Sharpe's Exploits

[Steiner]

He smiled. "I'm not sure. I think so. I hope so. Still, what can I do if everyone surrenders? And those bastards up there are close now, I can tell. They won't resist effectively any more than the Spaniards could, once they've foreign armies crawling around in their country. They'll panic and capitulate and that'll be the end of France. And of the war."

Something in his tone sounded regretful, he realised.

"I will miss it. And the lads. But peacetime soldiering won't be like this - away under a foreign sky with the civilians off our backs, a good general and all we need to be happy soldiers. Food, ammunition and an enemy that's not as good at killing as we are."

He shrugged deprecatingly at her description of him as a hero. "I suppose you're right. Leastways I've a sword from the patriotic fund as says I'm a hero. Still, what do you suppose THAT will be worth when the merchants and their wives no longer tremble at the spectre of Boney?"

He waved to the men as he entered the South Essex lines and led her to his quarters - a pair of tents stood in the midst of the headquarters.

"I'm not sure if we'll have much time for talking, Miss Savage. I'm expecting allies shortly, and then I've got to go for a stroll up that wee bit of a hill there." he waved his hand dismissively at the steep slope some miles away. "But this evening, I imagine I'll be all yours. There's your carriage, miss."

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

"If you survive Richard."

She knew it was a horrible thing to say, but she couldn't help it. The wee hill as he dismissively had called it was rather the steep climb, and even from her limited experience in martial matters Kate understood that every yard gained would be paid for in British blood.

Suddenly feeling her tempers flaring, perhaps because of the excertion during the journey from Oporto, or the pure bitterness of having been slighted she lashed out.

"I'll just stay here, boiling water and rolling up bandages then, I'm sure there will be ample need for it once the guns start firing. I'm a dab hand with the needle as well."

Taking a deep breath before continuing, her heart pounding and her face flush with colour, although this time the blush was rather due to anger than embarressment.

"It's a game to you isn't it? You don't see what it's done to you or what it does to anyone it comes into contact with. I had nightmares for longer than I care to remember seeing how our guns, British guns, slaughtered the French at Douro. It's horrible Richard and I cannot fathom how you can take such joy in it!"

Kate turned away, not wanting to look at him for fear that he'd see through her. Her anger less motivated by moral sentiments than the prospects of losing him again. Dabbing at her eyes with her hankerchief and straightening up, giving him a haughty stare.

"I'll be waiting for you, if you come back..."

With that she turned and walked to the carriage. She could spot Susannah, engaged in what seemed a rather friendly conversation with a giant of a man wearing the three stripes of a Sergeant Major.

"Susannah, would you be so kind to attend me!"

It was not the way Kate usually addresed her maid, but right now she needed to vent her frustrations, and even though she thought it mean to do so on the girl, she nevertheless did

 

[Steiner]

And just like that the spell of closeness was broken. Sharpe shook his head as she concluded her tirade and summoned her maid, who had been with Harper.

The RSM gave him an understanding nod, daring Sharpe's fury with familiarity again - yet this was something to be shared by two men who felt the love of battle. There would always be those who didn't understand how the joy of killing bubbled up inside you and drove you on. How your fears disappeared and the world became so simple and pure and mechanical.

He sighed. Waiting for the girl to come over and for Kate to make her exit. He knew she was right. That hill was a bastard, and even if it wasn't all it took was a lucky bullet and even he could die. Sharpe had the luck of the devil in battle, but he also knew that luck was a fickle mistress, prone to switching favourites. It could all be over, he knew, and that would be the end of Major Sharpe.

 

[Longleg]

Patrick watched Susannah leave to attend to her mistress, the name sang to him it was a name of beauty for a very beautiful woman.

Maybe with luck something would come of their brief connection , maybe , there were alot of maybe's in the life of a soldier not least of which was maybe I'll be alive in the morrow.

Still for all that she had managed to affect his heart and mind in three hours he would have to shut her out.

After looking at Mr Sharpe and sharing communication in silence that only the best of friends could share, Patrick Harper shook his head even thinking of Susannah the way he was , was a foolish waste of hopes and dreams, what would the most stunning ceature on gods green earth what with a big Irish soldier.

His eyes swept the men seeing the tension in the face of Hansen mixed with the face of Harris who had it seemed found a book and was engrossed in it.

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe watched Harper watching the young maid walk over to her mistress.

"Apparently, Pat, war is bad." he said with quiet amusement, raising an eyebrow at the huge Irishman.

"Any sign of our dear Spanish and Portugeuse cousins, RSM? I'd quite like to get this bugger of a climb over and done with by dinner. And, if it's quite alright, perhaps the men would like to join me for a spot of soldiering?"

