marching troops

As a kid when I would hear the army troops marching in movies chanting “left, left, left, right, left” I thought that people in the army had to take three left steps before moving their right legs and I thought they must be very talented but it seemed like a silly thing to learn.

Juana Galán was known for beating Napoleon’s troops out of her village during the Battle of Valdepeñas in June, 1808. There weren’t enough men to defend the village from invading French. Juana, 21, immediately rallied all of the women in the village. When the French troops marched in, the women dumped boiling oil on top of them. Juana stood in the street with a large club and beat any French soldier that crossed her path. 


The year is 1755, and 17-year-old Clarke Griffin has just gotten married to her best friend when English troops march on the French-Canadian colony of Acadia, claiming everything in the name of the King of England. Clarke is separated from her husband of just a few hours and forced to flee her home with Raven and Luna. She travels all over America looking for the family that was taken from her, meeting up with Octavia in Louisiana, and never stopping her search for Bellamy.

a/n: Based on the epic poem Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie by Henry Longfellow. This story is a well-known part of my heritage, and I couldn’t help but imagine it as a Bellarke fic. It fits them perfectly.

In the village of Grand-Pré, the are crickets chirping in the distance, and the early autumn air is brisk as it blows around her, carrying all the traces of a harsh Canadian winter, but all Clarke can focus on are the two warm arms wrapped around her and the man that sits behind her, her chin resting on her shoulder, and his dark curly hair tickling her neck.

“One more day,” she says excitedly in a hushed tone.

“Less than one day,” he replies, kissing her shoulder.

She looks up and takes in the countless stars that twinkle above them, the crescent moon that shines just bright enough for them to see. Bellamy holds Clarke to his chest as they sit under a large apple tree, cloaked at once by the darkness and the branches that droop with heavy fruit.

“I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow,” she says, turning her head to find his lips.

He kisses her, slow and sweet, and lies back, pulling her down with him. She’s half on top of him, her hands on his shoulders as he continues to move his mouth slowly over hers. His hand slides up her back, over the fabric of her dress, but under the light shawl she wears to shelter herself from the wind. His fingers massage the base of her neck lovingly.

“I love you,” he says, looking at her fondly.

Her chest feels so full with what she feels for this man. In all her seventeen years, she’s never felt as much love as she feels for Bellamy Blake. She runs her fingers through his messy hair, flicking away a long strand of grass that lodged itself in his inky curls.

“I love you, too,” Clarke says, and he kisses her nose. Clarke curls into his side, her head on his chest, and she listens to his rhythmic breathing, the steady beating of his heart. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip.

He lifts her chin with his index so that he can look into her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but he already knows.

“The ships,” she admits. “Daddy says that they’ve been anchored in the mouth of the river for four days.”

“Clarke,” he says, running his hand through her long blonde hair. “Don’t worry about the ships. I’m here, and I’ll protect you from whatever the English ships could bring. I will always be with you. I promise,” he vows solemnly.

“I should get home,” she says, making to stand. “It’s almost midnight, and it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding.”

The smile the spreads across his face could light up the night.

“Get some rest, my darling,” Bellamy says sweetly, hand still cradling her face. “Sleep, and don’t worry about the ships or the English men, or anything other than looking beautiful tomorrow.”

She hides her face against the crook of his neck.

“I’ve never been so happy, Bell.”

“Me neither,” he says, helping her to her feet. She brushes off her blue cotton dress and stepping forward to wipe his shirt clean.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.

“I’ll be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.”

Read the rest on AO3.

rewatching War Games

What would Stephen Beck have had to do to become a barrister in Britain after leaving Germany, I wonder? He says he and his wife left Germany in February 1935, and she died in March 1936.  And she was English… maybe they had spent time in Britain earlier?

Wow, does Devlin really not notice how much Foyle despises him?

LFox (Nazi Hathaway) is so teeny tiny here.

SAM with the salvage-mad kids - “All right, troops. Quick march. And hands out of your pockets.”  <3

HI MISS PIERCE! Entering to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” and her face first seen in the mirror over the organ.

Awwwwkwarrrrd meeting of Devlin and Milner. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Milner says - from whom, I wonder? Not Foyle, it doesn’t seem.  Maybe Rivers? 

Even more awkward car ride to the Home Office HQ, with Devlin snarking Foyle’s buddy Stephen Beck and Foyle pointedly bringing up Devlin’s last case.

