My DA Chief, a hero in his own right, and I have been discussing the Charge of the Light Brigade.  I spent the first 12 years of my life in a Commonwealth country so I was raised with quite a bit of British military history.  That and Smarties, Ovaltine, Horlivka, Bovril, Marmite, and a lot of harsh discipline. 

We are hardcore like that.  

Anyways, the Light Brigade was the cream of the British army.  Approximately 600 in strength, they were well trained and they, like the great Maryland Terrapins, wore red.

Like many instances I’ve experienced, they were given a vague order that was not only misinterpreted but also not clarified.  They were supposed to capture retreating cannon but ended up charging directly at entrenched artillery instead.  They rode for about a mile and a half facing fire from three sides.  All they were armed with were their sabers.  

Somehow, some of them made it to the cannons where they encountered the fierce Russian Cossack calvary.  And the Light Brigade were the ones to strike fear instead of the other way around.  More than decimated and badly wounded, they fought on.

Almost all of them died or were incapacitated.  But when the news of the suicidal screwups of screwups reached home, it was immortalized in paintings and Tennyson’s enduring poem.

A friend of mine told me how the goalie on his lacrosse team made incredible save after save and how that inspired the team to play better on offense.

When the Russians asked captured Brigade members how much alcohol they had consumed before the attack, they were astonished to hear the answer – none.

Courage goes a long way.

In everything.

And God save the King and the Commonwealth.