Romance,
the Bait
An
Underfable
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.
Commentary:
The regiment
went from what they thought was one victory to what they thought would be
another.
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