McKasey in Hand-to-Hand
By Grant Fleming (Alpha)
A Ballad of the Wolfbane Clans - with apologies to Ernest L. Thayer
It looked extremely rocky for the Wolfbane Clan that day;
Several Hussars stood against them with little terrain along the way.
And then when Conner died to rifle fire, and Angus did the same,
A dreadful silence fell upon the ranks of the Wolfbane.
A straggling few turned and fled, leaving there the rest
to draw upon the fire that burns in all true Clansmen's breast;
They thought if only McKasey's men could somehow make a stand
They'd put all of their money on the Wolfbanes in Hand-to-hand.
But Finn preceeded McKasey, and likewise did Munro,
And the former was a fearful sort and the latter was too slow;
So across that silent multitude grim melancholy fanned
For there seemed little chance of McKasey getting into hand-to-hand.
But Finn charged the sergeant, to the wonderment of all,
And overweight Munro caused the HMG to fall;
When the dust had lifted, and the men saw what went down,
Two Wolvesbanes were still standing and two Hussars on the ground.
Then from 5,000 throats there rose a fearsome yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell,
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled across the land,
For McKasey, mighty McKasey, was advancing into hand-to-hand.
There was power in McKasey's stride as he charged toward the foe;
There was fury in his voice and in his eyes a fiery glow.
And, inspired by his battle cry, out poured the Wolfbane band,
No Hussar on the line could face McKasey in Hand-to-hand.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he dashed across the field;
Five thousand voices gasped at the mighty claymore he did wield.
Then when the desperate Hussar grabbed for the pistol on his hip ,
Defiance gleamed in McKasey's eye and a sneer curled 'cross his lip.
And now a vicious hail of fire came hurtling through the air,
but McKasey strode forward in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the mighty Clansman the Hussar's bullets sped-
Then McKasey swung the claymore wildly by the Hussar's head.
From the trenches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the Hussar!" shouted the ranks of the Wolfbane
And mighty, mighty McKasey raised the clan sword once again.
Light danced upon the gleaming blade raised high up in the air;
And from the Bauhaus ranks came whispers of despair;
He closed on the Hussar, and once more brought the claymore down;
But McKasey's mighty stroke cleaved nothing but the ground.
"Vae Victis!" cried the Clansmen, and the echo answered back;
And then they held their breath as the Wolfbane hero attacked.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they heard his battle-roar,
And they knew mighty McKasey wouldn't miss the Hussar any more.
The sneer is gone from McKasey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He swings his massive claymore to seal the Hussar's fate.
And now the Hussar holds the gun, and the bullets go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of McKasey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children play;
But there is no joy in the Winter Den - mighty McKasey got blown away.
