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Damn, he’s Gryffindor I know, BUT !!!!!!!!! Argh, that was so great.

mildmannered-pate said:

☭ Is the idea that fighting mere mortals is more of a challenge without a body or ...?

Send ☭ for a vs. battle quote to your muse

Battle intro: “Is thy skill so insignificant that you have to challenge the incapacitated to feel victory?”
Victory: “I… am just as confused as you are.”
Defeat: “Well, naturally.”
Assist: “I shall be morale!”
Taunt: “How did you miss that one? I cannot move, simpleton!”
Reacting to Taunt: “Of course you shall win. Why taunt?”
Flee: *rolling* “To freedoooooom…”
Reacting to Flee: “…”
Tie: “… er… good match?”
Perfect Victory: “I refuse. Get back up. This is embarrassing.”
Finishing Move: “Have at thee!” *drops off perch, bites into neck”

October 31st, 1914 - Ypres: Desperate Fighting for village of Gheluvelt.

Pictured - The 2nd Worcesters enter Gheluvelt to link up with the remnants of the South Wales Borderers.

The German Sixth Army made another concentrated attempt to break through the British lines and capture Ypres at the end of October.  German chief-of-staff Erich Falkenhayn believed the village of Gheluvelt was the key to finally penetrating the stretched British defences. On the night of the 30th, his subordinate General von Fabeck issued a general order as an apocalyptic exhortation to the men of the Sixth Army.

"The breakthrough will be of decisive importance.  We must and therefore will conquer, settle for ever the centuries-long struggle, end the war, and strike the decisive blow against our most detested enemy.  We will finish the British, Indians, Canadians, Moroccans, and other trash, feeble adversaries, who surrender in great numbers if they are attacked with vigour."

Despite Fabeck’s ominous speech, the fighting over Gheluvelt the next four days was the bloodiest combat during the whole battle.  German troops went over the top of their trenches and launched themselves at the British lines.  The fighting proved savage.  One of the five defending British battalions withstood close-range shelling for 25 minutes.  When it finally stopped, it had lost its CO and 275 men; all 54 survivors were taken prisoner, all of them wounded. 

The village remained in British hands on the morning of the 31st, protected by the remnants of the five British battalions, reduced to under 1000 men in total.  A unit of Irish Guards was sent to patch up a breakthrough elsewhere along the line.  An officer recalled one sight in his diary.

"In the centre of the road lay a dead trooper of some British cavalry regiment, his horse also half dead across him.  A woman passed. She had all her household treasures strapped on her back and held the hands of two very small children.  She took no notice of any one, but I saw the two little children shy away from the dead man."

That night the patrolling Irish Guardsmen could see the spiked pickelhaube helmets worn by their foe silhouetted against a burning farm, moving into positions to attack Gheluvelt again.  The battle renewed the next morning.  The frenzy of battle exhausted the combatants and drove them to greater acts of violence.  One group of British prisoners was clubbed and bayoneted to death and their bodies stripped of watches, wallets and other prizes.  Outraged Tommies responded in kind with German prisoners, but fortunately the atrocities were quickly put to an end.

In the early afternoon a shell struck the British HQ in the Ypres salient, killing one general and several of his staff officers.  Sir John French, the BEF’s commander, almost lost his nerve, just as he had in August.   Seeing hundreds of wounded British troops streaming back from the frontlines shook French greatly.  “There is nothing left for me to do but go up and be killed with I Corps,” sobbed the commander to French general Ferdinand Foch.  The dogged French general replied to French that he must not talk of dying, but of winning.  “Hammer away, keep on hammering away, and you will get there.”

Foch promised French six battalions of French reinforcements, and urged his British comrade to hold his ground.  “It is absolutely essential not to retreat; therefore the men must dig in wherever they find themselves and hold on to the ground they now occupy.”

The BEF had been drastically reduced.  Canadian and Indian troops were arriving to help reconstitute it, but of the 84 British battalions none had anywhere close to their original strength of around 400 officers and 970 men.  Only nine battalions had between 350 and 400 men.  26 had between 200 and 300, 31 were down to under 200.  18 battalions had less than a hundred soldiers.

Among the dead was Prince Maurice of Battenberg.  As he lead his battalion, a German shell exploded right next to him.  As the stretcher-bearers led him away, the Prince wished his men goodbye, but he died before reaching an aid station. He was a grandson of Queen Victoria, just like the Kaiser.

Another combatant in the battle was Adolf Hitler, who wrote home to his landlord detailing his first taste of combat. “I can proudly saw that our Regiment fought like heroes.  I was made lance-corporal and was saved by a near miracle.”  In fact, the future tyrant accounted himself well.  For his part i the battle he earned the Iron Cross, Second Class.  “It was the happiest day of my life,” he corresponded, True, most of my comrades who had earning it just as much were dead.”  Of the 3,600 men in Hitlers unit, the List Regiment, 700 had died fighting for Gheluvelt.
 

Image Source: (http://www.wfrmuseum.org.uk)

We learned from a young age not to touch the stove when it’s hot, but these days I tend to hurt myself a lot. What am I supposed to do when the pain’s inside? There’s nowhere I can run and hide when the battle I fight is against myself.

The blood of my enemies runs through my own veins; how do I stop myself—how do I take the reins?

In myself I’d like to find a friend, but my heart and my head won’t make amends, so I’m left tearing my skin apart to ask them why they leave words of agreement left unspoken when God knows all I need is for them to agree and put me out of this anxious misery, this crave for love left unfulfilled, the only kisses from my kindergarten scissors—once cut patterns into paper now carve patterns into skin.

I need airholes in my veins to let the pain breathe, to let it seep out when I’m in most desperate need of a sky-blue mind—gusts of wind to chase the dark clouds to a prison of the infinite kind, where they will never rain over me again.

Why didn’t I learn the lessons about pain, how inflicting it upon myself is arguably insane? I don’t want these scars to show.

I touched the stove when I was a child, but some fire must have entered me—a fire fierce and wild. It burns through my skin and ignites my heart, no this is not the end, this is the start. I’ve still got my passion, my paper, my pen—this is my battle, and badly is not how it will end.

— 

I can get through this.

~mgalaxy

Day 28 aka day of one of the last sketches

If you look at the drawing you MUST listen to THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!

The battle wages on as cruel as it can be
swords slashing on the shields make sparks that fill the air
no holds barred here I nearly lost my ring
my friends are on the ground itʼs time for me to hit

My arms get stronger and stronger
with every breath I take
I feel the power of this sword
through my veins