☄️ Unto the Senseless Breach

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

King Henry V unleashes these words from a commanding position above battle-worn troops, clad in a mix of modified urban camouflage. Rolling fog creates palpable unease and tension.

The King offers up the alternative:

Or close the wall up with our English dead!

Some choice.

Rousing the basest of emotions, he calls:

In there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger.

I sat this weekend in The Chicago Shakespeare Theater, letting these words slam into me. I was captivated by the genius of Elijah Jones, the young star playing the king, and the brilliant cast around him.

I didn't need to catch every word to feel every word.

---

After the play ended, I moderated a panel with Edward Hall, the theater's Artistic Director, and two fellow veterans, Kaedy and Chuck. There were some obvious themes to explore, like leadership and nationalism, and the easy back and forth made for compelling conversation among the panelists.

And then Edward said something that struck a sharp chord. The infamous Battle of Agincourt, the focus of the play, didn't actually matter in the long run.

Sure, the battle galvanized the English and became the stuff of legend when they snatched victory despite being vastly outnumbered. But it wasn't long before France fought back and won the Hundred Years' War. And the "heroic" Henry who fought hand-to-hand alongside his troops and stalked the campgrounds to understand and motivate his men? He died of dysentery a few years later after another battle.

One of our panelists had deployed to Afghanistan, another Vietnam, and I to Iraq. We know a thing or two about what it means to contribute to battles that, in time, can feel as if they meant so little.

Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage

So the king continues.

How very much of our nature do we disguise when we enlist. How readily we favor our rage.

And, hand-to-hand or not, we are never the same for it.

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