Sharpe's Exploits

[Steiner]

The initial volley made Sharpe flinch. A ball tore at his new jacket, and one slammed the scabbard of his sword back so that it struck his thigh. But he was unwounded.

The rest of the South Essex shuddered and moaned, like a beaten animal, but then they regrouped and came on. The French had fired their volley, the guns were pointed elsewhere and now the redoubt was theirs. And everyone knew it. Crapaud and Goddamn alike.

The first men of the Light Company sped ahead of Sharpe, younger than he and faster, but the Grenadiers were ready and sporadic musketry dropped them. Sharpe bellowed a challenge as he reached the stone wall, a survivor of the charge boosting him up. Bayonets reached for him and one tangled in his jacket, but failed to find flesh. The heavy cavalry sword swept down, crunching through bone and flesh, and he kicked forward with a boot, knocking the other man back. In the gap, a redcoat leaped forward, was bayonetted and dropped - but the next fell on the Grenadier before he could free his weapon and tore the man to pieces.

Sharpe felt his boots hit the wooden pallisade behind the redoubt and turned to face apalled Grenadiers, struggling to cope with the fact that the Goddamns were HERE and NOW - no longer ants crawling on a distant field. They reacted too slowly and Sharpe howled his hatred of them, lunging his sword forward, hungry for blood. They backed, tried to get the space to use their bayonets, but he was on them, crashing them against the wall as he struck out with boots and head, shoulderbarging them into the stone.

From other points on the wall Sharpe could hear firing - but he had ceased to command a Regiment now, ceased to command anything more than the ten or so men he could see. He took them out of a door onto a section of wall and struck the Grenadiers manning it in the side. He swung the sword in an arc, blood fanning out from the tip as he did, and the Grenadiers gave ground, apalled. A young lieutenant tried to duel, but Sharpe wanted none of it and he felled the officer by sweeping his flimsy saber aside and kneeing him massively in the crotch. Despite the boys age, each of the redcoats drove their bayonet into his sobbing body as they stepped over him.

Other columns of British Infantry were coming over the walls now, and Sharpe led his section to join them - regrouping and becoming more organised. The place sounded like bedlam, the sobbing of the wounded, the bellowing of those fighting and the swearing and cursing of the men who searched through stone corridors with hungry blades.

Elsewhere the firing reached a crescendo and Sharpe realised that part of the fortifications had held and that the South Essex had been partly replulsed - but here and now, his men were winning, and Sharpe was reasonably sure he'd succeed now. Leaning against the parapet, he waited for the reassuring gaelic lilt of his RSM. He'd gather his riflemen before moving deeper into the redoubt.

 

[Longleg]

Harper rushed passed dead bodies some wore red most did not , he was grim faced as he pushed towards the sound of firing where that was loudest, Sharpe would be.

A young lad lay in cover , he was pale but unafraid, Harper called a halt to the advancing rilfemen.

"What would be bothering you lad " Harper said casually.

The young boy for it was a boy starred at him for a moment " Corporal Andrews is wounded over there , theres a couple of Frenchmen holed up and they keep firing everytime I try to get to the Corporal" Harper could see a mix of fear and determination on the boys face.

"Hagman Harris lets help this lad out " Harper said casually

"Where are they lad " the boy pointed the two rifleman moved a few feet to the left , normally Harper himself would have done this , but he senced the boy needed to .

"Okay lad now" the boy ran to the wounded NCO , two shots fired and a few seconds later the boy dragged the NCO back into cover.

A few minutes later Harper made it to Sharpe "Now what would you be having us do on this glorious mid morning sir" Harper said with a smile.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

She had not managed to stay with the wounded, the screams and the horrible smell of blood had been too much for her to bear. On Susannah's insistence she'd gone back to Sharpe's tent and that was where she was now biding her time.

Kate felt throughly horrible, having left her maid with the surgeons, yet she understood that the girl would probably be more useful there than holding her hand right now. Besides she didn't want to see her in her current state.

She curled up on Sharpe's narrow campbed, closing her eyes and trying to shut out the sounds of cannon and muskefire.

"Dear God please keep your hand over him."

She mouthed the prayer over and over again as the screams of the wounded and the rumble of cannons grew to a crescendo.

How could anyone like this? How could any person seek such horrible thing as war was? She bit her lip, hands clasped to her ears, willing herself to forget everything that happend around her.

