Francis was surrounded by darkness for a decent amount of time. All around him he felt the ground shake. The feeling of dust covered him. However, for a moment he was at peace. The idea that he died a soldier’s death. He faced the enemy and held his own. Yet, he had a tinge of regret. He had failed his friend, Henri, in defending this pass. He had failed his officers and men. He would not get them out of this battle. Francis put a hand to his stomach, unaware if he was actually doing so or it was a fracture of his mind.

Then a blaring bit of light had peered through the darkness. A fiery pain began to shoot up from his leg. Then a noise, muffled at first, before becoming clear. “Sir? Colonel darling? Dear Aigh, please let the colonel be alive!” Francis opened his eyes hazy at first. Francis though about the voice who spoke to him. Before he heard the slight northern tinge speak again. “Sir, it's me Seamus.”

Right, Francis thought. Sergeant Seamus the old veteran had a bloody bandage wrapped around both his head and right leg, “Seamus, you seemed to be all together.” The sergeant laughed at the comment. “Colonel darling, you are even better.” He pointed at the left leg. “No need Seamus, what about the battle.”

Francis looked around to find a tight group of men surrounding him in a semi-circle. Some of the men glanced back to nod at him. The air was filled with the smoke of musketry which stung at his eyes. The smell of iron filled his nose. A private who had helped him carried Francis to stand. From this view he saw the field of battle. The regiment had been bloodied to say the least.

The dragoons were in front of them in open order and what seemed like the major was coming his way. Francis looked at the uniform of the major as he came up with his curved sword drawn. The major looking upon Francis saluted him with a twist of his sword. “Thank the goddess. Your alive colonel. I would like to update you on the battle.” Francis gave a wry smile. “Major,” he took a breath to steady himself. “This was nothing more than a skirmish.”

He looked towards the forest where the guns were. A thick plume of black smoke emanated from the area. “I assume the guns are destroyed?” To which Harry simply nodded. “Almost lost them while you were gone. Had no choice.” Francis put a hand up “that's fine major. You did good.” Seamus had tapped Francis to give him his horse. “Major, give me the status on your men, numbers, casualties, and so forth.”

Harry simply gave a quick count of his men. Francis nodded as he is assisted upon his horse. “Major as per general Dubois. I shall leave the rearguard to you.” He then turned to the men. “Sergeants pass the word along. Inform the regiment that we are falling back. Now!” That last order caused the men to scramble. Save for the small bodyguard of men that stands between Francis and Harry. The major simply nodded and jogged back to his men.

Francis followed with Seamus as they watched the remains of his regiment form into column to advance through the forest. He turned to see the major and his squadron of men form into open order. Some of the men are holding their horses and are ready to mount at a moment's notice.

“Seamus, where is major Horne?” He stood quietly for a moment. Before he spoke this time a little quieter “colonel darling, after you went down. Major Horne took command. He rallied the men during the charge. It was close, but we held while a small guard defended you, darling. Sadly...” Seamus then turned towards the pile of bodies that had been set aside. Wiping a tear from his eyes. “I’m sorry, colonel. The major was shot through the chest. I was with him. In his final moments.”

Francis felt a loss that was overwhelming. The joyous survival of the men was shattered with the realization of Horne’s death. He not only lost a great underling, but a brother. Horne had been with him and Henri since the beginning. Although a simple idea popped into his mind. His wife, Christine, the young woman had been a sort of sister. The feeling of having to tell her almost broke his heart. However, he has to survive this first before anything else.

He gripped the reigns a little tighter. “Seamus, let's go before the imperials attack again. Also did you get a count?” They moved for a moment before Seamus had returned. “Colonel darling, it doesn’t look good. From the start of the day with seven hundred men or so. We now number two hundred less. That consists of twenty sergeants, thirteen corporals, ten lieutenants, three captains, and well.” He paused for a moment. “I know Seamus. I know. Thank you, let's go.”

