ETW: Cavalry Charge + fire in ranks = ? - TotW 61

[molls]

From Kohvi's Gallery

IMPORTANT FOR ALL CONTESTANTS

It has come to my attention that some of you still have problems with the word limits that where set up for this competition. I will check all entries personally to see that no one violates this rule. Contestants who violate this simple rule will be disqualified.

1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 500 words, in a spoiler.

Learn rule one by heart guys. No more violation will be tolerated.

RULES :

1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 500 words, in a spoiler.

2. If you are a contestant you are honour bound to not read other contestants' writings until you have submitted yours.


3. The winner gets 1 point on the Leaderboard, if there are at least 4 contestants.

4. Deadline: last day of each week (Sunday).

[Nazgûl Killer]

Reserved.

[SonOfAlexander]

Reserved!

EDIT: Cancelled. I havent got the time now, shame as its an awesome pic

[Kip]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The tin felt cool in his hands. His fingers worked across the sculpted musket of the toy soldier, the chubby flesh smothering the miniature man’s face. He traced the muscles of the metal horse, and paused to scratch a speck of dirt out of one of its steely haunches. The boy knelt in the dirt and gingerly placed the soldier in place. He wiped his forehead with a meaty fist, and admired his handiwork. The tin cavalrymen steadfastly held the line, their horses elegant, their faces stoic.

“Forward!” he cried, his throat rattling desperately. “Forward!” The smoke was choking, hot against his face. Grasping the hilt tightly, he drew an ancient saber from his hip, and raised it above his head. His men followed suit, and the blades glittered in the fading sun.

Knees sore, the boy stood and surveyed the field. The wind whistled vigorously through the tufts of wheat and barley. They waved a polite hello. He laughed.

The horse’s ribs were hard against his knees. The wind broke against his face, soothing the burning ache of fire and smoke. Shouts. His eyes watered. Screams. The hoof beats thundered, the rifles crackled – they were smothered in the storm.

The light was fading. Soon, his mother would be calling. The days were long, but they were silent. He was lonely.

A horse whinnied violently, the scream piercing the guttural rumble of cannon. A man dropped from the saddle, a horse crumpled to the right. “Faster now, boys!” he screamed, his words drowning in the raging storm. The words sliced his lungs, deeper than any bayonet.

The wind burst. One of the horsemen tipped, another was swept around. The boy loosed a wail, and fell to his knees. Scrambling to catch the feathery troops, he aligned them back in place.

A musket ball screeched past his ear. The horse rocked beneath him. The puffs of smoke atop the hill curled together, a writhing serpent of grey and black. They would never make it.

He whimpered. Every time he replaced a fallen man, the wind gusted and sent the other horsemen toppling. He couldn’t replace them fast enough.

Atop the hill, the infantrymen were machines. Automatons. There was the flashing of shadows, and then the eruption of embers and lead. The boisterous beating of hooves was dying down. There weren’t that many left. The storm was consuming them all.

A tear rolled down his cold cheek. The gusts were relentless, and despite his frantic pleas, only one cavalryman remained standing. The captain, his regalia colorful, stood wedged in the dirt.

The storm was mighty; the storm was terrible. It will consume us all.

The boy stared at the lonely captain.

The sky was black.

Something tickled his forehead. He gently touched the spot with his thick finger, and found it wet.

The rain drops fell on his face. The burning was quenched. The storm… it couldn’t be escaped.

The boy looked skywards as the rain began to fall.

[Spartan262]

This'll be my Second Entry, Reserved.
P.S. Really Good Picture, for it's Quality and Writing purposes.

[Saint Nicholas]

First entry, please be nice.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The eye of the storm

An excerpt from the log of Commander Allied forces, October 1st 1712 ..

As the Russians assembled on the hill in front of us, I could clearly see their battle line forming. Heavy infantry at the front, ready to face our powerful charge, low quality militia at the rear and flanks, ready to fight to the death or be ground under our steel shod hooves. Both sides were equally nervous, this was an important battle in the campaign. The last few months had been extremely trying for both sides, endless skirmishes had been fought in distant battlefields. Many men had died, including many of my close friends, now I was alone out here with only the men on horse beside me.

This battle was to be the turning point in the war with the Russians. Our foolish leaders had expended many resources to fight and hopefully win this conflict, defeat here would undoubtedly mean a full scale retreat and eventually collapse of the empire. I could not allow that to happen, not this day! I ordered our brave men into position, ready to charge the enemy head on. Cold winds sweep overhead, whipping at our flanks and freezing us to the bone, the icy rain falls from the dark cloudy sky like the black death come to claim new victims. Thunder booms overhead, frightening the horses, lightning flashes through the sky, momentarily blinding both sides, the time to strike is now!

