The Battle of Littlebox

The commander looked over the front line of horses that had now lined up facing east across the fields. He was lost in thought for a moment as he watched the hot breath of the horses appear and vaporize again and again in the cold air. He knew that this could be the last breaths of many a man and beast.

The target was surely close at hand now. There was no way of telling beyond doubt though, as a dense fog had settled over the valley in which they stood.

The men looked nervous. The commander knew it was close to time, and so he rode his horse to the middle of the front line and turned to face his men.

“This day is called St. Valentine’s Day…” he began.

“He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Valentine’s.
He that shall see this day and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Valentine’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in their mouths as household words
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And a Valentine’s shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen at home now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us…
UPON SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY!!!”

The men let out a great shout, and the air was filled with the noise of horses’ hooves, men’s voices, and the unsheathing of swords. The young commander turned with a tear in his eye towards the east, and prepared himself to lead the troops in to battle.

But suddenly, a voice called through the fog, and a man on horseback drifted into view, riding full throttle at the army.

“Stop!” he cried.

The young commander of the army recognized one of the scouts.

“What news?!” he asked of the man, with confidence in his voice, but fear in his heart.

“There’s…there’s…”

“Well??”

“There’s no one there!”

“What?!?”

“There’s no enemy, no target whatsoever!! No one there at all!! You will see neither grand battle or even a small skirmish this day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re not kidding?”

“No sir.”

“Oh…well…darn. Ok then. Alright guys, about face! No heroic efforts for today! Go on home! Go on!”

And thus ended a day that came close to etching itself upon the timeless stone tablets of history…but…there was no target…no target.

And with the end of this day comes the end of the story of a commander named Ansen and the Battle of Littlebox he almost fought.