The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards - For the Fallen / Flowers of the Forest (2008)
Words, "For the Fallen": Laurence Binyon
Music, "Flowers of the Forest": Traditional
from: "Spirit of the Glen: Journey" (CD)
Pipes | Scottish | Military | Requiem | Spoken Word
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(left click = play)
(320kbps)
Spoken Word by James Naughtie
Produced and Arranged by Jon Cohen
'For the Fallen', Poem Spoken Over a Solo Piper.
Recorded on a Military Runway in Basra, Iraq.
For the Fallen (excerpt)
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
by Laurence Binyon (1914)
Chapter four is here guys! I'm so happy you're enjoying the story because I've been having a lot of fun writing it! I want to say thank you again to @dw-writes for being an amazing beta! You are freakin' awesome and I love you.
-H❤🖖
Hollow Castle Masterlist
The trek to medical was a long one. They were no longer in easy territory; Reaper couldn’t help but compare it to one of those old games he played as a kid. Shaking his head, John led the team through the halls at a snail’s pace. The corridors went from decorated and vibrant to the stark clean white of a medical facility.
‘Well, I suppose they were clean at one point in time,’ John thought with a tired sigh.
Chekov, who had managed to keep up with John’s fast pace, looked up from his PADD. The kid blanched at what was in front of them. Wrinkling his nose, John and his finer sense of smell could definitely confirm that the walls were covered in blood and feces. Not to mention the bits and pieces of people that had been discarded and left behind to rot.
Chekov swallowed thickly, looking green around the gills. John was impressed; the first time he had ever seen anything like this he threw up. Twice. Though that was two lifetimes ago.
Pausing, John nudged Chekov gently. “Breathe through your mouth,” he advised and the boy did just that. Tilting his head to the side, John looked over his shoulder to check on the others,
“Jesus,” Lawrence muttered, covering his nose and mouth with a gloved hand.
Bitar sidled up next to him, eyeing the mess ahead of them with a slight grimace on her face. “I think God left this place a long time ago, Gabe,” she whispered with a shake of her head.
“Damn,” Jim whispered from John’s left, his eyes wide, his face growing pale. Pressing his lips together, Jim cleared his throat. “We, uh, getting closer to the signal, Pavel?” he asked quietly.
The young Russian nodded, gripping the PADD tightly in his hands.
John moved forward, making sure to keep only a couple of feet ahead of the group, far enough to take the brunt of an oncoming attack, and close enough to run back if he really needed to. He gave each room they came across a quick check. Poking his head into what looked to be an empty exam room, John stopped short. Frowning he stepped further into the room with his weapon raised.
“Bones?”
John grunted, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the trail of blood dripping down from a ventilation shaft. He twitched ever so slightly as Jim moved into the room cautiously. “What do you got?” he asked quietly.
Reaper moved around the exam table. Kneeling down, he pulled a knife from his boot.
A gagging noise erupted from behind him. “What the hell - what is that?” Jim groaned, turning away from the bloody mess on the floor.
John took the knife and moved around the bits of what used to be the remains of a human torso. Open and practically cleaned out, upon closer inspection, John noticed something odd. Leaning closer, he saw bloody footprints leading from the body and up the wall where they disappeared into the vent. They were small, almost childlike. His stomach dropped, ‘oh I’m not liking this at all.’ he thought, grinding his teeth. Standing abruptly, John grabbed Kirk’s arm and led him out of the room,
“Human torso. Fresh, we need to go,” He growled out, sending Kirk stumbling forward into a bewildered away team. His inner “Red Alert” system had been going off throughout this entire disaster, and it had just gotten louder. He was kicking himself. He’d figured that his raised hackles were due to the situation but no. That wasn’t it at all. They were being watched, hunted. Cursing under his breath, John looked over at Jim, who had a concerned and questioning gaze. Pressing his lips into a line, John urged everyone onward. “We’re being watched,” he whispered to Beckworth and Kirk. Both men tensed at his words. “We need to keep moving.” he barked, raising his rifle again.
They moved quickly and quietly down the corridor leaving bloody boot prints in their wake.
Three rights and a left turn later, John skidded to a stop. Low growls and the smell of death made him freeze at the corner. Holding up a fist letting the others know to stop, John, without saying a word, looked back and tapped his ear, then pointed to the corridor they needed to go down.
Beckworth nodded then gave a silent order to his two subordinates, “Cover the rear.”
Peering around the corner, John spotted half a dozen infected. They were in a sleeping state, standing on their feet like horses, hibernating until a fresh meal caught their attention. Frowning, John bit the inside of his cheek. His mind churned, trying to come up with the best way to deal with the block in their path without the others coming to harm or alerting every demon and its mother to their location.
