Gallipoli

We fell ashore at Cape Helles, fresh meat for a foreign field, assembled in the dark of night amidst the sounds of confusion. With shiny rifles and polished boots we passed the maimed and the dying - foul green-black bandages of gangrene, the blinded, the amputated and the mad. The quiet terrors of the screaming heart whistled fears upon our muddied march, we grimly silent obedient slaughter-beef imbued with duty, honour and discipline. Past debris on stone terrain steel ridges cratered, scarred, blasted, smashed and smeared with brown bones and the flesh rotting stench of old arrows on HQ maps. Ahead the flaring rumbling flashing burning Front - an evil churning charnel maw of ferocious hunger- bullet, bayonet, bomb, sword, grenade and shell - a roaring furnace of Man, fed with coals of men.