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apothecaryforwearysouls · 5 years

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Fallout OC interview (My first fallout 4 character)

1. What is your name?

“Alice Everett, but you’ll call me Queen if you know what's good for you.”

2. How old are you? “30.”

3. What do you look like? “shaved head on the side, long red hair on the top. I'm pretty built and average height.”

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now? “From Vegas, the first one. been to New Vegas since love the atmosphere hate the military that hangs around. the Silver Rush had this robot though.....anyway what was the question? ”

5. What was your childhood like? “Shit, what do you think? you don't come from white picket fences and how was your day honey and end up a blood-soaked killer”

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? “Operators and Disciples know their place if that counts. Mr. House, maybe he did like what I could do with a fission battery and his power module. The institute I guess, don’t talk with them much being their leader was boring as hell.”

7. Tell me about your best friend. "Only one I can really trust. Keeps my bed warm and knows what love means, no one could replace him. isn't that right Dogmeat?”

“Bork Bark”

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them! “Husbands dead, Sons dead, anyone else ever knew or loved was atomized when the bombs dropped. Next question.”

9. What about a partner or partners? “I’ll occasionally get with Nisha. That is more of a physical thing though. don’t know how something serious would work out these days. Maybe one day.”

10. Who are your enemies? And why? Preston Garvey. He and his Minutemen love to take shots at the men I send out their way. Pretty much anyone, to be honest, raiders don't make many friends.

11. Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? "Brotherhood are raiders with better equipment. Just like the Gunners, they parade around with their rules, regulations, and uniforms. they're just as bad as us maybe worse at least we’re honest ”

12. What about The Enclave? “Who?.”

13. How do you feel about Super Mutants? “A pain in the ass mostly, they are dumb as rocks yet think they're the next step in evolution.”

14. What’s the craziest fight you ever been in? “I’ve been in a lot of fights, a lot of them worthy of retelling but it has to be that damned Hallucigen building. Whatever gas they cooked up is worse than any chem trip. I know the Gunners were there but once that shit hit my system i saw ghouls, mole rats, family, friends, nightmares... I shot until I didn't have any more rounds. I cut through anything else with my knife. Normally being covered in blood and gore doesn't bother me but that..that is a feeling I never want to feel again.

15. Have you ever fought a deathclaw?

“Plenty they’re the wastelands apex predator, hinting them really gets me going. Gatorclaws, on the other hand, I can’t stand they hide in the water just waiting like lazy Brahmin for prey to walk by. Deplorable. ”

16. Do you like fighting? “Oh, I love it there is nothing better! The feeling of power and fear mixed together is unlike anything else.”

17. What’s your weapon of choice? “a sharp knife is always good, but the feeling of an automatic Handmade. The sound, the vibration, the way it rains lead. unbeatable. ”

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) “Skills mostly, I was a Surgeon before the war. Once I entered the wasteland it all slowly came to me. Learning how to survive was actually a lot like med school now that I think about it. struggle, pain, and in the end a vast amount of knowledge that can save a life or end one. ”

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think of them? “I've been in enough to know they're sadistic death traps. don't get me wrong I kill people for fun but Vault-tec chose to experiment on people before the world went to shit.”

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? “I have easy access to Radaway but a few years back I got exposed pretty bad during a rad storm and had to take cover in a cave full of this fungus that glows in the dark. I didn't know that they radiated radiation too ate a few out of desperation and all that radiation mutated my optical nerves, I can see in the dark now. cool huh?”

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter? “Radscorpions, their vicious nature and lack of fear is so badass. Plus they’re really cute!”

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? “Bloodworms. End of story, it is just the way they wiggle. Makes me gag just thinking about them. I send men to take out their nests regularly.”

23. How do you feel about robots? “They have their uses but I don't find them very reliable in the field. The only ones I really care to use are those Assaultrons. ”

24. How many caps do you have on you right now? "uh I think I have around a thousand but I have a ton more around the place.”

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? “I run Nuka-World I think my choice is obvious. Sunset is just gross how anyone drinks it is beyond me.

26. Do you do chems?

“Pycho/Med-x on occasion but only when I think the fight is going to be difficult. They get in the way in most situations.”

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? “Some nights ill think about it. About Nate, about my family, the world before but its gone and nothing can change that. I like who I am now I know that the world can’t be saved and people are not worth charity. ”

28. What’s your biggest regret? What would you do differently? “God that's a long list. Despite what you may think its really simple. Going into that damn lounger thing in Goodneighbor, reliving my husband's death and the theft of my son all over again and have someone else see it firsthand along with me was the worst. I'm glad Kellog died slow.”

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? “Honestly I want to love someone again....”

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? “Get richer, maybe retire old but if that doesn't work die for something worthwhile.”

Tagged by @baphometprince (thank you, sorry for the way late reply it has been a hectic few weeks.)