 

[Longleg]

"Sir, I think the men would be up for a little soldiering so they would" Patrick smiled "It'll make a pleasent change from drilling"

The smile became a frown "The Portugeuse boys arrived not a half hour ago , sir they are in the other side of that small wood ,as for the Spanish, no sign yet, they're normally a bit more keen when it comes to killing French soldiers so they are"

That was a problem the Spanish could be slow to move sometimes but they had a special regard for killing Frenchies and while not exactly late they should have arrived at least an hour ago.

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

"Susannah, would you be so kind to attend me!"
The harsh voice cut through Susannah's thoughts like a saber through the enemy lines. She jumped slightly and after glancing towards her mistress she cast a rather disheartened glance at the towering Sergeant Major beside her.

"Forgive me, Sir, I have been keeping you from your duties and in doing so, it would appear, I have neglected mine..." Her voice was soft and she raised her eyes to meet his once more before she bobbed a small curtsey at him and headed swiftly to her mistress' side, head slightly bent towards the ground.

Susannah knew her mistress well enough to hear the frustration in her voice and to know that the less she said, the swifter the mood might pass her by.
"Yes Miss..." She said quietly, after curtseying. "I took the liberty of travelling into the camp to try and arrange lodging but Mr Harp-Sergeant Major Harper informs me there is little of quality to be had..." She smiled ever so slightly as she corrected herself and used his title. "How may I attend you, Miss?"

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

Even in her present state Kate noticed the way Susannah looked at RSM Harper, and who could blame her. Kate had never had the chance to get to know the huge Irishman, but she was not blind to the effect that he had on some women.

"Well one should not expect great comfort in the Army Susannah. We just have to make do."

She looked at Richard, who was not engaged in a rather animated discussion with RSM Harper.

"Perhaps we also should have a word with the surgeon, offer our services. You're not squeamish are you?"

She saw the questioning glance her maid gave her. Clearly she hadn't expected this to be the outcome of their journey. Kate couldn't help but to feel sorry for her, it was hardly her fault and it would serve no purpose to have her in attendence.

"Tell you what Susannah. There's a half-bottle of cognac in the coach, present it to the RSM. It's supposedly a great comfort for a man about to go into battle."

"I'll stay at Mister Sharpe's tent for the time being. Make sure you don't wander off alone."

With that she turned to Sharpe, asking for directions to his billet

 

[Steiner]

"Alright, RSM. Get the men fallen out in Company columns, if you'd be so kind. Light Company to the fore and let's get this show on the road. I'm not going to wait all day for the Spanish, and I'm not going to do this in the dark. Most of all, I'm not going to tell General Hill that he didn't have his road into the mountains because I was waiting for cavalry."

He turned to speak more softly to Kate. "I'm afraid that those two tents over there are the best I can offer you. You'll find a cot in the one on the left if you're feeling tired. There should be a bottle of wine hidden in one of the boots by the bed and an orderly will probably bring you food at midday."

He turned to grip her arms. "Look, you and I could talk all day about why I do what I do. But the fact is that this IS what I do, and I'm bloody good at it. You knew that I was a soldier when you came out here, and I remember you being damn glad of it at one time in the past."

And then he was gone - because there was a job to be done, and he was the man that they'd given that job to.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Kate Savage

"Just be careful, promise me that Richard."

She tried to offer him a smile and once again having to stand tip-toe to do so, kissed his cheek.

"I'll be waiting for you."

Knowing it wasn't her place to say such things, he belonged to another, to Mrs Jane Sharpe, and Kate could see that although he may not disapprove of her company, it was her he wanted to kiss goodbye before going into battle. She cursed under her breath, but braved herself to smile as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"And I'll have Susannah roll some bandages should it be necessary."

Hoping fervently that the French defenders would not have the stomach to put up a fight and if they did, that Sharpe would not be in the midst of it. Still she recalled the words of the song that the elderly rifleman Hagman has sung.

And here's to the lads of the 95:th Rifles, the first on the field and the last ones to leave.

Kate was not overly religious, but at that moment she found herself saying a prayer, for Richard Sharpe and for the other men who would have to face the murdering storm of lead as they were about to scale the slope before the French.

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

"Well one should not expect great comfort in the Army Susannah. We just have to make do."
"Of course, Miss," Susannah replied.
"Perhaps we also should have a word with the surgeon, offer our services. You're not squeamish are you?"
"Er...no...not too much, Miss, I will of course be happy to help however I can..." She said after a beat in which her eyebrows rose slightly on her forehead and her eyes widened a little. She'd patched up her brothers after brawls back home, surely she'd be able to cope with whatever might be thrown at her.

