The Field.

[Incongruous]

It has been a very long time since I have written anything not associated with one of my degrees at uni.
My last piece The Great War I still feel to a be a pretty good go at it. Though it's clunky in it perception of war. That is, not what war creates ( the great battles and duels which I feel I made an ok attempt of) but what it means and is to those least glorified in it, but most abused by it.

Thus I have written this very small piece. I will hopefully add more to this thread as I hear more about the experiences some of my best friends have had of war.

Part1.

Please excuse my grammar and spelling, it is not my fault and it has taken me a very large amount of time to get this where it is.

The Field.

It was a rumble, a low humming rumble. Not that of the fast moving clouds which carried the cold rain of the land.
Even to the toiling farmer natures rumble would be more desirable to this one. It was melancholic, it was put forth
with a steady grey beat.

The two masses were dull, not even the brightly painted banners elevating the bleakness of them. Trumpets blasted
through the heavy air, sharp and shrill. It was a clash of thunder to a man's ears, then a sucking silence. Shouts
echoed loudly, and men moved deftly to their command. Then the air whistled and the men cowered. The sound of arrow
upon flesh soon became an old friend to those poor beggars trawled from under the rocks of poverty. Cholera was a
pleasant and distant memory.These men were not trained killers, they were trained dead.

A drum began to thump, a trumpet blared cold shivers into men's spines. Now the soldiers forced the dead foreword.
To fight for their King! To fight for their God! They did not question, this was the way of the world, the order as
God had declared. The pace picked up, the shield lifted, the prayers flew.

The men did not remember the clash of the first unhinged charge, it was all sound and no sight. Some men knew no
more, the unlucky continued to learn. Even for the killers the first moments of a fight were mere brawls. Who was
you're enemy? Where were you're friends? Were you're guts upon the hungry earth?
Lunge, hack, thrust. All were united by their master. Kill.
Slowly the dead died and the killers died too. No manuscript ever told this story. Think of it a man thought, death
a part of war. War, Glorious war. Death was the preserve of those ruder in birth. Salvation that of those more
gentle. Upon these green fields Jesus was knocked from the alter, some older more primal thing set up in his place.

Here the dead truly served their king well. For upon this field King Death ruled supreme.

[Ludens]

Nice. Very poetic description of the madness of war. However, you apparently forgot to spell-check it, as there are several spelling and lay-out mistakes.

[Incongruous]

Yep, my word is down at the moment and I forgot about the orgs spell check.
Will do it now.