Cast-off from our home port, my

Four vessels sail into town on the

Prowl; Our mission quite simple –

Hunt. Counter-Reconnaissance

It is called. We have another name

For it: Reconnaissance by drawing fire.

We receive this mission often.

So set sail we must, to spend another day

In the harpoon-lands, adrift in a sea

Of streets, corners, and alleyways.

Each man at his perch with intent

Gaze as we troll back and forth through

The neighborhoods. But we seek no whales,

Our prey hunts back, shark-like. And when we

See locals growing restless two streets down

The feeling comes on. We are the boat and

The chum all in one. Patience – wait for it –

Shots finally piercing the relative calm

We turn left in unison:

The Pale Horse

The White Horse

The Red Horse

And the Black Horse.

Our gun barrels erupt – the hunt is on.