“I don’t know, sir. More banners?”
Major Signalflare scanned the grounds. Dark brick walls surrounded the plaza, each quadrant dressed in an obnoxious amount of battle flags.
“Perhaps, private.” The major rubbed his chin, cursing his short-sightedness.
“Could we station trumpeters along the balconies?” He waved a lazy hand. “Gold ones.”
“Trumpeters, sir?”
“The band, son! They played us into battle, let them play us into glory!” The major pointed at the grounds full of soldiers. And silence.
The major nodded. “Drape them.”
“Sir?”
“Pull the damn banners down and drape them over their bodies.”
The private left him, running.