The era of canon was mature ever since the formulation of gunpowder matured earlier in China. Heavy iron forged in the sweat and determination of nations trying to win the title, ‘King of the world’.

Water and rust; corrosion was the cost of destruction. Naval battle was more against the elements than the foes fighting in reply. The answer to such were the development of bronze weapons of destruction, even brass was a preferred metal.

The carriage was wooden carrying the Dutch made masterpiece into the theater of operations far away in a country called, India. It was not alone as it traversed the cold terrain of the mountains with an accompaniment of four other carriages carrying canon along with powder, shot, ball, fuse, and soldiers determined to show the enemy the power of their mighty weapons.

Slowly the men and machines of death wound their way up a pass where on the other side there  awaited flame, honor, and death spitting from the mouth of war.

“Hey there, watch the lead,” the officer bellowed a reprimand to one of the men guiding the large Belgium horse leading its brethren .

“Yes sir,” and with some swearing and tap of his stick made the horse submit to his bidding.

The weather was white, cold, and the golden glow of the bronze canons reflected everything, even the feeble light shining on the scene. Soon it would be dark and all that would be seen would be some torches as the group sought the shelter of camp.

The next morning the men broke camp, the horses tethered to their cargo and the movement of war progressed back up the mountain.

Mighty this scene; sunlight now full and reflecting off the shimmering canon. The horses labor produce clouds of nostril steam accompanied by the swearing of the soldiers tending to the progress.

On mounted steed the officers smiled as they knew the coming battle would be wonderful indeed. There was honor and glory in death, especially when victorious over the enemy. It had always been this way and it always will be.

As the sun rose higher in the sky even with the coldness of the air some of the snow on the carriage and canon melted. There would be no corrosion this day as the bronze was an armor against something so trivial as water. Water… so simple that even a kiss from a sun located far away in the heavens could cause it to melt and flee with gravity.

High above the scene but far below the sun the mountains were heavy with snow. As the light hit the peaks it caused the wind to appear and play with the mountains. A wisp of snow flew across the sky and below the mounted officers smiled at the natural beauty.

It was simple and small with no witness other than the wind which nudged a piece of hard snow to fall from a drift high atop a rocky ledge. This small piece fell and rolled, dislodging other pieces of snow which in turn gathered more friends in white, until the whole world noticed a mountain of snow dislodge and plummet in a fury of wind, clouds, snow, sound, speed, and death.

The army had no chance, no chance at all other than to have chosen not to travel a mountain pass in winter. Better they had stayed at garrison and dream of war as now they were to be nothing more than added victims.

A mountain of snow came to rest on the army. All were covered and dead. The men, horses, gear, canon; all covered leaving nothing but wind playing with mountain tops and a broken surface of now motionless snow.

Far below the surface of snow rested five bronze canon, secure from the elements and forever more silent. Now entombed with their masters for an eternity or until the sun allowed them to once more be a part of the world.