I pray before
battle.
When dawn turns our
red coats visible to living eyes we muster in hollow square: a porcupine of
pike men, halberdiers and our priceless, shrinking rifle company. We wait,
frantically deodorized, for the dogs to howl, the horses to shy and for Boney
to arrive. After three dark-skied winters of war the enemy’s clothing has
mostly faded to the nothing-grey of hell as Boney seeks the regimental band’s drumming
‘Zulu.’ Exceptionally, princess pink dye hasn’t dulled much during three
ash-raining years. You need God’s forgiveness when shooting a crossbow at
something wearing a Hello Kitty dress.