Reaper let out a frustrated huff. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim and scowled, showing the captain his displeasure.
Kirk grimaced and mouthed, “That bad?”
John looked back at the milling group of demons, then back at Jim. The look he gave his friend was clear: “I can do it but it’s gonna cause problems.”
He beckoned Beckworth over and let the security officer take a peek at what was around the corner. Henry looked at John with almost startled eyes. “And you’ve dealt with these before?” he asked, voice barely above a hissed whisper.
John shrugged. “Sort of. These are a new breed and made up of several different species. Some will be more difficult than others.” His murmured explanation made both Beckworth and Kirk wince. Reaper chewed on the inside of his cheek again, his mind made up.
Beckworth looked at him with a glint in his eyes. “You have a plan?” he asked. John shrugged, “I figured I’d do what Jim does. Wing it and hope it works. Hunker down in there,” he whispered, jerking his head in the direction of a door closest to them in the crowded hall.
Jim gave him a teasing glare before his face became serious. “You’re not going to seriously fight those things on your own, are you?” the captain hissed and Reaper gave Kirk a raised eyebrow that clearly said, “Yes and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Jim set his jaw and his mind raced as he tried to think of other options but there weren’t any. Cursing, Kirk looked down the corridor again and then at John. “Damnit fine. Don’t die or I’m gonna be pissed,” he growled while pointing an accusing finger at his friend.
Reaper gave a short nod. He looked over at the rest of the group who had been silent but were aware of the new plan. Taking a deep breath, John let Jim settle behind him, ready to lead the group into the cover of what looked to be a large supply room.
Taking a deep breath, John pulled a grenade from his belt. Pressing down on the button, he heard a faint beep and hum. Waiting for a breath, he tossed the grenade into the center of the small horde. Holding Jim back, John ducked his head just as the grenade went off. The ‘boom’ rang in his ears as it shook the walls around them.
“Move!” he shouted as he rounded the corner with his rifle raised. The demons, or what was left of them screamed and howled at John with rage. Without missing a beat he fired. The lower demons fell in bursts. The two knights roared and raced forward, ready to tear Reaper apart. He was ready for them.
Fixing his stance, John took a deep breath. His first thought was, ‘Fuck this is gonna hurt,’ his second was, ‘God I hope these guys were human.’
No such luck.
One barreled right into him like a linebacker. John’s breath wheezed out of him like air from a balloon. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the monster who sent him flying was green. Orion.
‘Fucking fantastic.’
Reaper collided with the supply room door with a painful bang, his beloved rifle sent flying. Pushing the pain away, John, in one motion, shot to his feet and pulled his handgun from its holster. Firing three shots, he managed to make the turned Orion stumble back in surprise. This gave him time to clock the other knight - who was currently trying to pull a pipe from the bloodied corridor wall - and decide his best course of action.
The Orion roared at him, sending spit flying in all directions. He was pissed. Rolling his eyes, John pivoted and kicked out. His boot made contact with the Hell Knight’s knee, causing the monster to fall to the ground. In one swift movement, John grabbed the creature by the neck and gave a firm twist. There was a sickening crack and the demon fell; its head was no longer connected to its spine. But, being as paranoid as he was, Reaper expertly reloaded his handgun and put two in the demon below him. One in the head, and one in the heart. The action was illogical as Spock would point out, but it made him feel better.
He didn’t relax though; the fight was far from over. John turned and raised his arm just as the second Hell Knight brought down a large water pipe Yelling out in pain, John felt his arm break. Though, he was just thankful it wasn’t his head that broke instead. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Looking closely at the Hell Knight, John knew this fight was going to be harder. This one had intelligence.
“Ah fuck me!” he growled upon seeing the “Section 31” badge stuck to the monster’s rotting flesh.
John gritted his teeth as he pushed back with force. The demon stumbled back and raised his weapon again. Rolling out of the way, John tucked his injured arm against his chest, he could already feel the bone knit itself back together. It was always an unusual sensation, as if his whole arm had gone to sleep but without it going numb. If fucking hurt like a bitch.
Panting, John glared at the demon before him. “Come on asshole, let’s get this over with,” he snarled, his hand slowly inching toward his belt. The ex-agent roared, raising his pipe again, then swung hard aiming for John’s legs.
Yelping, Reaper dove out of the way of the oncoming blow. He landed gracelessly on his back. Quickly, he twisted to his side, narrowly missing a fatal blow from Hell Knight above him. Startled muffled screams and a boom made Reaper momentarily freeze.
“BONES!” Jim Kirk’s scream made time come to a standstill.
Jumping to his feet, John barreled into the demon, sending them both crashing into the corridor wall. Pulling another SD grenade from his belt, John quickly pressed down on the button and shoved it into the demon’s rotting chest. Pushing away, John dove for the supply room door, where his crew was in danger.