Thinking she ought to do something, but not wanting to go back to the surgeon's tent. Therefor walking over to where some of the wives of the soldiers were gathered. She asked them for some hot water, thinking it would probably come in handy when or if Richard returned, and received a promise that such could be taken care of when the time came.

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe embraced Harper. "Good to see you made it finally, Pat! I think we've got about half of the redoubt now, but some of the lads didn't make it over the walls. We're going to clear the rest of this damn thing now, kill the crapauds and then go back down the hill for dinner. Sound like a plan?"

He grinned, powderstained face creasing in mirth.

With his breath restored Sharpe led the way back down into the redoubts winding maze, taking the South Essex through the remaining rooms on this side of the road through the defensive position. Finally the shooting ebbed and it was possible to take stock.

Sharpe, with the better part of three hundred men, held the left side of the road, whilst the French under Major Benoit held the right side of the road with a similar number. The two sides had lost their bloodlust now, and shot at each other in a battle of musketry that could continue until nightfall. Sharpe was concerned - if he assaulted from his side of the road he could easily lose enough men to doom his attempt to failure. If he stayed as he was, then the French that had withdrawn might come back to the fight and trap him between two forces.

In the end though, the trumpets blew from the British side of the fortifications. The humbled part of the South Essex had returned. Now Sharpe would do the crushing.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

She had brought the remaining Grenadier Guards back across the crest. Scanning the terrain for a suitable place to make their stance against the Spanish cavalry.

The rocky ground provided some shelter, as well as impending the speed of advancing horse, and she placed her men in a rough square formation, bayonets fixed and given stern orders to hold their fire until the very last moment.

Justine wanted the Spaniards to pay dearly for their audacity, especially the young Captain.

"When the bastards charge you'll stand your ground. There is no way they can break formation if you keep your nerve."

She took position on the outside of the square, her blonde hair flying in the wind, cheek stained with powder.

"We'll send them to Hell, to the nethermost circle of Hell..."

 

[Katamari Roller]

The horses jumped right over the wall, and the Spanish sabres came down upon the French cannon crews. Alfonso's blade was the first to spill blood, yet he felt nothing special. His fury did not abate because he had killed a man. He continued the charge in a state of blood lust, and he didn't even register the fact that his blade had tasted blood.

The men following him seemed caught in the same trance as he did, as the horses jumped over the obstacles and the sabres cleaved through the Grenadiers. The French tried to run away, only to be cut down as they ran. A few, smart ones threw themselves to the ground and pretended to be dead, but the rest were killed mercilessly.

Alfonso stopped his horse and moved around the walls, cleaning the French blue off the grey stone, and opening paths for the British infantry that followed him. The walls were as good as taken at least in this section. Stopping in the slaughter to take a breath, Alfonso looked around, his horse moving nervously. The blood of both ran quickly through their veins.

That was when he saw the French square. There were too many men there to assault just with his cavalry, and that was very frustrating to him. But Alfonso was not a stupid, snobby officer who did things by the book even if they meant his death and that of his men. Instead, he looked at the now unoccupied guns, the ammo beside them, and the gunpowder sacks, each filled with what he guessed was the right amount for each shot. Alfonso smiled evilly as he imagined what he could do to the French square with those.

Raising his sabre in the air, Alfonso made circular motions to gather his riders around him. Slowly, their horses galloped close. "¡First troop, man those cañones! ¡I want them working as soon as possible! ¡We'll have the French taste their own medicine, ¿eh?!"

The few men left in the first troop jumped off their horses, their anger and their joy showing on their faces as they moved to take possession of the guns and avenge the María Luisa Hussars. Soon, the cannons started turning to aim at the French, and the sixty or so riders left prepared to charge under their covering fire.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

"Ma Colonel, the Spaniards have taken possession of our guns!" The urgency of the statement was not to be doubted. Why had not the Major Benoit taken precautions. A curse on him and his whore of a mother. Turning to look at the Captain Déodat who had brought the news.

For a second Justine was at loss as to how to proceed, but she quickly got herself together, knowing indecisiveness to be leathal on the battlefield.

"Vas te faire foutre"

She spat the curse and glanced at Captain Déodat;

"Deploy one platoon of Voltigeurs before the battalion, then retreat in square. Make sure you stay in formation."

It was going to be bloody work, very bloody work indeed.

"Allez!"

