Chapter 1

~ Somerset, England, Sept. 1914 ~

"Well come on then, old chap. You inferred that you would outstrip me with ease!"

"Oh, just you wait for it, she's a slow starter but she could outrun a truck when she gets going."

"Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think fritz will wait for your horse to 'get going' before they attack you!"

Rapiers out, their steel edges freshly sharpened and glinting in the sunlight, the Major and his Captain straddled leather saddles as they charged towards the lake, which marked the end of the vast acres of land which belonged to the country mansion. Captain Parker felt the movement of the horse beneath him, responding to the changes her motion, as he had been trained to do. He heard her deep breathing, the clash of hooves against hard turf with each powerful stride and leant to whisper in her ear.

"Come on, Molly, I know you can do it girl, come on."

She responded almost immediately. Her ear flickered back towards the lake and her head bent further forwards. Her heartbeat quickened to match the rapid speed of each stride, which was becoming lengthier and more frequent. They soon drew parallel to Major Carter's mighty stallion and began to pull ahead. Captain Parker couldn't resist twisting slightly in his saddle to look back and flash his superior a mischievous smile, while Molly continued to power ahead. The Major observed their progress with a furrowed brow, irritated that the Captain had obtained a faster steed than he and would therefore be leading the charges against the fritz.

Once by the lake, the Captain dismounted and allowed his horse to rehydrate after her admirable victory. As the Major, who had trotted the latter part of the race, pulled up alongside them, Captain Parker bent down and splashed his face with water, clearing the sweat which had built up beneath his blue cap, emblazoned with the symbol of his squadron. His blonde hair stirred as a welcome breeze swept through the valley and the Captain breathed the fresh air deeply.

"How long have you been riding?" The Major asked brusquely, smoothing down his golden moustache.

"Well, I rode a little when I was boy and we visited the country, but I only really started in the months leading up to the war. My father had dreams of me being in the cavalry and it seemed preferable to infantry; fighting the traditional British way, with traditional British spirit, that sort of thing."

"Well it seems that he's got what he always wanted; his son as a British officer, leading the first charge when we're shipped to France."

"Yes…I guess so…"

"Well we better head back, though I might call for a rematch at some point – I still believe in swift acceleration, none of this pansying about at the back, waiting to be shot."

"I'd hardly call it 'pansying about'. She was still riding quicker than the majority of the cavalry."

"If you say so,"

The head of the army had done a fine job in finding accommodation which would be large enough to house a hundred horses, the stables here suitable for fifty, leaving makeshift patches of straw and quartered off areas outside. They were fortunate it hadn't yet rained, otherwise the stables would be crammed and it would no doubt cause the fine creatures, which they had acquired from all areas of Britain, great distress. Synchronously they stripped the horses of their saddle and reigns, backing them steadily into their neighbouring stables. Handing the riding gear to their designated stable boy, the Captain and Major marched towards the patio doors of the mansion. The back of the building consisted mainly of a row of glass doors, which opened onto a stoned terrace. As it was another warm day, these doors had been fully opened and the terrace was occupied by half the regiment, adorned in their undershirts and shorts, playing cards at the tables and drinking cool beer. The other half were in the adjoining room, enjoying the cool shade and chatting up the daughters of the house's occupants. They had kindly offered up their home for the good of the cause and were being rewarded with half-drunk middle-aged men attempting to seduce their youthful children. Captain Parker frowned with distaste as they walked up the stone steps and met with Lieutenant Richards, his childhood friend.

"Well, how did it go?" He teased, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

He looked as though he meant to continue, but was swiftly silenced with a scowl from Major Carter. Instead he merely nodded and stepped back in line with Captain Parker, where they exchanged knowing smiles.

"Listen up! We came here to practise our skills in horseback riding, establish our most advantageous formation and enhance our use of weaponry. We did NOT come to sit on our backsides, drinking, gambling and making a nuisance of ourselves for this kind family." He paused dramatically, allowing his words to settle on attentive ears. "If we want to be ready to annihilate fritz then it requires dedication and hard work. We have been told that this war will be over by Christmas and in order for that to happen we need to provide our infantry with substantial support. Today will be the last day that I catch you lazing around when there are better things to be done! Do you think that the fritz are doing this?"

"Nah, they're busy raping half o' France!" A voice from somewhere amidst the men brought a bought of laughter and muffled applause.

Major Carter fervently scanned the crowd, but the culprit was blind to him.

"Is this a joke to you? Is this whole bloody war funny? Our innocent comrades are battling the Germans now, dying at their bastard hands and you sit here and laugh. Tomorrow morning we will be up a dawn and practice the charging line." – He appeared ignorant of the groans which swept the group – "Captain Parker will be leading the charge." To this finish, however, there was an animated round of applause.

Captain Parker had arrived just a fortnight ago and had swiftly gained the respect and love of his fellow soldiers. He had heard their stories, taken an active interest in their backgrounds and taught them where he could about riding and battle formations, mainly tales he had heard from his father, who had won numerous awards for bravery. To hear that he would be leading them into battle, as oppose to 'Major Shitbrick' (a nickname awarded to him on account of his limited sense of humour and dry personality) who ruled through fear, was mighty good news. They would follow him into any battle willingly, because they wanted to support him through the fight.

"Johnson!"

"Yes Sir?" The portly man who had been placed in charge of minding the horses scurried up to him from the crowd, with a distinguished air of self-importance.

"Ensure all the horses are prepared for a full practice cavalry charge tomorrow at dawn."

"Yes Sir."

"Oh and Captain Parker will be dictating the charge."

"Right, yes Sir."

"That will be all." He brushed the man off with a swift wave of his arm before turning back to Captain Parker. "You may have the remainder of the day to do what you will." He began to walk away, but begrudgingly turned to say, "You rode well today. Congratulations."

Once he was clear of earshot, Lieutenant Richards turned to his friend and clapped him warmly on the back.

"Haha! Showed Shitbrick the old ropes, did you? I thought you would."

"I wish you wouldn't call him that. He's not half as bad as everyone seems to make out and he certainly knows what he's talking about when it comes down to tactical warfare."

"Well yeah, but…it's just a nickname Tom…all the lads use it. Anyway, we shouldn't be talking about him when it's all about you!"

Captain Parker allowed himself a small smile and flung his arm around his friend's shoulder.

"It was all the horse really I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh come on! What's the secret?"

"Quiet confidence."

The friends erupted into laughter as they walked slowly into the blissful shade of the house.

"Quiet confidence."