he usually well behaved steed beneath Captain Tolliver begins to move back and forth. Despite the bit in its mouth, the horse bares its teeth and neighs a battle cry — its nostrils flared and widening.
Beads of sweat roll off Captain Tolliver’s brow and down his temple as he reaches for his sabre. He draws the sword from its sheath, points towards the heavens and whispers a silent prayer.
“Lord, guide us as the instruments of your divine will… and grant us victory over these savages…”
On the British bank of the Mvuzane, the infantry ranks hold fast as the approaching Zulu warriors hurl their assegai’s. Not one spear penetrates their formation.
Tolliver pulls hard on the reins, his horse rears and stands upright on its hind legs.
“For queen and country,” he yells, “FIRE!”