Tagging @illumimommy and anyone else who actually read through and wanna do it.

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

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In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 5

Later that evening....

[ L.K ] It would be a rough start to the night. Lazarius had accompanied Jursol back to her hut and patched the broken areas just before the storm let loose. And what a storm it was. No doubt those Tide Sages of Kul Tiras were at it again. But the rumbles of thunder and lightening crashing all around, as well as the torrential downpour, it bound them inside.

Lazarius had stripped down to his shorts in the swampy jungle heat once more. The glistening of his brandings, tattoos and scars evident in the light of what few candles there were to give them a way to see. He sat on the edge of the cot she had given him to rest on earlier, and in his silence, his extended palm in front of him would flicker with small galactic wormholes that would pop into existence and fade. A black purple flame swirling around him. He was simply toying with his magic.

“We once worshipped N’Zoth, the old god of the deep. My former Mistress was the leader of our cult of The Nine. In fact, Nine member all of which lead the rest of the order to its victory and inevitably its defeat. Decades passed... I have been leading us since the times of this great Third War of the mortal races. I know your people have never been too keen on involvement but that is how long.”

He closed his hand around the flame and sighed.

[ J ] Once back at the hut, Jursol found a few things to patch the hole on the wall up with. With a smile she handled them to the elf. As she watch how surprisingly good he was at patching up such holes, a small laugh escaped her. She knew like him this was no normal storm coming. Those damn Tide Sages had it out for these lands.

[ L.K ] “In recent months we have shifted further and further away. I took it upon myself to take inventory of what it is we truly do. What we stand for. And it is chaos, but it is more than that. We are saviors of some of the most brilliant and talented minds the world has ever seen. People who would otherwise be killed for their work, or worse imprisonment. We provide a home for like minded individuals who are through fighting others wars and wish to thrive on our own. A nation away from the political nightmare and a place that offers salvation to all who swear loyalty to the cause.”.

In his hand she would see the construct of a void magic made machine. He created it from the shadow to give her a visual representation of it.

“The Void Forge is our greatest achievement. Made from Titan technology, Mogu and ancient earthen wares. It was reversed engineered to take life, not create. Essentially what it does it extracts the void magic from the Ren’dorei. The void elves. It stores it in batteries for us to use.”.

The image would rotate and turn for her to see all the massive gears and devices.

[ J ] Zandalari after all had a great naval force that could rival their own. Due to the ongoing war however, Jursol feared this was perhaps their way of hiding ships sent to scout areas ahead of the coming battle. As she listened her eyes wondered to his hands. She was still mesmerized by the beautiful galactic wormholes he was making.

[ L.K ] “The body is then stripped of its blood which is placed in a dedicated vessel for our blood mages to experiment on. And lastly, the organic husk is used as the fuel source. Perpetually it will run for as long as we provide it with its source of fuel, Ren’dorei.”

He collapsed the construct and peered over toward her, wherever she was at this point.

“We are bad people Jursol, I know this. But we are also true, pure and devoted to one another. Love and compassion are not lost on us. We do this because when the dam breaks, and the old one returns, lives will be lost. Chaos and the Black empire will return, I have seen this. These stores batteries will be enough to provide us with a shield that will allow the world to bypass us safely in the Bastille for generations to come.”

He looked toward her still and smiled.

[ J ] As he spoke of his people, The Nine, and the old one N’Zoth she listened intently to every word. Like many Zandalari she knew the threat of Old Gods was real. They were coming back and soon. Hell there was already the created Old One who posed a threat, Ghuun. While he may be defeated easier then most he was still a threat to all life. Jursol recalled a old Seer speaking of the coming storm. A storm of blood, death, dark magic not seen in years. An evil that once thought dormant was said to be returning.

‘Could dis be N’Zoth then?’ she thought.

The more he spoke of how his people, and their home far from the political nightmare that most live in, the more she realized how truly misunderstood he was. Him and his people may have a strange way of doing things, but their goal is far from evil. She could hardly believe the structure of the Void Forge was real. The way it worked, how it was made, everything about it peaked her curiosity.

[ L.K ] “I could not ask for a better person, you...you Miss Jursol, to be there with me, at my side. I would ask you for it is the respected position that you deserve.”.

She watched as he offered his scarred and worn hand toward her, the image of a serpent burned into the palm.

“Join us. You with your Magic’s..you are the prime candidate to offer us a perspective we have never seen. I see in you...a person worthy of a place where she can flourish...”

[ J ] She only had to think for a moment after he’d stopped speaking. He bright eyes looking toward him over the glare of the fire.

“You not be bad people my friend. Many forget der be times we must be doen thins we never thought we would in order to save ourselves or others Sometimes it be taken being da bad guy to get da job done.”

She said smiling looking at him.

