Original writing

Whilst fixing my armour, I heard the shouting of orders from my general and felt the cold hand of the mist caress my face. The sight I saw was no sight for  women nor children. The blood thirsty, driven soldiers ready for the final order, from the general which was a long powerful blow on the horn, which shaked and rattled the lungs and bones inside me and every other soldier.

   It was nearly time to enter hell. Your heart beat seemed to become faster and heavier all you felt was a BOOM! Followed by another, the drumming of the blood pumping through the muscle that everyone counted on to live. All the men were ready. It was time for the final order the long ivory horn which has caused so many deaths before and here after was being prepared by the devil himself. He took a big breath in, placed the horn to his lips and gave a big long blow.

   My lungs started to rattle. You could hear the footsteps of many marching soldiers. The archers bows creaking at full draw. Then the heaves of men pulling back and loading the well crafted roman catapult.

    The horn blow finished there was an eary silence then the general’s cry “FIRE!”

Then there was the loud war cries of every man charging in to battle not knowing if they will come out alive there swords and axes fully drawn and ready to slice and stab any man, women or child in there way. Then there was the cavalries horses picking up a pass, galloping with a “THUD, THUD, THUD!” the pace getting quicker, and quicker, as fast as they can to charge the enemy barricades and run down as many men as they can, and in all that time hoping they won’t get speared or shot of there horses and just lay in the blood soaked dirt.

    The devil then shouts and cries to the archers “Archers FIRE!” You then hear the snap of every archers string fly back in to position and the thousand of  fire lit arrows shoot over your head, the whistling and then the scream of each man who got pierced and savaged by an arrow. You walk past the enemy. Men just lying there on the floor waiting to die. The sound of fully grown men crying for the mothers with a hole through there chest or a limb missing and the blood draining out in to the dirt, the land that used to be theirs.