Serving in cavalry is something unique, something that surpasses the normal dimension of service in arms. Who belongs "to the noble weapon" with time matures an awareness of itself and a spirit of belonging more unique than rare realizing day by day to be a son legitimate of the heroes of the past.
During the hours spent on horseback, during intense days in operation or in training, one wonders how their ancestors could have lived in arms, how they used to spend their time, in the end how it must have been a tactical military activity riding a proud steed.
If you try to squint your eyes, the miracle of perceiving the intensity of the smells in the Friulian countryside may occur, the earth throws the mixed scent of the mist and the macerated grass into the air, while from a few chimneys a thick white smoke snorts slowly and mixes. to the gray blanket of an October morning.
The departments after having silently climbed the noisy wave of infantrymen and salutes of the 2 ^ and 3 ^ Armata stand in a small town a few kilometers from Udine, Pozzuolo del Friuli, the tasks are confused, in four days what was to be a position defense turned into a strategic retreat first and then into a real escape.
The avant-gardes of the Brigade burst into the practically deserted country, the echo of the clattering of hooves bounces off the white and green walls of lime and mold, many villagers left as a result of the Army in folding, also crowded the few bridges over the Tagliamento, refugees from a strange war of which until that moment only the roar of the cannon in the distance and the hunger pangs had provided a measure.
The patrols note the presence of several courtyards and a fair visibility in the north-east, we just have to return to report.
What the commanders said and did is certainly engraved in history and in official reports, it is difficult to imagine the mood of the Dragons and Lancers, waiting, standing in place on their horses.
Someone whispers to have seen in the distance the reconnaissance nucleus that makes return to trot, in each a breath of relief, no enemies, Pozzuolo is still clear, to this thought a cold trickles the cheeks of all, perhaps an omen, perhaps a return to reality, if the country is free from enemies, the battle will infuriate you soon.
The helmets slowly bowed as if under the weight of a powerful hand, while from the froge of the steeds a hot steam came out and mingled with the mist that was increasing in density.
The move towards Pozzuolo was ordered and rapid, two platoons in front, the big one in the middle and the sides well covered by guard squadrons, to close the marching column and a thin security core that could react to eventual encircling.
Entered the country, the cadenced orders were repeated to house horses and men in the various courtyards, the defense was organized.
The individuals could not clearly understand the reasons for that deployment which was nevertheless realized in a logical and meticulous manner.
The broken forms of the buildings and the fog did not allow to appreciate the crescent created in order to contain the impending shock wave, however the confidence towards the commanders was full and aware, as was the belief that many would die .
The duties of the knight help to overcome the magone that precedes the battle, the horse must be looked after, controlled and the same applies to saddle and harness, then move on to weapons, oiled and arranged ready for effective use.
The darkness of the night came suddenly, no fires to keep warm, the blanket on his shoulders, some bread and that damned broth already prepared in the morning, cold and bitter like that day of waiting.
A night without stars was proposed for those who will be there in a few hours the heroes of Pozzuolo, a fine drizzle alternated with a wind stretched from the south, humid air, miasmi of human and horse excrement were condensing together, maybe it would have been the case of ending it and going to the battle, the memory of the trenches on the Karst was alive in everyone's mind, when they had to abandon the horses, after taking Gorizia, remaining in line like the foot soldiers, losing their operational peculiarities, canceling their dignity as knights.
As the thoughts thickened and disappeared between a guard shift and a fake rest the new dawn appeared, reflection gave way to action in a daily life full of expectations and bad omens; the first rumors were made, two divisions or more had traveled the valleys of Judrio and Natisone, arrived on the Tower were preparing to overwhelm the lowlands.
Some blasphemy gave way to resignation and while eating some bread they tried to steer the horses.
The cadenced sound of the first clogs gave the idea that the reconnaissance cores were ready, seeing them start a strange desire to fight hit everyone, it was time.
A few minutes, maybe a few hours, the time was compressed and dilated, the captain orders: "a cavallooo" and the cornet repeats the order, as in an echo everything seems to come alive the same way, that invisible hand that bent the head day before the stagnant air of the village of Pozzuolo was stirring, the squadron, mounted and ready, moves north or at least so says the sergeant, you do not see the Banner, the only thing you feel, ever closer, is the Chera of death that sings along with the Austrian machine gun, the fear has given way to madness, this time too, perhaps for the last time, the horses stretch the trot, the phone has not been heard nor the order, but progressively the trot becomes gallop, the lance in remains, the wrists are bad, the block of platoon is torn, cold mud raised by those forward splashes on the face, there is no time to remove it, the gallop is not very controlled, we see them, they are standing there like boulders, la la ncia fluctuates, it must be held firm and ready for the crash, with what we do not know, the first gusts arrive, horses and riders fall, but the bump is good, the machine guns are silent a few seconds, another platoon arrives from the flank opponents, you fight, the day will be long and death will come sooner or later.