Spurring the Voltigeurs into action, and then turning to one of her dragoons, mouthing the order to stay at the back of the square, thus keeping themselves at a reasonably protected position.

 

[Steiner]

From his position across the road from Major Benoit, Sharpe watched as the enemy Colonel threw out a vain screen of Voltigeurs and slowly retreated in square. The Grenadiers were good, he had to give them that - many units would simply have broken up under the strain of trying to march in square.

However the effect on the French across the road was immediate - they couldn't believe they were being abandoned, and knew that this move by their commander sealed their doom. One of the enemy officers, a major from his epaulette's was so rash as to climb up onto the parapet to confirm the news for himself. Sharpe barely had to nudge Hagman, the old ex-poacher was already sighting down the barrel of his rifle.

"Easy shot, Dan?" Sharpe asked.
"Left or right eyeball, sir?" Hagman replied laconically.

In the end, the shot hit Major Benoit in the spine, in the centre of his back, but the point had still been made. The Grenadiers retreated back into their redoubts, and Sharpe sent a runner to coordinate with the senior captain running the half of the South Essex not in the redoubts. They would attack simultaneously.

The Grenadiers hung on with a grim tenacity born of desperation. They knew they could expect little mercy, having shelled the British as they climbed the slope. In their enemies position, they would expect the defenders to take their bitter medicine now. Sharpe's men were the same.

The first redoubt was tough to get into, stubbornly defended, but as Sharpe kicked the wooden door to flinders and led a tide of redcoats through it, the defence collapsed like a soap bubble. In the end he found Major Benoit, pistol in hand, with a tiny force of Grenadiers, holding the powder magazine. Sharpe challenged him to surrender, expecting him to empty the pistol at him but instead - to his shock - the man placed the muzzle of the pistol under his own jaw and fired, blowing his head to a gristly ruin.

The senior Frenchman, a scarred looking Sergeant, immediately surrendered his men. The British, their blood lust broken by the shocking suicide they'd witnessed, calmed sufficiently to accept it.

"Raise the colours on the parapet!" Sharpe bellowed, wanting the camp to know his victory. He was panting, exhausted, and his right shoulder was stiff where he'd caught a blow from a musket butt earlier. He tried to sheathe his sword to discover that the scabbard was dented in too much from the earlier shot that had hit it, and had to settle for carrying his blade. His boots and breeches were filthy with mud and blood, and his jacket was a sorry ruin - ripped by bayonet, by stone fragments from near misses and soaked in blood.

"Parade the men out by the Spanish guns, if you would, RSM Harper!" he shouted wearily. "Let's give our allies some support, in case they need it."

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

"Bandages!" Susannah called out, swiftly wrapping up the wounded leg of the soldier before her as soon as they were pressed into her palm. His thigh had been slashed by a blade, and she was now stood applying as much pressure as she could to the gash until the surgeon could see him. She couldn't list the number of dead and dying she had seen during her time in the tent. Focusing instead on the numbers that she had helped survive, lest she go mad and let the chaos of the battle consume her.

Her dress was in a sorry state, blood splattered across the skirt, mixed with mud and other fluids she'd rather not try to identify. She'd barely left the tent, tending to victim after victim, washing wounds, bandaging others. Susannah was slightly impressed with herself, and her behaviour. It seemed growing up with brothers and having cleaned them up after scrapping with one another as boys and then with men once they were older and the scraps became brawls, had prepared her a little for the carnage in the medical tent. She somehow began to see past the torn flesh and oozing blood, focusing on the men, finding out their names and giving them all the care she could.

Every now and then she thought to go after Miss Savage, to check that she was alright. But then she'd see another wounded soldier and tend to him as best as she could. She didn't doubt that Miss Savage could look after herself in most situations and hoped she had found a way to occupy her mind and to keep her from fretting over Mister Sharpe too much.
"Miss...Miss Susannah...could you come and help me please...!" The surgeon called, having found himself stood beside her several times since Tim's death he had quickly found out her name and now found himself calling for her when there were no nurses to hand.
"Coming!" She replied, satisfied that the man with the injured thigh would be alright for now, she headed over to where he stood, ready to help as much as she could. "What do you need, Doctor...?" Her eyes subconsciously scanning the man on the stretcher and feeling a twinge of relief that it was not Mister Harper she was going to be treating. Sending out a silent prayer that wherever he was, the broad shouldered irish man was safe.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

The battle was lost there was no way denying it. Justine swore as she saw how the British colours were hoisted above the the redoubts. She knew that Benoit would be dead by now. He had done his duty best as he could, and had the roles been reversed she would as well.

