The Drum beats

Captain Ian Boyle felt the fear grip him, it always did just before a battle. He stood, with his company, in a rally square. The best, and as far as he knew, only defence for foot soldiers against cavalry or lancers.

A drum sounded in the distant.

The sound of the drums, the steady chant of ‘vive l’empereur’ as the column of French soldiers marched toward the square of the British forces. It never grew easier, despite what was said to the new recruits, it just grew more manageable.

“Form line.” Colonel Williams ordered.

“Sir, there are lancers out there,” Captain Boyle said, quietly.

“I hear drums, do you?”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“Drums mean infantry; infantry demands a line, it’s basic strategy.”

“True to a degree, sir, but I have found lances glinting in sunlight also indicate lancers, and, like cavalry, the best defence is to have the men form square, sir.”

“I gave an order, Lieutenant, see it is obeyed.” Colonel Williams snapped.

“Aye, Sir.”

The lancers came just at the moment of disarray that always went with transmuting troops from line to square.

“Form square.” Colonel Williams was already galloping away, knowing it was too late.

“Run,” Ian bellowed, “head for the tree-line and regroup,” he added as he encouraged his men to move, with the flat of his sword when needed.

Ian watched the last of his company make it to safety.

The blow felt light at first, then he felt the blood trickle down his back, pain followed. He saw his men, hands out-stretched to aid him, he was beyond that now, he knew it as well as they did. He fell just under the trees, fear gone forever.

A leaf fell, covering Ian’s lifeless eyes.

Death, as always, was the only victor this day.

(word count: 298)