“I don’t have ideas; I’m only the referee.” BURN.

Devlin: You don’t think IIII could have anything to do with it?!
Foyle: Well, I have to ask. [dumbass.]

Walker: You and I don’t matter. The war doesn’t matter. Business will go on.
Foyle: …thank you for that fascinating insight.

Beck: Can we tell him?
Miss Pierce: No.
Beck: But I think we will anyway.

Beck: You have been a good friend to me, Christopher. I will miss our fishing trips together.  I will miss you.


PALPATINE, JAR JAR, BAIL ORGANA and the OTHER SENATORS, with TWO ROYAL GUARDS, stand looking down at the square below. TENS OF THOUSANDS OF CLONE TROOPS are drawn up in a strict formation or move forwards in near files to climb the ramps of the Military Assault Ships. On the balcony, PALPATINE’S expression is deeply sad. Everyone watches somberly as, in the square, loaded Assault Ships take off. Other land immediately in their place. The sky above is thick with transports. CLONE TROOPS march and board the Ships. The Great Clone War has begun…

Familiar faces


Days were fairly busy at the camp: she’d only arrived to the location recently, and she was already getting busy. Hunting and foraging for the soldiers’ meals, marking safe paths for the troops to march through, lots of reports to write… Life with the Inquisition never got boring.

Certainly not in the least boring when out of nowhere they found themselves under attack.

It’d been one of the sentries that had sounded the alarm, right before an arrow had pierced through his neck. Shortly after, the Inquisition camp had become a site of chaos: a fifth of the tents were on fire, the clash of swords and shields could be heard everywhere along with blasts of magic and flying arrows.

Aylen was in the middle of it: having already emptied her quiver from arrows, she resorted from picking those in the ground and sticking from bodies to shoot them back to the enemy. Pick, draw, shoot, repeat. Her breathing had turned to rapid panting, throat dry and legs burning from running, ducking, kicking when she had to: but the fight wouldn’t stop, and so she wouldn’t either.

Her eyes caught sight of a pair of men in bloodied armour and shouting in a frenzy running in direction to a group of Inquisition men with their backs to them; but she found no arrows at arm’s reach to shoot at them. Shit. Shit shit shit shit- oh never mind, one fell just a few feet ahead of her. She rushed towards it and grabbed it, immediately shooting it at the one that was closest to reaching the recruits.

Airstrikes Target Rebel-Held Damascus Suburb of Arbin

Activists in the opposition-held Damascus suburb of Arbin reported strikes on the town on Friday, March 24, amid heavy fighting between rebel forces and troops loyal to the Syrian government in east Damascus.

Syria’s state-run SANA reported heavy fighting in Jobar, a short distance from Arbin, on March 23, saying government troops had inflicted “heavy losses” on rebel forces in the area. Credit: Video 1: SMO Syria || Video 2: Syrian Civil Defense in Rif Dimashq via Storyful

IRAQ. Baghdad governorate. Baghdad. April 22, 2007. members of the 82nd Airborne, 1-325, Delta Company on patrol on the streets of Khadamiya. 

Such patrols were often very dangerous for the troops. In March 2008, for example, five US soldiers were killed by a suicide bomber while on patrol in Baghdad. Three other troops and an Iraqi interpreter were also injured in the blast.

Photograph: Michael Kamber for The New York Times

what if, instead of only a Death By Mail, Kal’Reegar and his squad had become the only quarian-reaper troops?

imagine the final battle at earth (you know, the one with like 4 banshees), and in a wave, there marches in these troops you’ve never seen before. if you have tali with you, she’ll just gasp in terror. all other companions will express disgust or horror. if you target the right one, the health bar will say ‘Kal’Reegar’.

British Indian soldiers parading through a city. Date unknown.

As Britain and France waged war against Germany in Europe and in Africa, Britain called upon help from her Imperial troops. Indian soldiers in the Indian Army arrived in Europe from September 1914. The first of these Indian troops arrived in Marseilles on 26 September 1914. They came from the Lahore and Meerut Divisions and the Secunderbad Cavalry. In October, Indians were fed into some of the fiercest fighting at Ypres. In March 1915, Indian troops provided half the attacking force at the Battle of Neuve Chapelle, which was one of the costliest in terms of lives.