"Tell you what Susannah. There's a half-bottle of cognac in the coach, present it to the RSM. It's supposedly a great comfort for a man about to go into battle."
"Thank you, Miss," Susannah smiled, with a bob of gratitude.
"I'll stay at Mister Sharpe's tent for the time being. Make sure you don't wander off alone."
"Of couse not, Miss, I shan't be long..." She curtseyed again and after quickly retrieving the bottle from the carriage, she hurried after RSM Harper. Waiting almost shyly beside the pathway as he shouted orders at the soldiers.

When at last he saw her she suddenly felt as if her tongue had swollen three or four times it's usual size and that speaking sense was far beyond her.
"I...I don't wish to trouble you at what is obviously a busy time, Sir, but...I...my Mistress...I mean, I would like you to have this..." She held out the cognac towards him, her eyes lowered and cheeks a little pink. "I...I hope you enjoy it..." She faltered for a moment, unsure of what to say next. She bit her lower lip slightly as a mad idea flashed into her brain.

Susannah suddenly stepped forward, pushing herself up onto her very tiptoes and planting a brief kiss upon his cheek. Wobbling a little as she strained to reach his face meant her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth for a moment. It was a short, sweet kiss that was over almost as soon as it started.
"I...I shall look for you after the battle..." Susannah beamed as she stepped back and with a final look into his eyes, she scurried back to her mistress before another word could pass between them. Her arms hugging herself as she did so, a wide smile curving her lips and her cheeks warm.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

The dragoons had been in the saddle since the skirimish with the Spanish hussars, having negotiated the Allied pickets and were now making their way to the French lines. In her sabretasche Colonel de Villiers carried documents signed by his Imperial Majesty himself, which would allow her to even dictate her terms to Marshal Soult himself.

Besides most of the Marshals were bufoons to a man. Soult was a shameless opportunist, Massena a stickler for skirts and Murat a simpleton. To Justine there were only two men worthy of becoming a Marshal, the one being the Emperor's stepson Prince Eugéne and the other was here late father Jaques de Villiers. Yet the politics of France had dictated that the cadre had been filled with half-wits and traitors instead of the men who could have made a difference. Or women for that matter. The Emperor understood the value of skill, yet the military would scream defiance if she would rise higher than she'd already done.

The troop riding through the outlying piquets of the French lines, most soldiers and officers smart enough to stay well clear of the horsemen. She was to meet with the General Jean Calvet, who commanded the division that would be the first to take on the onslaught of the British.

Being shown to his tent where he sat peering over a map, cursing the audacity of the British and the complacency of the French. Clavet was a seasoned soldier, having done his share in Russia, and even sporting that he'd had eaten a corporal on the disastrous retreat.

Presenting him with the orders and receiving a grumbling response. It was not that he was particularly pleased having to give her a battalion of grenadiers but the orders were signed by the Emperor himself thus there was no point in protesting. Nonetheless General Calvet had to put up a bit of resistance, prying for the reasons why she, a mere slip of a girl should be given command of a battalion.

"Mon General, it is considered impertinent, as well as being rather unhealthy, to ask to many questions."

She had stared him down as they sat in his tent.

"But surely Colonel de Villiers, some inkling of an idea? Am I to release every single company on the whims of the Emperor?"

Justine had not replied merely giving him a withering stare as she stood up,

"Where can I find this redoubtable battalion?" Calvet's ADC had given her directions, knowing that Major Recáimer would not be best pleased having his command snatched from under his very nose.

The battalion was encamped a few hundred yards from divisional head quarters and the process of usurping the command was done in a very straight forward a way. Major Eduard Recáimer was relieved and sent to sulk in his tent. Half an hour later she addressed the men, her dragoons acting as a praetorian guard.

 

[Steiner]

Watching with amused tolerance as the men cheered the RSM upon seeing him kissed, Sharpe muttered softly. "Well, that's the entertainment for tonight sorted - shall we do the work now?"

He wouldn't wait for the Spanish, not an hour longer. This was the agreed upon time to attack and he had yet to have his clever idea for how to use the Cavalry in these circumstances, anyway.

"Patrick, send a runner with my respects to our Portuguese allies and tell them the attack begins in 20 minutes. Get everyone up to the roadway and formed up. When the cavalry arrives, tell them to hold ranks behind us and follow us up - artillery hate cavalry even more than we do, they might well waste their ammo shooting at horses, and horses can be replaced. Tell the Portuguese captain that his job is to follow us up and then chase down any routers."