“Da future of yo people means a lot to ya. Der be nothing wrong with dat in my eyes.”

As his hand was reached out towards her with an offer to go with him, she bowed her head and met his hand with her own clawed and scaled hand.

“I be happy ta be joinen ya Da raptors be happy as well. Dey seem to trust ya as I do.”

As she said this big raptors gave a small grunt sound in agreement. The smaller one leaping up next to the elf and laying down.

“A place to be using me magic in peace will be a nice change. Perhaps be learnen more about da blood magic I began studying before.”

[ L.K ] Lazarius would listen to her as she explained and answered each of his various questions and requests. Listened to her explain her side of things. It was quite obvious he knew she was exactly the type of person who could work with the order.

“A place for you to work your blood magic and perfect it. Our former Grand Magus. . . .”

There was that pause again when he regarded her. A hint of sadness in his eyes, but he would clear it away shortly after and continue on.

“ She has written two books on the subject, her parents before her were members of the council of Nine and served my former mistress. They’d written four. Also with the raw essence being reduced down from the forge you can perhaps practice hands on with it. I am sure a Zandalari brain can think of far more interesting ways to use the blood than we elves.”

The compliment was left there, hanging in limbo for a moment as he pondered.

“Blood Huntress Jursol.”. He said with a chuckle.

“Our last Magus took my hospitality and generosity and is currently beginning work on how to utilize this blood. If possible I’d like to put you in charge of how we research the blood within The Bastille. Perhaps you and our resident scientist Doctor Whistletorque can find a way to use the Azerite with it.”

[ J ] Jursol moved around the hut as she listened to him. Grabbing some things to make something for them to eat. Herbs, spices, dried meat, and fresh looking fish. Using a very small fireplace she worked to mix the ingredients together just so. Her clawed hands seemed skilled as she gut, deboned, and flayed the fish.

Chopping the herbs with a large knife as she placed them into a bowl. Chucks of dried beef were tossed into a pot of boiling water. A small dash of spices were added as well. Grabbing the chopped herbs she added a bit of oil to them. In another bowl she worked to crush the herbs, turning it into a paste.

The paste was rubbed over the fish before she laced it onto a rack over the fire. Some vegetable type things got added to the stew of beef and spices.

“A place to be practicing in peace be something I be happy to have again. Ta learn more den I know would be a great gift to my allies. A curse to mah enemies.”

Her face seemed calm her pleased.

“So ya be having a scientist der? Dat would make finden new ways ta use blood magic much more fun, and if he be able to use Azarite as well, dat be amazing.”

A smirk grow on her lips as she laughed.

“Well I be not letting ya down. Dis magic be something I take pride in, even if he hated by many.”

As she spoke she kept up with the food. It now smelled like herbs and spices in the little hut. Her hands stirring the stew as she watched the fish.

[ L.K ] “Well then on behalf of the Council of Nine. . I officially welcome you into our order. I know that it is not the Grand flare and show of excitement one such as yourself should warrant but...”.

The irony was not lost due to the fact that he was but one of the council, and the rest were not in attendance. He extended a finger toward the air and from it a little violet spark shot up and burst into a small firework. The explosion would for a serpent as it slithered around in a circular shape and then into a knot before vanishing.

[ J ] Jursol gave a fanged smile as she watched the serpent slither around in a circle, then a knot, all before vanishing. It seemed to entertain her to see his use of his skills.

[ L.K ] “Ive been giving it some thought. And I think I know how we can get back to the Bastille. But now comes the true test of our survival. Getting us to the Eastern Kingdoms. If we didn’t have to worry about the war I could arrange passage from Kul Tiras if we could get there. But that is out. But I need to reach Alterac. If we can get there... the former Magus I spoke of who should still be there. . .”.

He sneered and shook his head.

“I installed a gateway through her lower sub basement into the Bastille. It will place us directly where we need to be. At that point I can sever her portal thus finally putting an end to that link, and reach my sisters hopefully before something terrible happens.”.

Lazarius would give only a glance toward her meal, granted he didn’t choose to eat anymore because of the parasite but he could still appreciate her talent.

“Are you up for the task Miss Jursol? Any ideas on how we can escape this island?”

[ J ] Hearing him speak about the order, and about getting back to them, she started thinking. She knew of the Eastern Kingdoms, and heard about the Alterac. However she never ventured there herself. Pondering for a few minutes before speaking.

“Hmm, I be knowing one way ya travel der. Dey be smugglers doe. We be needen ta get off Zandalar before dey can help. But if we be getting away from Zandalar dey can help get us ta Alterac, or close at least. Ta get off Zandalar we be needed a boat. Dat be easy, if not for da war. Mah people don take kindly ta outsiders. We be needen ta get past dem somehow.”