A deafening boom and a burning heat licked his back, but he didn’t even feel the burn or the blood that coated him. He needed to get to them before the worst could happen.
----------oOo----------
Jim barreled into the dark supply room with Chekov right on his ass. Beckworth, Bitar, and Lawrence practically shoved them forward before sealing the door behind them. Jim squinted into the darkness, his antique gun raised only halfway.
“Nothing should get through that door,” Bitar said with a relieved sigh.
A loud bang echoed through the room as something big hit the door they had just come through, followed by a slew of muffled cursing. Chekov let out a soft chuckle and Jim had to smile a little.
“No matter what, it’s the same ol’ Bones,” he sighed with a shake of his head.
“Gabe, check the room. Lila, check for supplies,” Beckworth ordered and the two redshirts immediately moved out.
Jim raised his gun the rest of the way and followed the young security Ensign further into the room. This caused Beckworth to sigh in exasperation, no matter what he did the captain will always be beside his men. Not behind.
“I got the right. Gabe, you go left,” Kirk whispered.
The young man nodded, and swallowed hard, unable to speak. He was so damn scared. Taking a deep steadying breath, Gabriel Lawrence moved into the dark.
He wouldn’t say that he was the best in security. His mother was a high-ranking security officer back in her day, and she had high expectations for him. She was older when he was born. Her end goal wasn’t to raise children, she simply wanted to continue on with a big legacy. And Gabe refused to let his mother down. So, he went to the academy and entered the security track. if Gabe were to really choose what to do with his life, he would have been a chef. He loved to cook, he loved to make people happy with his cooking. He wanted to drop out and tell his mother what he really wanted to do, who he wanted to be; but they had gotten word that he was assigned to the Enterprise and she was so proud.
The Fleet’s flagship.
He didn’t have the heart or the courage to turn it down. So, he went. And there he was, walking through a dark supply room on a taken-over starbase with monsters from Hell. “This is just great Gabe, wonderful life choices,” he muttered to himself. A clang and shuffle made him stop short in his tracks.
Turning, he strained his ears, “Hello?” he called out, bending at the waist he kept his phaser up. He peeked and peered through the crowded shelves of the supply room only to see nothing at all. Another clamor made him stop and quickly twist around; shadows danced around him, skittering in and out between the shelves.
Cautiously moving forward, Gabe called out one more time, “Hello, is anyone there?” the sound of crying reached his ears. ‘Sounds like a kid,’ he thought as he rushed forward.
Sitting there in a small pool of light was a small child curled in on themself, shaking like a leaf, facing a blood-stained wall.
Moving closer, Gabe reached out a gentle hand. “Hey kiddo it’s okay you’re going to be-” he choked on his words as the little boy turned around.
Lawrence has never seen anything like that before. Yelping, he scrambled back, falling onto his ass. The little boy in front of him looked dead: skin gray and rotting; his once brown eyes dull and oozing dark blood. The boy gave a raspy giggle and a leery bloody smile. It all made the hairs on Gabe’s body stand on end. He raised his phaser at the boy with shaking hands. But the dead child in front of him wasn’t what made his blood freeze.
It was the sound of low growls and snickering coming from behind him. Slowly turning around, he saw them all. Small, hunched, bloody, and ready for a fresh meal. Gabe knew right at that moment that he was never going to make it off Genesis. ‘Hope I made you proud momma,’
Later when it was all said and done Jim Kirk stopped to talk to Admiral Lawrence, she responded to his question, “Were you proud?”
Her answer was and would always be, “I was proud of him no matter what he did. That boy was more than just a legacy, he was my whole world. And I regret every day that I didn’t tell him that enough.”
Jim refused to tell her how he died. How much he screamed, and how afraid he was. All Kirk would say was that, “Gabe was an amazing security officer, and that he saved them all from dying the same way he did.”
Kirk would sometimes flashback to that moment. He would remember Gabe's screams of pain and terror but before he could run to help him, a blast knocked him off his feet. Phaser overload.
Today’s poem was written by Laurence Binyon in September, 1914, when World War I was scarcely six weeks old. I doubt he could have imagined what would unfold. Nor, I suspect, that one verse of his poem (a little trite in its entirety) would develop an independent life and become the sombre and dignified watchword, the call and response, for generations still to come.
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Cannot send you the link but look up " herdenking wapenstilstand 2017 -remembrance day" username is "heyvie" thought you might like this. Check at about 15 mins in
Tim reading the fourth stanza from For The Fallen, which has become known as the Ode of Remembrance, at the Remembrance Day ceremony at The Menin Gate in Ypres, Belgium in 2017
