Swirling black clouds smudged the sky a sinister and foreboding sneer. The morning wore a blotchy smeared lipstick; the soldier wore warpaint and bullet holes. Rain reappeared only to peer down its nose at them all. They had reached a fork in the road, broken in half - the infantry would struggle taking the first rock littered path, the horses were ill equipped for the second boggy, marshland path.
Retreating what was left of the army from a bloody battle the general committed the men on horseback, to the rocks and the infantry on foot, to the marshes. He reapplied camouflage paint on his face and his final gravely spoken instruction reaffirmed an unsaid agreement in the minds of the men - should a single shoe or a single hoof stumble now then it would cost the lives of them all.