[ L.K ] “That is good for us then. Unfortunately the Horde had not actually made contact with your people before this all began. I never gave the order to send my own operatives into Zandalar. But hindsight is of course twenty - twenty.”

Lazarius would think for a moment. His eyes drifted toward his hands. The edges of his fingers slightly starting to blacked right at the tips. Alarming but not enough to warrant attention.

“What if....”.

He slowly smirked and shifted on the bed while sitting on its edge. His pale flesh glistening in the hot jungle night; the humidity was overwhelming and the rain outside on made it worse.

“You take the guise of a guard. One of the elite kings men. Since I can easily pass for a Ren’dorei, you could be doing a prisoner transfer. Say you’re taking me for a parlay with the Alliance, trading one of theirs for one of “ours”. We get our boat and sail to where these smugglers are, they’ll never see us again.”

[ J ] A grin crossed her lips as she gave the stew a last stir. Scooping some into wood bowl before grabbing a wooden spin.

“Dat may actually work. Ta get a guard be easy enough. Get one ta chase ya ta me, and I can use a dart with poison on dem. Can’t be having blood on da armor.”

Jursol took a bite of the stew before speaking again.

“Da dart be covered in jungle frog poison. Works fast and silently. Most be to busy ta question a prisoner trade. One of da Zandalari priest been missing for some time now. If dey ask I can be saying we be trading for her.”

Jursol laughed as she said that last part.

“Don’t worry she not be comon back. Saw her body being eaten by a few stray raptors. Some small men be killing her. Dey were near some strange looking metal things.”

She nodded and smiled, a tusked toothy smile.

“Yes dis may work for us.”

[ L.K ] He nodded right back, and gazed at the warrioress with a matching grin.

“Yes...dis may work for us.”

To be Continued in. . . “In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 6″

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walaw717 · 5 years

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The Cavalry Charge at Omdurman BY WINSTON CHURCHILL

LONG before the dawn we were astir, and by ﬁve o'clock the 21st Lancers were drawn up mounted outside the zeriba.

My squadron-leader Major Finn, an Australian by birth, had promised me some days before that he would give me “a show” when the time came. I was afraid that he would count my mission to Lord Kitchener the day before as quittance; but I was now called out from my troop to advance with a patrol and reconnoiter the ridge between the rocky peak of Jebel Surgham and the river. Other patrols from our squadron and from the Egyptian cavalry were also sent hurrying forward in the darkness. I took six men and a corporal. We trotted fast over the plain and soon began to breast the unknown slopes of the ridge.

There is nothing like the dawn. The quarter of an hour before the curtain is lifted upon an unknowable situation is an intense experience of war. Was the ridge held by the enemy or not? Were we riding through the gloom into thousands of ferocious savages? Every step might be deadly; yet there was no time for overmuch precaution. The regiment was coming on behind us, and dawn was breaking. It was already half-light as we climbed the slope. What should we ﬁnd at the summit? For cool, tense excitement I commend such moments.

Now we are near the top of the ridge. I make one man follow a hundred yards behind, so that whatever happens, he may tell the tale. There is no sound but our own clatter. We have reached the crest line. We rein in our horses. Every minute the horizon extends; we can already see 200 yards. Now we can see perhaps a quarter of a mile. All is quiet; no life but our own breathes among the rocks and sand hummocks of the ridge. No ambuscade, no occupation in force! The farther plain is bare below us: we can now see more than half a mile.

So they have all decamped! Just what we said! All bolted off to Kordofan; no battle! But wait! The dawn is growing fast. Veil after veil is lifted from the landscape. What is this shimmering in the distant plain? Nay—it is lighter now—what are these dark markings beneath the shimmer? They are there! These enormous black smears are thousands of men; the shimmering is the glinting of their weapons. It is now daylight. I slip off my horse; I write in my ﬁeld service notebook “The Dervish army is still in position a mile and a half south-west of Jebel Surgham.”

I send this message by the corporal direct as ordered to the Commander- in-Chief. I mark it XXX. In the words of the drill book “with all despatch” or as one would say “Hell for leather.”

A glorious sunrise is taking place behind us; but we are admiring something else. It is already light enough to use ﬁeld-glasses. The dark masses are changing their values. They are already becoming lighter than the plain; they are fawn-colored. Now they are a kind of white, while the plain is dun.

In front of us is a vast array four or ﬁve miles long. It ﬁlls the horizon till it is blocked out on our right by the serrated silhouette of Surgham Peak. This is an hour to live.

We mount again, and suddenly new impressions strike the eye and mind. These masses are not stationary. They are advancing, and they are advancing fast. 'A tide is coming in. But what is this sound which we hear: a deadened roar coming up to us in waves? They are cheering for God, his Prophet and his holy Khalifa. They think they are going to win. We shall see about that presently. Still I must admit that we check our horses and hang upon the crest of the ridge for a few moments before advancing down its slopes.

