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Rated: E · Draft · Action/Adventure · #1009076
A Fictional account of a French soldier during the retreat from Moscow in the year 1812.
Edgar cursed! his breath formed a cloud in front of his face,the reason was Colonel Francois
had just orderd the entire Regiment off the frozen road into the snow at the side. Why? because now clattering along with their spiked shod hooves were the imperial escort of Napoleons
imperial guard, grim Polish Lancers with red facings and blue faces. The colonel called the entire regiment to attention salute" as a green
coach lit by four lanterns one on each corner and drawn by eight black horses thundered past.
Despite his discomfort Edgar felt a pang of awe
that a living legend was so close, "the little corporal!" a man who could make or break men as if they were toys, Edgars close companion George a massive Parisian glared after the coach and glanced at Edgar, I'll bet he's not cold" the little git! but said with a small wiry almost affectionate smile. alons! mes braves! the colonel was rallying the regiment back onto the hard icy road, sargeants cajoled the dark mass into some kind of order and small drummer boys looking totaly miserable prepared to mark the start of march.
A bird looking down on this eery white landscape
would have been amazed at this dark coiling snake
which wound and wound its way along a glittering silver highway. And on this highway it is where this story will take you because Edgar now marches with the grand armee on its fateful,tragic end.
© Copyright 2005 Steven Berry (butcher42 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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