The Trumpet's Call
July 28, 2009
     Jack surveyed the open field before him. he stood on top of the crest of a rolling hilltop, looking out to the west, towards the next crest about one thousand yards away. This was his time, he thought. This was where he would earn his honor and to have his name sung in the halls of great men. This was his time. Jack stood in line with thousands more just like him, all lined up abreast of each other and in rows hundreds deep.
      Jack stood there, his old, cracked wooden shield in one hand and his father's sword in the other. Although not much of a sword, it was considered very fancy for such a poor farming family. The overall sword was about thirty-two inches in length. Along the lower end of the blade was jack's father's name, engraved with date of the battle in which he had been slain. The hilt was wrapped in sheep skin leather, which provided for a good grip while being able to absorb the shock of clashing against another sword or shield.
     Jack clashed his sword and shield together with the beat of thousands. Every man screaming for all he could, attempting to dishearten the fighting spirit of the men on the next ridge, which equaled numbers near their own. the battle horns were sounding, alerting everyone to be ready to charge in. Jack took one last look to his left. He stood next to his childhood friend, Miles. Miles was a blacksmith, and so had much better equipment. While jack only had the ragged farm clothes he always wore, Miles had crafted a crude but effective breast plate, a metal shield and a sword, which to be perfectly honest, lacked any real talent. Jack always was amused by just how much better his own sword was that that of the local blacksmith's, and today was no different. He chuckled slightly, but only slightly, for he knew there was a good chance neither one of them would survive. The ones in front never do, yet the two of them stood proud to be there, ready to defend Ireland yet again from the tyranny of the English King.
     The English army sounded the trumpet call to charge. jack took a deep breath, waiting for the trumpet to sound. The trumpet sounded, and as Jack took the first step forward, he thought of his family one last time, raised his sword high above his head, and charged in.

Another short story by me. Enjoy!
published by Nobody's Hero at 23:26 | in:
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