But now it is broad morning and the slanting sun adds brilliant color to the scene. The masses have deﬁned themselves into swarms of men, in ordered ranks bright with glittering weapons, and above them dance a multitude of gorgeous ﬂags. We see for ourselves what the Crusaders saw. We must see more of it.

I trot briskly forward to somewhere near the sand hills where the 21st Lancers had halted the day before. Here we are scarcely 400 yards away from the great masses. We halt again and I make four troopers ﬁre upon them, while the other two hold their horses.

The enemy come on like the sea. A crackle of musketry breaks out on our front and to our left. Dust spurts rise among the sand hills. This is no place for Christians. We scamper off; and luckily no man nor horse is hurt. We climb back on to the ridge, and almost at this moment there returns the corporal on a panting horse. He comes direct from Kitchener with an order signed by the Chief of Staff.

“Remain as long as possible, and report how the masses of attack are moving.”

Talk of Fun! Where will you beat this! On horseback, at daybreak, within shot of an advancing army, seeing everything, and corresponding direct with Headquarters. So we remained on the ridge for nearly half an hour and I watched close up a scene which few have witnessed. All the masses except one passed for a time out of our view beyond the peak of Surgham on our right. But one, a division of certainly 6,000 men moved directly over the shoulder of the ridge. Already they were climbing its forward slopes. From where we sat on our horses we could see both sides.

There was our army ranked and massed by the river. There were the gunboats lying expectant in the stream. There were all the batteries ready to open. And meanwhile on the other side, this large oblong gay-colored crowd in fairly good order climbed swiftly up to the crest of exposure.

We were about 2,500 yards from our own batteries, but little more than 200 from the approaching target. I called these Dervishes “The White Flags.” They reminded me of the armies in the Bayeux tapestries, because of their rows of white and yellow standards held upright. Meanwhile the Dervish centre far out in the plain had come within range, and one after another the British and Egyptian batteries opened upon it.

My eyes were riveted by a nearer scene. At the top of the hill "The White Flags" paused to rearrange their ranks and drew out a broad and solid parade along the crest. Then the cannonade turned upon them. Two or three batteries and all the gunboats, at least thirty guns, opened an intense ﬁre. Their shells shrieked towards us and burst in scores over the heads and among the masses of the White Flag-men. We were so close, as we sat spellbound on our horses, that we almost shared their perils. I saw the full blast of Death strike this human wall. Down went their standards by dozens and their men by hundreds. Wide gaps and shapeless heaps appeared in their array. One saw them jumping and tumbling under the shrapnel bursts; but none turned back. Line after line they all streamed over the shoulder and advanced towards our zeriba, opening a heavy riﬂe ﬁre which wreathed them in smoke.

Hitherto no one had taken any notice of us; but I now saw Baggara horsemen in twos and threes riding across the plain on our left towards the ridge. One of these patrols of three men came within pistol range. They were dark, cowled ﬁgures, like monks on horseback—ugly, sinister brutes with long spears. I ﬁred a few shots at them from the saddle, and they sheered off. I did not see why we should not stop out on this ridge during the assault. I thought we could edge back towards the Nile and so watch both sides while keeping out of harm's way. But now arrived a positive order from Major Finn, whom I had perforce left out of my correspondence with the Commander-in-Chief, saying “Come back at once into the zeriba as the infantry are about to open ﬁre.”

We should in fact have been safer on the ridge, for we only just got into the infantry lines before the riﬂe-storm began. It is not my purpose in this record of personal impressions to give a general account of the Battle of Omdurman. The story has been told so often and in such exact military detail that everyone who is interested in the subject is no doubt well acquainted with what took place. I shall only summarize the course of the battle so far as may be necessary to explain my own experiences.

The whole of the Khalifa's army, nearly 60,000 strong, advanced in battle order from their encampment of the night before, topped the swell of ground which hid the two armies from one another, and then rolled down the gently-sloping amphitheater in the arena of which, backed upon the Nile, Kitchener's 20,000 troops were drawn up shoulder to shoulder to receive them. Ancient and modern confronted one another. The weapons, the methods and the fanaticism of the Middle Ages were brought by an extraordinary anachronism into dire collision with the organization and inventions of the nineteenth century.

The result was not surprising. As the successors of the Saracens descended the long smooth slopes which led to the river and their enemy, they encountered the riﬂe ﬁre of two and a half divisions of trained infantry, drawn up two deep and in close order and supported by at least 70 guns on the river bank and in the gunboats, all ﬁring with undisturbed efﬁciency. Under this ﬁre the whole attack withered and came to a standstill, with a loss of perhaps six or seven thousand men, at least 700 yards away from the British-Egyptian line.

