These Are The Armies of The Bonfire Night
Know thy enemy and know thyself, find naught in fear for 100 battles. Know thyself but not thy enemy, find level of loss and victory. Know thy enemy but not thyself, wallow in defeat every time.
And so with the teaching of Sun Tzu firmly in mind we marched to from our headquarters. With three years spent as a student, we were in with a chance. With 22 years spent as me… We couldn’t lose.
November 5th. The battle lines had been drawn. Our camp was a motley bunch. A ragtag assortment with varied battle experience. Our enemy… Citadel Bramall. The almighty complex in league with Citadel Matthias to the west. Armed only with a box of explosives secured from the black market of Cheetham Hill and a fridge packed to capacity with moral building liquor the campaign had begun.
A military operation involves deception. Even though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear to be ineffective.
As we let our explosives rain harmlessly onto empty patches of ground, our enemy became complacent and unknowing of our true motives. Feigning interest in the names of our arsenal, “Ooh a ‘Haunted Castle’… ah a ‘Noise Pack’” we tested the more mundane of our munitions and, safe in the knowledge that the target was unaware of their fate, prepared the rockets.
The smiling face on the packaging belied the intentions we harboured. And so Captain Dan set aim, Sergeant Becky readied the explosive and up I stepped, lighty stick in hand, to ignite the war.
The enemy was caught unaware. Scrambling to their battle posts, the sentries of the night came to see what had befallen their beloved citadel. Mistaking us for mere Bonfire Night revellers they shouted out “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” and “Stupid Twats!”. We compounded their misunderstanding by steadying another of our harmless 16 shot ‘cakes’ to fly harmlessly into the air.
If words of command are not clear and distinct, if orders are not thoroughly understood, the general is to blame. But if his orders ARE clear, and the soldiers nevertheless disobey, then it is the fault of their officers.
Disaster strikes us at a crucial strategic point. As the first of our cake’s shots flies into the air, the unexpected force knocks the unsecured firework sideways to the ground. Panic and mayhem ensued. Our camp, forever to its shame, contained undisciplined soldiers untested in the trials of war. As they fled the shots being fired toward us from our own artillery they are blinded from the flashes of gunpowder exploding around us with the fury of the gods’ own wrath. Amid the chaos a casualty was sustained. Seaman Apprentice Adam was jostled by an unseen brother and lost grip on the bottle of lager he had taken under his wing. Caught in the timeless moment of knowing it is irretrievably beyond his grasp he can only watch helplessly as it careered into the ground, shattering upon impact. A tragedy had befallen our number and retreat was called so that we could regroup and restock.
The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy.
With due respect paid to a fallen comrade, our resolve was redoubled, for this enemy had cost us dearly. Ingenuity was the name of the game, and using a shard of glass that our complacency, and thus our failure, had readily provided we sought to bring fear to the hearts of those that would destroy us. The bottle fragment was placed over the rocket and the fuse was lit with giddy anticipation. Our efforts were not rewarded, however, as the weight of the glass caused the rocket to curve downward away from the students and to harmlessly explode into the path of an oncoming vehicle.
“Get the fuck over here!” Lieutenant Fitzy had spotted and called in reinforcements returning from another campaign. As we prepared the final onslaught, the traditional battle cry of “Get a fucking job!” was echoed through the deserted streets as our remaining rockets rained down upon the heads of the sentries that had braved the initial attack, forcing their retreat. With victory claimed we returned to our settlement, secure in the knowledge that the first surprise attack had been declared in our favour with only the minimum of collateral damage.
By the grace of the gods, the war will yet be won.
General Disarray: Phil
