gun cannot be anything but a tool, for it is a tool.
Service before self.
My Kalashnikov epitomizes this. It shoots what I point it at. It always fires when I pull the trigger. It never fails to function. It never dallies or complains.
I am not a gun.
I question things. I get things wrong. I wish things were different. I am subversive sometimes.
But I am a tool.
I always fulfil my duty. I execute my orders faithfully. I work for others, even to my own detriment. I do my work, but I exist for other things beside it. I know what I must do and I accept it. I may die. I may wish I had died. I will not come back fully unscathed from what I must do. I am but a tool of my own device.
And I’m okay with that.
In the darkling sky above, I see an alicorn soar into the sky and set its horn aglow with a golden light. The day comes suddenly, banishing the night. Princess Celestia has done her part of the pact, given us our night of rest and our light of day. It is time for me to do my part. I pray the Fajr. This focuses my thoughts, cleanses my mind, and readies me for the day ahead. I send a salute to where Princess Celestia had changed night into day. It is not be easy to have to be up from before dawn to after dusk. Service before self does not mean a thing is easy. I shoulder my AKMS and my pack. Then I march out into the golden sunlight. This will be neither pleasant nor short, but it is the duty I chose for myself.
Service before self.
And I’m okay with that.
Author's Note
Just a meditative little experimental fic I came up with. Tell me what you think, please, feedback does matter to me and even if I don't respond to comments, I read all of them. Thank you so much for reading.
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