Calling Captain Déodat to her, informing her that he was now in charge and giving him permisson to surrender if necessary, but only when she and her remaining dragoons had been given a chance to escape, and only to the British.

"I'll have Marshal Soult hanged for this and whatever happens you will be absolved from the shame of having surrendered the colours to the Anglais. But I'd rather have them burned than handed over to the Spaniards. Do I make myself clear Captain`"

With that she tore the medal denoting her as a knight of the Legion of Honour and pinned it on the Captain's tunic.

"Oui Ma Colonel, we'll stand and die if necessary, But promise that the Emperor hears about the Grenadiers."

She saluted before hurrying back. The square would give them a few minutes, enough to get to their own mounts and then rejoin Marshal Soult and the rest of the army.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Alfonso saw the British colors waving above the fortifications. He smiled, his eyes going back to the French. They were defeated, finally the gabachos would have to leave Spain, and it would be their country now that would suffer the war.

The British infantry marched up, taking positions, apparently to assault the last French square. Well, Alfonso did not have that in mind. He didn't intend to take one of the damn invaders as prisoners. To hell with them all.

He turned on his horse to see the men at the cannons ready to fire. Alfonso simply nodded, and quickly brought his attention back to the poor bastards in the first line of blue and white. The dull thud he had heard while charging was now a deafening roar, and his smile widened when he saw the projectiles inflict the same punishment his men had suffered. The tables had now turned.

"¡Reload the cannons!"

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

The Sergeant de Chasseurs had collected their mounts and without a second glance they sat up, spurring them on to the north. The sounds of the cannon as well as the sporadic musketfire carried over the rocky landscape.

Justine did not pray, but right now she dearly wished that the Grenadiers would take as many Spaniards and British as possible with them as they stood and died.

For a moment there was a tear discernable on her cheek, but she wiped it off before anyone would notice. La Colonel de Chasseurs Justine de Villiers did not cry, did not show emotions. She was a soldier and understood that a soldier killed or was killed. Yet she couldn't help but cursing the cowardice of Marshal Soult amd reproaching herself for having forgot to spike the guns.

Putting her spurs into the side of her horse, urging it to go faster, wanting to put as much ground between herself and the site of her failure.

 

[Steiner]

The grenadiers looked at the guns and the Spanish looked at the grenadiers. The British looked on at both, and Sharpe heard muttering as the guns fired their first volley at point blank into the tightly packed mass of Frenchmen.

One of the Riflemen next to him turned and spat onto the ground, to show he wasn't affected by the sight, but behind, in the ranks, Sharpe could hear the mutterings swelling into a murmur.

The Grenadiers hadn't got a chance. This was beyond war, it was murder.

Sharpe was all for slaughtering a stubborn enemy - he knew the value of harsh examples in war - but this turned even his stomach a little. He saw the Spanish officer order the guns reloaded and he walked towards the man. He could see the fanatical gleam in the younger mans eye and he knew that the Spaniard wouldn't give the order to cease fire until the Grenadiers were dead to a man.

The guns fired once more before Sharpe crossed the intervening distance. He felt he knew these grenadiers, had been as close to them as a lover. It often happened once the bloodlust died away, when one had striven at close quarters with the enemy. All of a sudden he saw Red and Green coats facing these same guns, and he knew how he would feel if his command was being annihilated.

As the Captain of the Spanish Hussars ordered yet another reloading, Sharpe finally reached him. He juggled his sword to his left hand and extended his right to be shaken.

"Major Sharpe, commanding the South Essex. Shall we talk?"

 

[Katamari Roller]

The sight after the cannons' roar died was sickening. Not because of the actual sight, of course. Alfonso couldn't find more joy in seeing the French slaughtered like animals. It was more the thought that, as his cavalry charged, a group of his men had suffered something that was quite similar. That, in fact, brought a bit more of sweetness to this victory.

Alfonso was surprised by an English voice at his side. Looking down, he saw what seemed like an officer, with a scar on his face, extending his hand. Alfonso stole a glance at the French, just to make sure they were not moving, and dismounted. Changing his sword to his left hand, he shook the British officer's.

When he spoke, his Spanish accent was obvious. He pronounced more letters in his words, and spoke more slowly, than a British man would.