The Dervish army, however, possessed nearly 20,000 riﬂes of various kinds, from the most antiquated to the most modern, and when the spearmen could get no farther, these riﬂemen lay down on the plain and began a ragged, unaimed but considerable fusillade at the dark line of the thorn-fence zeriba.

Now for the ﬁrst time they began to inﬂict losses on their antagonists, and in the short space that this lasted perhaps two hundred casualties occurred among the British and Egyptian troops

Seeing that the attack had been repulsed with great slaughter and that he was nearer to the city of Omdurman than the Dervish army, Kitchener, immediately wheeled his ﬁve brigades into his usual echelon formation, and with his left ﬂank on the river proceeded to march south towards the city, intending thereby to cut off what he considered to be the remnants of the Dervish army from their capital, their base, their food, their water, their home, and to drive them out into the vast deserts which stared on every side.

But the Dervishes were by no means defeated. The whole of their left, having overshot the mark, had not even been under ﬁre. The Khalifa’s reserve of perhaps 15,000 men was still intact. All these swarms now advanced with undaunted courage to attack the British and Egyptian forces, which were no longer drawn up in a prepared position, but marching freely over the desert. This second shock was far more critical than the ﬁrst.

The charging Dervishes succeeded everywhere in coming to within a hundred or two hundred yards of the troops, and the rear brigade of Soudanese, attacked from two directions, was only saved from destruction by the skill and ﬁrmness of its commander, General Hector Macdonald. However, discipline and machinery triumphed over the most desperate velour, and after an enormous carnage, certainly exceeding 20,000 men, who strewed the ground in heaps and swathes “like snowdrifts,” the whole mass of the Dervishes dissolved into fragments and into particles and streamed away into the fantastic mirages of the desert.

The Egyptian cavalry and the camel corps had been protecting the right ﬂank of the zeriba when it was attacked, and the 21st Lancers were the only horsemen on the left ﬂank nearest to Omdurman. Immediately after the ﬁrst attack had been repulsed we were ordered to leave the zeriba, ascertain what enemy forces, if any, stood between Kitchener and the city, and if possible drive these forces back and clear the way for the advancing army.

Of course as a regimental ofﬁcer one knows very little of what is taking place over the whole ﬁeld of battle. We waited by our horses during the ﬁrst attack close down by the river’s edge, sheltered by the steep Nile bank from the bullets which whistled 'overhead. As soon as the ﬁre began to slacken and it was said on all sides that the attack had been repulsed, a General arrived with his staff at a gallop with instant orders to mount and advance. In two minutes the four squadrons were mounted and trotting out of the zeriba in a southerly direction.

We ascended again the slopes of Jebel Surgham which had played its part in the ﬁrst stages of the action, and from its ridges soon saw before us the whole plain of Omdurman with the vast mud city, its minarets and domes, spread before us six or seven miles away. After various halts and reconnoitering’s we found ourselves walking forward in what is called “column of troops." There are four troops in a squadron and four squadrons in a regiment. Each of these troops now followed the other. I commanded the second troop from the rear, comprising between twenty and twenty-ﬁve Lancers. Everyone expected that we were going to make a charge. That was the one idea that had been in all minds since we had started from Cairo. Of course there would be a charge. In those days, before the Boer War, British cavalry had been taught little else. Here was clearly the occasion for a charge. But against what body of enemy, over what ground, in which direction or with what purpose, were matters hidden from the rank and ﬁle.

We continued to pace forward over the hard sand, peering into the mirage-twisted plain in a high state of suppressed excitement. Presently I noticed, 300 yards away on our ﬂank and parallel to the line on which we were advancing, a long row of blue-black objects, two or three yards apart. I thought there were about a hundred and ﬁfty. Then I became sure that these were men—enemy men—squatting on the ground. Almost at the same moment the trumpet sounded “Trot,” and the whole long column of cavalry began to jingle and clatter across the front of these crouching ﬁgures. We were in the lull of the battle and there was perfect silence. Forthwith from every blue-black blob came a white puff of smoke, and a loud volley of musketry broke the odd stillness. Such a target at such a distance could scarcely be missed, and all along the column here and there horses bounded and a few men fell.

The intentions of our Colonel had no doubt been to move round the ﬂank of the body of Dervishes he had now located, and who, concealed in a fold of the ground behind their riﬂemen, were invisible to us, and then to attack them from a more advantageous quarter; but once the ﬁre was opened and losses began to grow, he must have judged it inexpedient to prolong his procession across the open plain. The trumpet sounded “Right wheel into line,” and all the sixteen troops swung round towards the blue-black riﬂemen. Almost immediately the regiment broke into a gallop, and the 21st Lancers were committed to their ﬁrst charge in war! I propose to describe exactly what happened to me: what I saw and what I felt. I recalled it to my mind so frequently after the event that the impression is as clear and vivid as it was a quarter of a century ago. The troop I commanded was, when we wheeled into line, the second from the right of the regiment. I was riding a handy, sure-footed, grey Arab polo pony

