Quotes About Battle

A battle in the shield wall. It's smelling your enemy's breath while he tries to disembowel you with an axe, it's blood and shit and screams and pain and terror. It's trampling in your friends' guts as enemies butcher them. It's men clenching their teeth so hard they shatter them. Have you ever been in a battle?

Serpent-Breath was in my hand and anger in my soul.

We might know how it ends, but like all good stories it bears repetition. So here it is again, the story of a battle.

Kill them! I shouted and put my spurs back. Kill them. This is what the poets sing about. At night, in the hall, when the hearth smoke thickens about the beams and the ale-horns are filled and the harpist plucks his strings, the songs of battle are sung. They are the songs of our family, of our people, and it is how we remember the past.

Ravn had given me much advice and all of it was good, but now, in the night wind, I remembered just one thing he had said to me on the night we first met, something I had never forgotten. Never, he had said, never fight Ubba.

Cnut Longsword had near killed me with his blade Ice-Spite and it was small consolation that Serpent-Breath had sliced his throat in the same heartbeat that his sword had broken a rib and pierced my lung.

An enemy sees his attackers laughing? It is better than all the insults. A man who laughs as he goes into battle is a man who has confidence, and a man with confidence is terrifying to an enemy. "For the whore!" I shouted.

The shield wall reeks of shit, and all a man wants is to be home, to be anywhere but on this field that prepares for battle, but none of us will turn and run or else we will be despised for ever. We pretend we want to be there, and when the wall at last advances, step by step, and the heart is thumping fast as a bird's wing beating, the world seems unreal.

We were three ships in a summer's dawn, and we were going to battle.

Defend what's left. You can have fifty men." "Fifty! That's not enough..." "Forty," I snarled, "and if you lose the fort I'll cut your kidneys out and eat them." We were at war.

No man wanted to face warriors like Finan in battle.

We were the wolf pack, we were the killers of Britain, we had fought from the south coast of Wessex to the northern wilds, from the ocean to the sea, and we had never been beaten, and these men knew it.

Next time we fight the Danes you'll be with me. You? Because we are warriors, I said, and our job is to kill our enemies, not be nursemaids to weaklings.

I stood on the dead horse and spread my arms. I held the shield high to my left and the sword to my right, and my mail coat was spattered with blood and the snow fell about my wolf-crested helmet and all I knew was the young man's joy of slaughter. I killed Ubba Lothbrokson! I shouted at them. I killed him! So come and join him! Taste his death! My sword wants you!

Till time ended, Baird suspected, there would be uses for a man and his sword. He

Vi que Cippanhamm estava pegando fogo. A fumaça escurecia o céu de inverno e o horizonte estava cheio de homens, homens montados, homens com espadas, machados, escudos, lanças e estandartes, e mais cavaleiros vinham da porta leste, trovejando sobre a ponte. Porque as orações de Alfredo haviam falhado e os dinamarqueses tinham vindo a Wessex.

we fight them where we choose or where we must, not always when we want.

You can't take a city without shedding blood.

If the Danes come, he spoke to Wulfhere, you must let me fight. You don't know how to fight. Then you must teach me. He slid Serpent-Breath back into the scabbard. Wessex needs a king who can fight, he said, instead of pray.

So you know it was a glorious battle, Hook, in which God favoured the English, but God's favour is a fickle thing.' 'Are you telling me He's not on our side?' 'I'm telling you that God is on the side of whoever wins, Hook.

St George!' the English shouted, but the saint must have been sleeping for he gave the attackers no help.

Father Hobbe, his cassock skirts hitched up to his waist, was fighting with a quarterstaff, ramming the pole into French faces. 'In the name of the Father,' he shouted, and a Frenchman reeled back with a pulped eye, 'and of the Son,' Father Hobbe snarled as he broke a man's nose, 'and of the Holy Ghost!

I had unlaced my cheek-pieces, let them see the blood on my face, see the blood on my mail, the blood on my hands. I was a man of gold and of blood. I was a lord of war and I was filled with the rage of battle. The enemy were ten paces away and I walked five of those paces so that I stood alone, facing them. This, I snarled at them, is my rock.

Mas então ouvimos o rugido de batalha, de homens gritando do outro lado do portão da cidade, e vimos nossos francos derrotados correrem da frente da muralha para se juntar