"Captain Avellanos. Third squadron, María Luisa Hussars. It is an honor to speak to you, but... I dare say, this is not the most convenient moment..."

Alfonso gestured towards the French with his head. Why would Sharpe interrupt a battle right at this moment? Surely he didn't intend to have him surrender the guns so his men could use them? They were Spanish property now, as far as he cared...

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe nodded, seeing that Captain Avellanos was less than fluent in English, he switched to his own Spanish - which Teresa had polished to a passable fluency.

"We've both done well today, Captain Avellanos. Capturing these guns for Spain is a notable victory. Congratulations." he paused, letting the kind words sink in before letting his tone become harsher.

"These Frenchmen are all out of fight, I think. Time to offer them a chance to yield. Save a little blood on both sides. They've fought bravely."

He kept his tone like iron. If the Captain aceded to his request then all well and good. If not - well - Sharpe was the ranking officer on this battlefield.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Alfonso felt his anger slip away second by second. And Sharpe's words contributed to that, at least until he adopted the serious tone of someone who clearly expects to have his words bear some weight on them. Well, it was not like this was the first time he dealt with officers like this, and he had to admit that Sharpe's words had weight equal to reason behind them.

Alfonso did not change his demeanour, though. He was still happy to have achieved so much in his very first battle... or his second.

"Give them a chance to yield, you say? Why, that sounds very honourable. That sounds like the right thing to do. But... those men will not yield."

Alfonso pointed with his sword towards the bright, blonde hair disappearing in the distance. "You see that, mister Sharpe? That is an officer. A very good officer at that. I had a bit of a problem arriving here on time because of her. And those men you see there, they are covering her escape. I have a personal interest in, if not capturing, then depriving Napoleon of a very good officer... but, you are the superior officer here, so your decision is the one I will respect."

Alfonso stared into Sharpe's eyes. Oh, he was a good man, a gentleman and an officer. Alfonso knew that much from hearing him act on behalf of the gabachos. But, would he really let go a potential enemy? The French soldiers there had pretty much surrendered themselves to whatever fate the Spaniards and British decided to give them, so Alfonso personally would love to see them be blown apart... yet, he was a gentleman too. If there was a bit less blood on his hands at the end of the day, he wouldn't complain.

 

[Steiner]

General Hill

General "Daddy" Hill, commanding the division that included the South Essex, had ridden his horse to the South Essex's encampment. He'd heard of the dreadful mistake in intelligence - the huge numbers of French troops that had arrived at the last minute. The presence of guns in the redoubts.

He'd come here to recieve a defeated Major Sharpe - or his successor - and pour oil on his wounds, telling him that there was little that the South Essex could have been done in the circumstances, and that reinforcements would come to finish the job momentarily.

Instead of which, he'd watched the glorious charge of the Spanish Hussars, the tide of red sweep up the hill, and finally the colours raised on the battlements in triumph.

"Well I'll be confounded, Andy." he confided to his ADC "Sharpe's only gone and done it. Capital! Capital! Send runners to the Lanarkshire Highlanders, the 47th Foot and the 120th Foot, would you. Let them know they can retire to quarters again."

Conventional wisdom said that such an attack required at least three times the number of men possessed by the Defender. Conventional wisdom often found itself pitched on its ear by Riflemen, General Hill had noticed.

He'd relieve the South Essex at the head of the other two Regiments he was sending up the hill, from the steady stream of casualties coming down the hill, they'd need a rest.

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe smiled happily, seeing the light of reason in the Captain's eyes.

"Captain, your men could quit this field in honour and nobody would say a word of complaint. Certainly it would take the pressure off these Grenadiers to perform a stupid last stand."

He winked slyly here.

"However, if you pull back about 200 yards and circle around to the right, they'll not be able to see where you retire to. Should you happen to retire at full speed after that blonde witch you pointed out, I certainly wouldn't shed any tears. And I'd back you up at any tribunal."

He paused to consider.

"Hell, I'll write you orders to bring her in for interrogation if you like. I'm not sure I'm technically your commander once this battle is over, but that would certainly give you the wriggle room you need to satisfy any lawyers later on."


Sharpe grinned happily. He knew that once the only troops capable of catching the French Colonel appeared to retire from the field, the Grenadiers would think twice before resisting to the death. He also knew that the cunning bitch needed to be brought in. A woman colonel? He HAD to hear the story behind that one.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Alfonso smiled widely with childish happiness, and saluted Sharpe briskly. "Then, with your permission, I have a witch to catch, sir!"