Before we wheeled and began to gallop, the ofﬁcers had been marching with drawn swords. On account of my shoulder I had always decided that if I were involved in hand-to-hand ﬁghting, I must use a pistol and not a sword. I had purchased in London a Mauser automatic pistol, then the newest and the latest design. I had practised carefully with this during our march and journey up the river. This then was the weapon with which I determined to ﬁght. I had ﬁrst of all to return my sword into its scabbard, which is not the easiest thing to do at a gallop. I had then to draw my pistol from its wooden holster and bring it to full cock. This dual operation took an appreciable time, and until it was ﬁnished, apart from a few glances to my left to see what effect the ﬁre was producing, I did not look up at the general scene. Then I saw immediately before me, and now only half the length of a polo ground away, the row of crouching blue ﬁgures ﬁring frantically, wreathed in white smoke. On my right and left my neighboring troop leaders made a good line. Immediately behind was a long dancing row of lances couched for the charge. We were going at a fast but steady gallop. There was too much trampling and riﬂe ﬁre to hear any bullets. After this glance to the right and left and at my troop, I looked again towards the enemy.

The scene appeared to he suddenly transformed. The blue-black men were still ﬁring, but behind them there now came into view a depression like a shallow sunken road. This was crowded and crammed with men rising up from the ground where they had hidden. Bright ﬂags appeared as if by magic, and I saw arriving from nowhere Emirs on horseback among and around the mass of the enemy. The Dervishes appeared to be ten or twelve deep at the thickest, a great grey mass gleaming with steel, ﬁlling the dry watercourse. In the same twinkling of an eye I saw also that our right overlapped their left, that my troop would just strike the edge of their array, and that the troop on my right would charge into air. My subaltem comrade on the right, Wormald of the 7th Hussars, could see the situation too; and we both increased our speed to the very fastest gallop and curved inwards like the horns of the moon. One really had not time to be frightened or to think of anything else but these particular necessary actions which I have described. They completely occupied mind and senses. The collision was now very near. I saw immediately before me, not ten yards away, the two blue men who lay in my path. They were perhaps a couple of yards apart. I rode at the interval between them. They both ﬁred. I passed through the smoke conscious that I was unhurt.

The trooper immediately behind me was killed at this place and at this moment, whether by these shots or not I do not know. I checked my pony as the ground began to fall away beneath his feet. The clever animal dropped like a cat four or ﬁve feet down on to the sandy bed of the watercourse, and in this sandy bed I found myself surrounded by what seemed to be dozens of men. They were not thickly packed enough at this point for me to experience any actual collision with them. Whereas Grenfell’s troop, next but one on my left, was brought to a complete standstill and suffered very heavy losses, we seemed to push our way through as one has sometimes seen mounted policemen break up a crowd. In less time than it takes to relate, my pony had scrambled up the other side of the ditch. I looked round.

Once again I was on the hard, crisp desert, my horse at a trot. I had the impression of scattered Dervishes running to and fro in all directions. Straight before me a man threw himself on the ground. The reader must remember that I had been trained as a cavalry soldier to believe that if ever cavalry broke into a mass of infantry, the latter would be at their mercy. My ﬁrst idea therefore was that the man was terriﬁed. But simultaneously I saw the gleam of his curved sword as he drew it back for a hamstringing cut. I had room and time enough to turn my pony out of his reach, and leaning over on the off side I ﬁred two shots into him at about three yards. As I straightened myself in the saddle, I saw before me another ﬁgure with uplifted sword. I raised my pistol and ﬁred. So close were we that the pistol itself actually struck him. Man and sword disappeared below and behind me. On my left, ten yards away, was an Arab horseman in a bright-colored tunic and steel helmet, with chain-mail hangings. I ﬁred at him. He turned aside. I pulled my horse into a walk and looked around again. In one respect a cavalry charge is very like ordinary life. So long as you are all right, ﬁrmly in your saddle, your horse in hand, and well-armed, lots of enemies will give you a wide berth. But as soon as you have lost a stirrup, have a rein cut, have dropped your weapon, are wounded, or your horse is wounded, then is the moment when from all quarters enemies rush upon you. Such was the fate of not a few of my comrades in the troops immediately on my left. Brought to an actual standstill in the enemy's mass, clutched at from every side, stabbed at and hacked at by spear and sword, they were dragged from their horses and cut to pieces by the infuriated foe. But this I did not at the time see or understand.

