|
||
|
||
|
|
He took his place at the head of his forces. He knew that this would be the final battle, for his entire army was amassed here, in Santa Clara Valley. The outcome of this battle would determine the fate of The World. "Prophet Edward.", came a voice from behind him. The Prophet could tell from the gruff, yet caring, harshness to the voice, which it was. "Yes, Joseph?", he asked. "The flags are all set, all pre-battle services and prayers have come to pas, and everything is in a state of readiness", came Joseph's reply. "Then", spoke Edward Lee, "be prepared to attack at my command.". "Yes, Prophet.", answered Joseph.
The Prophet turned and focused on the Enemy's amassed forces. His distantly heard the static of Joseph's radio as he relayed his newly acquired orders to those lower in command chain. A calm, the calm of impending battle and death, set upon him. He knew his troops were mobilized; it was time to go for the last move. "One more chance at checkmate.", he thought. He heard Joseph tell him that Major Generals Stuart and Ryan Matthew Forrest's Calvary regiments were anxious to fight. But he gave no sign he had noticed, and did not really focus on it. He simply made a mental note of the information, and continued. He had Death on his mind. The creeks and rivers of Santa Clara Valley would run red with blood this he knew. No matter who won, that would be the result. "General Smith..", spoke Edward. "Yes Prophet?", answered Lt. General Joseph Smith of The Nauvoo Legion. "Give the order.", came the cold hard voice of The Prophet, and General-in-Chief, Edward "The Rebel Fox" Lee. Loosing track of rather or not General Smith actually radioed in, he drew his sword in one swift movement. Holding his sword in front of him, he summoned up all his courage, his valor, and honor. Shouting one word, commiting the entire army to battle, he charged forth, "Attack!"
The cougar-like Battle Cry of The South, which had become the army's war cry, split the air. As bullets started to rocket forth, he heard a loud squeaking that sounded like a mutilated cavalry charge trumpet command, accompanied by a laugh of joy. Slightly sickened that anyone could enjoy battle so much, he let his attention wonder slightly to the source of the sounds. He saw who it was. It was Major General Ryan Matthew Forrest himself, with his cross-like scythe in one hand, his other hand being used to control his horse, and his aide-de-camp crowing on his calvary trumpet rideing alongside him. It had been rumored that Forrest was crazy, and know he found he believed it. "Still," he thought, "the man fights like a hellion and is a darn good cavalry leader." Before his mind turned from this distraction, it struck him as odd that he should be thinking this as he went to battle. He was about to ponder why, when all his pondering time all ran out. The two armies slammed together in a hideous crash. Battle had been joined.
Guns fired, swords clanged together, and the crimson ichor that is blood ran waist deep, filled with small, and large, chunks of man flesh. Hacking, chopping, and firing their guns, the two armies continued to fight. Men, and children, fell around Lee. Droves and droves of people fell to the cold command of Death. Still the people of Deseret fought on, and their flags still stood in battle. They flew the flag of the now defunct United States of America, as the remnants of it's people. They flew a pure white flag, with a beehive upon it, representing the collective of Deseret, and The Bonnie Blue Flag, the people's battle flag, and a simple white flag with their motto, and reason they fought, quoted upon it, "In memory of our GOD, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children." From this he could see that the people would not falter, nor would they surrender. Still he knew that they could die. And die they did. For every one of the people of Deseret that fell, two of the foe fell. That matters little though when you are outnumbered 3 to 1. The Prophet had long since tried to use his powers to even the odds, but found that he could not. "We are to fight this battle alone the FATHER? Very well." was his solemn thought when he discovered he was not allowed to use his Priesthood powers. But now, as he saw his men fall he wished it was otherwise. They were outnumbered, and Death's cold cry seemed like a siren's call of beauty to those on the field.
Next page > Who
wins the war? > Page 1, 2,
3