Sharpe drew his sword and pointed to the hill before addressing the South Essex in his paradeground voice.

"Nobody gets any sleep until we've taken that bastard. Keep in ranks, keep your heads down, and when you get to the top shout your lungs out! Now, colour party to the fore and FOLLOW ME!"

With that he set off for the foothills of the slope, a mile distant.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

The Colonel de Chasseurs swore as she had to borrow Major Benoit's telescope. Yet another reason to kill the insolent Spaniard when she lay her hands on him. Staring down the slope she saw how the British started to move out, the voltigeurs or skirmishers as the British called them spreading out on a thin line. The green coats clearly separating them from the vast majority of red coated soldiers and officers.

"Will they employ rifles Ma Colonel?" Benoit asked almost nonchalantly. The French had a healty respect for the riflemen, knowing them to be deadly accurate even at a long distance. The Emperor had forbidden the use of rifles and relied instead on muskets for the voltigeurs and tirallieurs, that made up the French light infantry.

"Yes of course they'll employ rifles, that's the sole idea Benoit. Sometimes you strike me as being more than tolerably stupid."

She had bitten back the remark as she surveyed the British, knowing the onslaught of cannon to be imminent. Looking at her new battalion, nodding to the company commanders that they where to take up positions with their units. It'd be bloody work holding the redoubts, but if anyone would be capable of keeping the British at bay it was her.

"When they come - give them hell." She patted the barrel of a four pounder cannon the limber being stacked with canister shot. A very nasty surprise for the British indeed...

 

[Longleg]

Patrick's mind had been a whirl after receiving the kiss from Susannah, still he'd had the sense to store the cognac away nice and safe where he could get to it later, he'd need it.

As he returned to his place in the line near Mr Sharpe, having carried out his orders, he could feel the stare of Harris "Not a word laddie not a word" he said quietly to the private

"Wouldn't dream of it RSM wouldn't dream of it" the laughter behind the words barely hidden.

Harper knew he would be the butt of much joking at night and as long as it didn't get out of hand he would wear it with good grace, besides at the end of this day there would be a need for mirth.

Nock gun secure beside his battle pack rifle to the fore he took another step, a step closer to battle , to death ,to killing, to another Susannah kiss and ultimately to Ireland where a whole life awaited him.

 

[Steiner]

Sharpe squinted up the hill, through the foul grey drizzle, at the redoubts he was climbing towards. By now they should be buzzing with activity and, indeed, he saw a hat here and there as infantry sneaked peeks at the advancing enemy.

"Bastards think they're going to surprise us..." he trailed off, trying to anticipate the reasoning for the strange behaviour. It should be nervous recruits unable to obey their officers commands to stay hidden and deny him an effective tally of their strength. But he knew their numbers, because hillfarmers had watched the company of conscripts march sullenly into the embrasures not a week ago.

He peered again, watching the heads of a few Infantrymen pop up and duck down again.

"Patrick - what's wrong with that picture?" he asked, gesturing up the hill. Something about the troops he was seeing was out of place and he couldn't put his finger on it. "They're bloody lively for a company of crapaud conscripts, aren't they?"

His intelligence must be wrong. There were clearly more men at the redoubts than he'd hoped. Perhaps double or triple the number. And probably not conscripts, either. He paused and steadied his telescope on the shoulder of one of his riflemen, raking the redoubt parapet for one of the hopping frogs to appear. There. Those were the impressive tall hats of Grenadier guards, NOT regular French infantry.

"Oh Christ..." suddenly the space where the grenadier had been sprouted a cannon muzzle. And it wasn't alone.

"South Essex! Skirmish order, double time up the hill - run, run!"

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

"Fire!"

The four-pounders spat death at the advancing British and Portugese, the barrels having been double-shotted. First a standard cannonball then canister placed on top. The result would be murderous for the advancing infantry.

Standing on top of the wall of the redoubt, sword held high and her blonde hair uncovered by the shako Justine watched the mayhem that was being wreaked on the Allied line.

"Keep them firing. One shot every two minutes is that understood. I'll hang the crew who fails me!"

The gunners were working fast, sponging the barrels and sliding powder, shot and canister down the cannons. There was no science to it, merely loading and firing, making the British pay in blood for every yard they advanced.

"Vive L'Empereur!"

The shout being taken up by the amassed Grenadiers and spreading through the French lines.

"Vive L'Empereur!"

 

[Steiner]

With a shout the Portuguese cavalry turned tail and fled down the hill. Sharpe had expected something of the sort - these lads had mobility on their side and if he could have, he'd have led the South Essex down the hill too - because something had clearly gone badly wrong with this assault.