Alfonso jumped with surprising eagerness and agility onto his horse, and turned it towards the slope, the horse ellegantly moving to his rider's whim. "¡Caballeros, aún tenemos un enemigo al que cazar!"

And with that, the Spanish cavalry left the field, quite dirtier than they came but with the strength and will to fight again... and took a little detour, so as not to waste those. As the horses galloped at a light trot, Alfonso had to admit that, for a British officer, Sharpe did not continue the stereotype of the snobbish, incompetent, over-zealous tea-sipping fool.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

The rolling thunder of the guns had finally subsided, getting up she collected her cape and headed to the Surgeon's tent. Praying silently that she wouldn't find Richard among the wounded.

She was greeted by the horrible sights of maimed and wounded, and the pile of amputated limbs that had been casually thrown onto a pile outside the tent.

Willing herself not to be sick she went closer to the entrance, seeing the surgeon in his bloodstained apron in the process of cutting of an arm of a soldier strapped down onto the operating table.

"Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

A chaplain was saying the Lord's Prayer as he walked among the wounded, seemingly drunk not staying more than a few seconds at each stretcher.
Kate looked around, she couldn't see Sharpe but she did see Susannah. The poor girl looked like she'd waded through blood, her dress and face stained with it and her hair in wet tressles.

"Susannah..."

Kate had spoken quietly, not wanting to disturb her as she sat by a horribly injured man, holding his hand.

"Susannah, are you alright?"

Knowing the question to be stupid, of course she wouldn't be but at that moment Kate could think of nothing else to say. Her maid looked up at her, offering a weak smile before turning back to the soldier who cried for his mother.

Kate stayed beside her, her hand resting on Susannah's shoulder, more for her own solace than anything she could offer the girl. Kate thought it seemed like eternity before the man succumed but it probably had not taken more than a minute.

"Oh Susannah, this is horrible" she had tears in her eyes and all she wanted was to leave this abbatoir but she still needed to know "Have you seen Mister Sharpe?"

Hoping that she had not, not wanting him to have died in such a place as this

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

"Susannah...Susannah, are you alright?"
Susannah nodded without moving her eyes from the young man dying beside her, the sound of Miss Savage's voice seemed so out of place in amongst the praying and the crying. She turned and gave a quick smile before the hand held in hers tensed drawing her attention back to him.
"Shhh...shhh, it's alright...it's alright..." She ran a hand over his burning brow, brushing back curls of hair soaked with sweat and blood. He whimpered and murmured, most of his words nonsense sprinkled with names and half remembered prayers. Susannah held his hand and stroked his brow until the light had faded in his eyes, as it had done in so many eyes that day.

She stood quickly, taking her mistress' arm and guiding her towards the door of the tent.
"Oh Susannah, this is horrible...Have you seen Mister Sharpe?"
"No, no Miss, I haven't...and I have been asking for word of him, from those who seemed conscious enough to reply...it seems he was at the front of the assault, although I don't think you believed him to be anywhere else...I've heard nothing to indicate he is wounded though, Miss..." Susannah replied with a vague smile, pausing to rinse her blood caked hands in some water. "I shall keep my eyes open and will send word to you if he arrives here...I..." Susannah's voice faltered slightly.

"I know it is not my place, Miss, but I don't feel I can leave this tent...not while there is something I can do to help...if you need me, I will of course attend you but...but I hope you will allow me to continue to serve here until you do have need of me..." There was an edge of desperation in her voice. She could not fire a gun and was fairly certain she'd be more of a danger to herself than anyone else if she should attempt to wield a sword, but Susannah felt a need to do something to help.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

Kate could not help but smile although she raised her eyebrow at Susannah's request to stay with the wounded. Then again, there had been a time when she herself gladly would have volunteered to offer what service she could.

Besides Susannah was a sturdy young Yorkshire-lass and it would surprise Kate if she wouldn't manage even the horrors of the Surgeon's tent.

"Yes of course you must Susannah. I'll be quite alright. Just promise me to notify me if Mister Sharpe comes in," and adding perhaps a bit tartly "and no running of with an enlisted man is that understood."

Leaving the tent, thankful for the fresh air and the relief it offered from the stench inside. Steadying herself as she walked back to Richard's tent. Hoping fervently that he would be unharmed. Stopping only to collect some hot water, if nothing else she would have some tea and brandy for him when he returned.

