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March 23, 2009 | by  | in Opinion |
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The Battle of the Four Armies

When one thinks of Salient, surely the image of a mighty Haast’s Eagle swooping in on its prey, in unison with a velociraptor and a kitteh, springs to mind. Such a leathally explosive trifecta of powers is indeed contained within the hearts and souls of Salient writers and in the solemn pages of this magazine.

Such fearsome respect has Salient accumulated in its seventy-one years of publication—that when one of the minor clubs on campus declared war on us, we brushed the threat away, as one does the crumbs of a fine sally lunn bun at a pic-i-nic with your grandmother at some remote rest area.

However in the spirit of journalistic integrity, Salient decided to partake in a battle against the club only known as ALF’s Imperial Army.

The Salient Division commanded by General Jackson James Wood supported by the command team of Tristan Egarr, Michael Langdon (Super Saiyan level 2) and Sarita Lewis, marched to the Terrace Gardens. Singing sweet songs of freedom, we ensured civilians passed without harm.

When we arrived on the battlefield, the dogs of war KAOS were present. After a series of prelimanary exchanges, whereupon ALF’s and Salient argued about the terms of war, surrender and aquiesence, KAOS offered their services in the impending battle. ALF’s offered the princely price of twenty chocolate fish. Salient out-bargined the imperial forces and offered a colour page in the fine, virtuous and non-corrupt publication of Salient.

Battle ensued. ALF’s opened up an artillery barrage, dusting the Salient/KAOS forces with ash and debris.

At the halftime break, ALF’s was joined by The Order of the Rabid Weasels, a sly bunch of brave knights allied to the Queen’s men. Their swords and shields crumbled under the might of the Salient/KAOS axis, who incessently pummled their foe until casualty rates of well over 795 per cent were reached on the enemies’ side.

At the end of the battle, with all options run out, all avenues blockaded, and all their underhanded tactics exhausted, the ALF’s/Weasel alliance crumbled. In pools of their own pity they lay, lamenting their woebegone imperialist ways, praying to the sweet gods of justice, democracy and freedom to be put out of their misery quickly—lest they recant their revelations of revolution.

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About the Author ()

The editor of this fine rag for 2009.

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