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over beyond. It's January the 22nd, 1879.

On the vast plains of Zulu land, southwestern Africa,

a British army camp lies in the shadow of a giant rocky outcrop.

Crickets chirp loudly and the dry grass.

Their high-pitched hum has been a familiar backdrop to this entire campaign.

Overhead, a vulture circles lazily, searching for its next meal.

At dawn, Lord Chelmsford, the man in charge of the invading force led a column of around two and a half thousand men down the wide cattle track leading to a deep river bank.

A combination of British infantry and local conscripts of the Natal native contingent

or NNC, they headed out to attack some Zulu, spotted hiding along in the ravine.

Here in the camp, the mood is cheerful among the thousand or so men staying behind.

Their command is to defend their position against a possible

but highly unlikely Zulu assault.

Despite the rising heat, Colonel Henry Poulaine shrugs on his heavy red tunic and fixes his white belt around the waist.

...