My impressions continued to be sanguine. I thought we were masters of the situation, riding the enemy down, scattering them and killing them. I pulled my horse up and looked about me. There was a mass of Dervishes about forty or ﬁfty yards away on my left. They were huddling and clumping themselves together, rallying for mutual protection. They seemed wild with excitement, dancing about on their feet, shaking their spears up and down. The whole scene seemed to ﬂicker. I have an impression, but it is too ﬂeeting to deﬁne, of brown-clad Lancers mixed up here and there with this surging mob. The scattered individuals in my immediate neighborhood made no attempt to molest me. Where was my troop? Where were the other troops of the squadron? Within a hundred yards of me I could not see a single ofﬁcer or man. I looked back at the Dervish mass. I saw two or three riﬂemen crouching and aiming their riﬂes at me from the fringe of it. Then for the ﬁrst time that morning I experienced a sudden sensation of fear. I felt myself absolutely alone.

I thought these riflemen would hit me and the rest devour me like wolves. What a fool I was to loiter like this in the midst of the enemy! I crouched over the saddle, spurred my horse into a gallop and drew clear of the mélée. Two or three hundred yards away I found my troop already faced about and partly formed up. The other three troops of the squadron were reforming close by. Suddenly in the midst of the troop up sprang a Dervish. How he got there I do not know. He must have leaped out of some scrub or hole. All the troopers turned upon him thrusting with their lances: but he darted to and focusing for the moment a frantic commotion. Wounded several times, he staggered towards me raising his spear. I shot him at less than a yard. He fell on the sand, and lay there dead. How easy to kill a man! But I did not worry about it.

I found I had ﬁred the whole magazine of my Mauser pistol, so I put in a new clip of ten cartridges before thinking of anything else. I was still prepossessed with the idea that we had inﬂicted great slaughter on the enemy and had scarcely suffered at all ourselves. Three or four men were missing from my troop. Six men and nine or ten horses were bleeding from spear thrusts or sword cuts. We all expected to be ordered immediately to charge back again. The men were ready, though they all looked serious. Several asked to be allowed to throw away their lances and draw their swords.

I asked my second sergeant if he had enjoyed himself.

His answer was “Well, I don’t exactly say I enjoyed it, Sir; but I think I’ll get more used to it next time.”

At this the whole troop laughed. But now from the direction of the enemy there came a succession of grisly apparitions; horses spouting blood, struggling on three legs, men staggering on foot, men bleeding from terrible wounds, ﬁsh-hook spears stuck right through them, arms and faces cut to pieces, bowels protruding, men gasping, crying, collapsing, expiring.

Our ﬁrst task was to succour these; and meanwhile the blood of our leaders cooled. They remembered for the ﬁrst time that we had carbines. Everything was still in great confusion. But trumpets were sounded and orders shouted, and we all moved off at a trot towards the ﬂank of the enemy. Arrived at a position from which we could enﬁlade and rake the watercourse, two squadrons were dismounted and in a few minutes with their ﬁre at three hundred yards compelled the Dervishes to retreat. We therefore remained in possession of the ﬁeld.

Within twenty minutes of the time when we had ﬁrst wheeled into line and began our charge, we were halted and breakfasting in the very water-course that had so nearly proved our undoing. There one could see the futility of the much vaunted Arme Blanche. The Dervishes had carried off their wounded, and the corpses of thirty or forty enemy were all that could be counted on the ground. Among these lay the bodies of over twenty Lancers, so hacked and mutilated as to be mostly unrecognizable. In all out of 310 ofﬁcers and men the regiment had lost in the space of about two or three minutes ﬁve ofﬁcers and sixty-ﬁve men killed and wounded, and 120 horses—nearly a quarter of its strength. Such were my fortunes in this celebrated episode. It is very rarely that cavalry and infantry, while still both unshaken, are intermingled as the result of an actual collision. Either the infantry keep their heads and Shoot the cavalry down, or they break into confusion and are cut down or speared as they run. But the two or three thousand Dervishes who faced the 21st Lancers in the watercourse at Omdurman were not in the least shaken by the stress of battle or afraid of cavalry. Their ﬁre was not good enough to stop the charge, but they had no doubt faced horsemen many a time in the wars with Abyssinia. They were familiar with the ordeal of the charge. It was the kind of ﬁghting they thoroughly understood.

Moreover, the ﬁght was with equal weapons, for the British too fought with sword and lance as in the days of old. A white gunboat seeing our ﬁrst advance had hurried up the river in the hopes of being of assistance. From the crow's nest, its commander, Beatty, watched the whole event with breathless interest.

Many years passed before I met this ofﬁcer or knew that he had witnessed our gallop. When we met, I was First Lord of the Admiralty and the youngest Admiral in the Royal Navy.

“What did it look like?" I asked him. "What was your prevailing impression?"

“It looked,” said Admiral Beatty, “like plum duff: brown currants scattered about in a great deal of suet.”

With this striking, if somewhat homely, description my account of this adventure may ﬁttingly close.

Various. MEN AT WAR: The greatest war stories of all time. Vol. 2 . Unknown. Kindle Ed

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