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

"Yes of course you must Susannah. I'll be quite alright. Just promise me to notify me if Mister Sharpe comes in,"
"Thank you, Miss, and I shall..." Susannah smiled warmly, thinking privately for what was probably the hundredth time that she was fortunate to have a Mistress like Miss Savage.
"...and no running of with an enlisted man is that understood."
Susannah blushed a little and shook her head fervently.

"Of course not, Miss...and I shouldn't be here for too long...the surgeon has said that now the cannons seem to have stopped, the flow of casualties should slow down...I will of course offer to help as and when I can during our stay..." She finished tentatively, unsure of her mistress' plans.
Watching Miss Savage head back towards Mister Sharpe's tent, Susannah heard the surgeon calling her name once more. Splashing a little of the now blood stained water onto her face to remove some of the marks there, she wiped her face against her sleeve and headed back inside the tent.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

She had spurred her dragoons on leading them across the rocky terrain, aiming to rejoin the main force of Marshal Soult and General Calvet. Her mood even more foul than usual, and the men under her command kept their distance. Not daring to disturb their Colonel. Further the loss of Major Benoit had sapped their spirits, Benoit was popular with the men, just as ruthless towards the enemy as de Villiers but with a less harsh way than hers.

Justine had given a battlefield promotion to one of the Captians, Henri Riviers, and it was he who spotted the the pursuit.

"Ma Colonel we are being followed" His voice besoke the urgency, the dragoons having been decimated and the enemy now in pursuit seemed eager enough to lessen their numbers even more.

"Close formation, charge on my order!"

Pulling out her curved sabre as the dragoons lined up knee to knee, awaiting the onslaught. They would attack a la Polonaise, riding on, discharging a hail of carbine shot and then cut down the remaining enemies.

"Forward! For France and Napoleon!

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe stepped forward, white rag flapping on the end of his sword. This was tricky, he knew, as the enemy might decide to kill him out of spite - believing themselves lost already.

The disciplined Grenadiers held their fire and held their formation, and Sharpe found himself doubly disposed to save them, if he could.

"Who commands here?" he bellowed and a slight young man with Captain's insignia stepped forward. "Henri Deodat of his Imperial Majesties Grenadiers. I command here."

Sharpe dropped the white rag from his sword and used it to salute the man, seeing the respectful nod in return.

"Captain. You've fought well and hard today. You've satisfied the best traditions of French honour. You've done all that can be expected, and much more. Your situation is hopeless. You're surrounded. We have Artillery and more numbers than you. We can call the Spanish cavalry back within minutes. Please, Captain - be a father to your men and spare them this slaughter."

Here Sharpe pointed to the Cannon - doubleshotted with canister and roundshot and pointing directly into the heart of the Grenadiers. Then he pointed to the South Essex, arranged in triple line, ready to begin the infamous platoon volleys that the British were renowned for.

Finally, he heard flutes and drums from down the hill and his sword encompassed two full Regiments of redcoated infantry marching up the hill. The Defenders were now outnumbered roughly 15 to 1. Even for the brave Captain Deodat, enough was enough.

"What terms, Major?" he asked tiredly. Sharpe smiled encouragingly. "You surrender and I'll see you're taken prisoner. You surrender your colours and I'll see that your men are fed and watered. You surrender your arms without struggle and I'll add medical attention to that. Honourable surrender, Captain - and you may keep your sword."

Captain Deodat bowed his head and sheathed his sword. "Mon freres. Down your weapons. Surrender the colours. We cannot do more for Country and Emperor than we already have."

The South Essex moved in and took their captives at bayonet point. These men were in shock at their defeat and the terrible losses, but some of them still wept to see the colours handed to British soldiers. Sharpe himself took the Imperial Colour with its battle honours and turned to wave it at the South Essex, who cheered like madmen. He still had it when General Hill arrived to relieve him - and the General made a great fuss of taking it from him, waving it in salute to the troops and then returning it.

"Go on Richard. Lead your men back to camp with those beauties flying. Let everyone share the celebration." Daddy Hill beamed at the South Essex "And let the men have a double ration of rum today - upon my soul, they've earned it."

Sharpe tossed the Regimental standard to RSM Harper, took the Imperial one himself and led his men down to the camp - recieving the salute of the two relieving regiments as he passed. This, he mused, is how to come back from a battle!