I order our men to charge... this would be our greatest victory yet. Our horses power across the field, lurching forward and running toward death itself. Musket fire breaks out from the top of the hill, I can hear the cries of man and horse as bullets begin to find their targets, our horses are fast and strong, their riders equally as brave. Too much is at stake here today, in this instant, victory or death. We are almost upon them, so close now. Fear is clearly on the faces of our enemies, they did not expect us to reach this far. Their first rank is crushed under our hooves, hundreds of pounds of horse and man come crashing down onto the Russians. Men are trampled and killed, others are run through with sword. Blood begins to cover the ground, the enemy being to rout, their army turns to flee and victory is now assured.

We pursue and run down the routing army, we must let none escape. A victory today has been won, defeat was not our fate. The rain continues to pour, cleansing the earth of the blood spilled today, but history marks this day as victorious for the allies and the beginning of the end for the Russians.

[M D]

First Entry

Click to view content: 

"Make Ready! Preeeeeesent...."

The Lead Trooper understood these words, even though he could not speak Russian, he understood... The next few seconds that passed seemed like an age,

"Fire!"

The Ripple of Gunshots reverberated across the field, the smell of gunpowder and sulphur rising in the air, the grass catching light from burnt wadding and then the screams.. The Screams of men, dying men. The sound heard udnerneath this unholy screams was that of a scratching, the muskets being cleaned. A Pouring sound, the powder entering hundreds of Russian Muskets. Then yet more scratching... The Cardiff Yeomanry continued its valiant charge, the charge that had been ordered by an ageing general on a hill, an ageing general who had been ordered to that hill by a suited man in Whitehall. The suited man ordered to Whitehall by a robed man on a Throne in Windsor. The robed man ordered to a throne in Windsor by God...

That lead trooper lay on the cold earth in a field outside Kiev, among burning grass and dead men.. That lead trooper saw the Russians fire again.. The Yeomanry was never meant to leave Wales.. He was never meant to leave Wales, he had been betrayed by a man claiming to be appointed by God. That lead trooper now looked into the sky, ready to be recieved by that very same deity... He had fallen in battle, just like all but 5 of the Cardiff Yeomanry.. A Yeomanry never meant to leave their own city, a Yeomanry made up of Traders and drunks, not soldiers.

[Legio]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Final Charge

"What ho, old boy?"
It was a lanky old veteran fingering his musket.
"Jolly good day for a fight, what what?"

Still no response. Ah, finally!

"You must be bloody barmy." This from a very young soldier, who could barely lift the gun into resting position. This boy had failed all his drill tests and had barely been able to squeak by in previous battles. Of course, he had lost six pairs of trousers and a musket or two. Also his kit bag and bayonet. The only thing he never lost was his good luck charm, a dead rat which thoroughly disgusted the other men in his unit. He kept it in a little leather bag by his heart. It wasn't a very big rat. More like a rather large and bloated mouse.

"If only you knew, old bean!" said the veteran to the boy. The veteran held his gun in an expert grip, and loaded the charge with remarkable efficiency. This man was clearly an expert in the ways of war, and his age did nothing but increase his knowledge of it. "Back in the Crimea, boys like you would be court marshaled and drummed off to become nothing more than a street urchin! I was one myself before I joined the forces lad, school of hard knocks and all that!"

"Shut up you old knob!" was the boy's response as he fumbled, dropping the bullet into the turf.

Meanwhile the cavalry trotted closer and closer.

Fearless.

Reckless.

This, if anything, was nothing short of an elite strike force. And this was the elite strike force's gambit. With a mighty warcry, they descended upon the infantry, scything left and right with their wickedly curved sabres.

"What ho!" was the boy's cry as he narrowly avoided a thrust from one of the troopers. Before he could even try to retaliate, the cavalryman was gone, off to his next target, almost like a mirage. Like magic, another man appeared before him and gutted him with a remarkably low cut.

The battle raged around his corpse.

[Beer Money]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Into the light! Deadly fire beckons bright! Guided skyward with Heav'ns might!
The charge of horsemen with all their thunder, musket shot drives them asunder.
Called upon into duty, thrust into battle most unduly
Farmers, cobblers, shepherds, peasants, all together in this instant.


The rain comes down hard as gallows upon the heads of hapless fellows
managing one final fray, so surely will they die this day.
The rifles' report belies the story that these souls will have no glory.
Wood and fields turned into cinder, guns and cannon need good timber.


Times as a child these men n'er remember, for here on this dark and cold December
Dragoons roaring all around, wicked flames taking down
Any vestige of honor past. Chivalry was not meant to last
In this day of gears of war, the machine blurs all that's fighting for.


God and Christ watch in vain as more blood is not shed in their name
But for coin and paper and placation of some haughty men of station.
A new religion sent these men to die, forever in this ground they soon lie.
A simple cross the tell-tale fate of these pawns of nation-states.

[molls]

yay keep them rolling in!

Ill write some PMs tomorrow, + if I'm in a creative mood make a frontpage article

[Saint Nicholas]

So when does this go to vote?