Romance, the Bait
The Ingenue sighed. She said “How romantic they are! Mounted so tall on their steeds, uniforms shining, swords glittering! The best of the best!” She twirled her parasol. “And they are all so interested in me! Such brave men! Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori!” She flicked a lock of her auburn hair. “Off to the front of the War to End All Wars! I am sure that they’ll make short work of the Second Mechanised Infantry. What chance have tanks and machine guns against horses and swords?” She pirouetted. “They have invited me to dine with the regiment this evening. I think I shall attend.”
The Ingenue’s Sister ran up to her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook hard. “NO, dear sister, don’t go!” The Sister’s blouse was torn, her arms and face were bruised, her dress in shreds, a smear of dried blood on her inner thighs. “You have no idea, no idea, no idea what they’ll do to you!”
Moral: Romanticism is not your friend.
The regiment went from what they thought was one victory to what they thought would be another.