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Harry looked at the remains of his squadron. They remained at the mouth of the forest as per the colonel. He let out a sigh. A sergeant gave him a toothy grin. “Sir, seems like those footers have left. Now we can have all the honor.” Harry could only give a smile. About twenty men had fallen from the fight. That was nothing compared to what the infantry faced. Instead, they took the bulk of the fighting and did most of the bleeding.

He had his men take up the position with the most cover which was the sides of the road. He heard the beats of the drum again and readied his revolver once again. He checked his sword. Some blood from the fighting remained and he quickly wiped it off looking into his own reflection. No longer was he staring at the confident fellow that advocated for a final stand here. Instead, the eyes had hints of desperation. His brow folded with surprise. His mouth was stuck in a sort of shocked manor.

He felt his face, until he realized that the white cavalry gloves that he wore were stained with blood from the fighting. He was not this clean officer that watched the fighting of the infantry no longer. Instead, he was stained by the skirmish. He thought of glory and its meanings to him. He drew one conclusion. This wasn’t glory. It was whole sale slaughter.

When he seemed to have accepted this, he had taken a breath when he was brought to reality. The beating of the drums echoed in his ears. He thought of one command “dragoons' ready carbines.” He heard the levers for their short guns cock and observed as their short barrels leveled across the line.

Across from them the fog had faded and Harry had seen the true numbers of the imperials. A whole division which must have counted over twenty thousand troops. The number of which were coming his way. He had at best just under of a hundred and eighty men. Alongside the imperials were the bodies of the fallen. Their mangled corpses providing both a temporary blockade and cover for the imperials.

His men began to fire hitting this macabre pile of cover. The imperials advanced like a growing red tide of blood. The men began to fire in their own time. Each shot striking an advancing man. They got close enough for Harry to begin firing. His revolver spitting led that simply stung more than killed them. The imperials had gotten close. However, the furious number of shots the dragoons fired halted the beast. They began to step back.

Harry looked around himself, the confidence that he had at the start began to melt. The imperials were readying for a second assault and he most likely didn’t have the ammunition to hold. So, he gave the only order he knew. “Dragoons, mount up. We are leaving.” Some of the men protested but their sergeants quickly brought them into line.

Firing one last concentrated volley which halted the imperials for a moment. The force began to melt back to their mounts and begin their retreat. A small group of men led by a lieutenant was the last force to remain skirmishing against them. Holding off the enemy that was a hundred times their numbers.

Harry stayed waiting for them to mount their horses as well. The imperials at a certain point began firing in his direction. Some of the shots landing dangerously close. However, in the end he cantered to the small group giving the final order of the skirmish. “Lieutenant, get your men and mount your horses. Let’s go people.” At that the small group ran the last dozen yards and mounted up. The imperials were deathly close readying to fire a volley. The small band quickly galloped witnessing the volley strike a couple of the men. Some died staying in their saddle's, others simply lost the strength and fell.

They rode for a while down the road before they reached the rest of the squadron. Harry stared at his men. Their once pristine grey-green uniforms covered in soot and blood. Some of the men had bandages wrapped around their wounds. Harry looked for his color sergeant. However, he was missing. He instead called all sergeants to get a full count of his squadron.

They continued riding forwards through the forest. Several times troops from his squadron would peel off to skirmish with imperial troops. They were being followed close behind by some hussars. Who rode unsure if the forest itself was a trap. Harry had his men dismount and fire a volley driving the pursuing imperials back. They did so until they reached the exit of the forest. Along the entire way losing a trooper or two in the series of skirmish.

They rode on afterwards forcing the horses into a gallop. His own horse straining beneath the exhaustion. They rode until they had reached the mouth of the forest. Looking back to prepare a final parting volley. He realized several trails of blood. He turned to see his men cutting tail. Routing back towards the friendly line. He cursed himself. He turned and ran in the disorganized mass.

The stain of defeat marking his mind as he could do no more. He rode on as he remembered the men who had died under his command and his failure to lead them.