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Size: 2800x2000 | Tagged: safe, artist:morphinezombie, derpibooru import, oc, oc:darren cuffs, pony, badge, campaign hat, cemetery, dress uniform, grave, gun, handgun, necktie, police, police officer, ponyville police, revolver, rifle, weapon

Description:

It was that time if year again. A blue, single cab pickup truck halted just outside the gates to Manehatten’s Memorial Cemetery. Stepping from the vehicle was Sergeant Darren Cuffs. Donning his deep blue dress uniform and flat billed stratton campaign hat. Reaching over to the passenger side, he lifted out a pristine Springfield 1903. He opened up the rifle’s polished action and loaded 5 perfectly cut and polished .30-06 cartridges into it’s internal magazine. Closing the action quickly, one of the polished brass cartridges resting inside the chamber, ready to fire. He shut the door to his pickup and faced the gate. Ready to honor his father and his service.

To anyone in earshot, all you hear his his voice, giving himself the commands of execution. “Group, attenTION.” After he called his first command, his hooves came together, his rifle at his side. “Port…ARMS.” With that, the Sergeant brought his rifle across his chest at an angle. “Forward…MARCH.“

After that command, it was simple. He marched forward. Passing other tombs, families visiting their loved ones, and even the graves of other fallen officers. Finally, he came to his destination. One single grave inscribed “Lieutenant Brass Cuffs”. A gold bar representing the rank of Lieutenant was embedded into the stone.

“Group…Halt.” He ordered himself again. “Left…Face.” His authoritative voice continued to yell out. He turned to his left, now facing the pathway that lead to his father’s tomb. “Post orders. Defend the honor of the fallen with all means necessary.” He ordered himself once again. “Post conclusion at 2000 hours.“

Finally, he prepared himself for his post. “Right shoulder…ARMS.” With a clack of the rifle’s buttstock, the underside was brought to his right shoulder, the buttstock resting in the curve of his hoof. And his post began. As he stood there, defending his father’s tomb, ready to fight for his life like he wanted to those years ago, a wave of emotions hit him. A single tear flowed down his left cheek. The stallion however keeping his guardian’s position. Unmoving…And ready to fight.

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