The Winner - Tale of the Week 61
Legio with:
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.
