War Stories From Long Ago...

[Frederich Von Teufel]

Many don't know this, but I've been writing stories about my life for a long time. It's less of a diary and more of a monologue that I write for an audience of one and should come as no surprise to anyone that the SCA has been featured in them often.

Tonight I was going through some of my work from years ago and came across this account, written in August of 2002 after coming back from Pennsic. It's embarassingly honest, but sometimes a story that isn't shared is a story that dies.

*****
During Pennsic 30, I fought in a resurrection battle that went on for (if I remember correctly) 90 minutes. I believe it was the Mountain Pass Battle. Atlantia was tasked with holding the southern-most pass and I, of course, was fighting spear.

For those who don't know, Atlantia has a "rest on the line" policy. If you are killed, you don't go back to the resurrection point and rest there, you rez, then go back to the line where you rest nearby. This makes it look like the line is denser and is likely to stave off an attack just from appearances.

I'm one of the few people able to fight equally well lefthanded or right with a spear (or so it seems from appearances. I certainly don't have to fight for room when I'm on the left flank shooting lefthanded.) Since I'm one of the few, our left flank was weak of spears for the entirety of the battle. So, "resting on the line" turned into "immediately get back to fighting" for most of the battle.

So the archers killed me, and I rezzed. I would kill opposing shieldmen, the archers would kill me, and I rezzed. I would kill opposing spearmen, the archers would kill me, and I rezzed. I would be unable to keep my mouth shut on the line, begin being an effective line commander, the archers would kill me, and I'd go rez.

For 90 minutes.

The last ten minutes is the worst, because that's when the Atlantian Plan goes into effect. A series of Pulse Charges is begun, designed to drive back and confuse the enemy line. The fighting is furious, tight, and punishing. Every foot of ground is contested. But it works. I costs lives, bruises, and injuries aplenty, but it works.

I still recall the immense sense of relief when the canon went off, signalling the end of the battle. I slowly walked back to the resurrection area, where I slowly and carefully took off my helmet, gently laid down and, while gazing up at the vividly blue sky, began to softly cry.

I have no recollection of every feeling quite so bone-deep weary, before or since. I found myself intensely pleased just to be alive, to feel the gentle breeze on my face, and to see the clouds drift high above me.

As I lay in the grass that day, it struck me then that there had been millions of warriors who had come before me, who had been in battles just as intense and wearying, who spent the last moments of their lives staring up at a sky much like this one.

But that wasn't why tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I cried not from sadness, but from joy, from pleasure.

It has been said that, only through a close brush with death can one appreciate life. It's trite, but I believe there is truth to it, for it is always easier to see light when it is compared against darkness, to know truth when it is compared to a lie. And it is easier to know that one is alive when you have been pushed to the limits of your abilities, or beyond those limits.

At the end of the movie "American Beauty", Kevin Spacey has this monologue...

I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst...and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life...You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry...

You will someday.
*****


Frederich

[Konstantin the Red]

That was... beautiful.

You needed someone playing something mournful on the pipes. If he can't muster up a piobaireachd, "Battle of the Somme" from the small-music (caol beg) would do.

(I'll not say how I teared up merely writing this.)