The weight of fire from the infantry was FAR too intense. The cannon shouldn't even have been present. Sharpe wanted nothing more than to turn tail and flee - but he knew that if he did the guns would still savage his men and he'd have nothing to show for it.

"South Essex! Fix Bayonets! Charge!!"

It seemed madness to charge into the face of this bombardment, but Sharpe knew that everything relied on speed now. The faster his force moved, the fewer shots they would face. The slope was working for him too - soldiers in line generally fired too high - with his troops downhill, that propensity was magnified. Most of the French infantries volleys was missing too high - and the French were firing much more slowly than the South Essex would in their place.

High on the redoubt he saw a flash of golden hair - one of the officers was revealing themselves too much. "Hagman! Take that bugger!" The old poacher fired and the enemy officer dropped, but he could tell from the way Dan Hagman spat desultorily that the long shot had not found its mark. Sharpe's action in pointing the enemy officer out seemed to have identified him to the enemy sharpshooters too, because a bullet buzzed perilously close on its way to the bottom of the hill.

Sharpe pointed his sword up the hill and screamed defiance at his men, who bellowed back. Fear leant volume to the howling and the South Essex clawed their way up the slope.

 

[Katamari Roller]

The cavalry approached the British camp at a light gallope. It had been four hours of near continuous riding, and that took a toll on one's legs, cramped and hurting a bit by now. Alfonso's, at least. The other men he didn't know how they felt. Besides, his attention was taken by a quite worrying sight and the sounds that came with those.

Alfonso had taken the precautions of capturing all the belongings of the fallen enemy, and all of it was of the greatest quality. That only meant one thing. They were an elite unit, sent for God knew what, near the zone the Essex men would be assaulting. There were many reasons for that unit to be there, but Alfonso knew not what it was. Well, he reasoned to himself. That is not something I can do anything about, so might as well focus on the task at hand.

"¡Compañía, trote rápido!"

The horses galloped full on through the British camp, the few soldiers left watching them with a mix of surprise and, perhaps... well, disillusion. They were late for the attack. Because of that damn French whore! Alfonso would have no mercy on that woman if he found her again.

As his cavalry exited the camp, Alfonso noticed with worry how the Essex men advanced already into the French's rain of lead. He stopped his horse, and sat there, surveying the scene calmly with eyes staring beyond the smoke. His men formed up in a standard three-men-deep, open battle line, and dropped the equipment not strictly necessary for combat. Already Alfonso's mind was lost in his memories of maps, training, and military exercises, coming up with a plan from the relative safety the smoke owed to the fusillade going on provided...

And a cannon ball slammed itself right in front of his horse, without exploding. Alfonso smiled.

"¡FOR THE GUNS! ¡CHAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

The Spanish cavalry roared in joy and defiance, as they galloped up the slope eager to sate their blood thirst. Carbines had their bolts pulled back, and sabres vibrated with the movement of the horses...

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

"Putain!"

Justine swore at the British soldiers daring to fire at her. She had felt he crack as the bullet had gone past her left ear. Clearly the sharp-shooters were doing what they always did, aiming for the officers.

"I'll give them something to aim at!"

Turning to the guncrews, urging them to aim only with canister now, She wanted as much shot as possible to be poured down on the approaching British infantry.

"Hold your fire you useless son's of whores! Save it untill you can smell the Goddamns. Any man firing before my orders are given will be hanged!"

The Goddamns, that was what the French called the British soldiers, not a derogatory term like toad (crapaud) or frog but Goddamns. The Redcoats generally advanced under silence, taking the most horrible punishment before being allowed to charge screaming and cursing like madmen.

"You do not let a single man across is that understood. Anyman who'll run will have to face up to me!"

Justine knew that her reputation had preceeded her, the Grenadier Guards not voicing any dissent at being scolded by a woman. Taking a standard from the ensign carrying it and once more stepping up on the ramparts, for a moment looking a bit like Marianne on the barricades she urged her men on.

"For the Emperor and for France. No mercy is to be given!"

She glanced up seeing how the same Spanish hussars who she had attacked earlier today had started their advance. Knowing she must act quickly if she was to keep the initiative she turned to the Benoit.

"Fix bayonets and keep the bastards behind the redoubts. Three lines if possible. Continous firing. The Dons will have us for breakfast otherwise. Gunners! Make sure to wipe the Catholic scum of the face of the earth or else..."

Turning again to watch the impending attack and recongnising the young officer. de Avellanos y Marca. Smiling coldly. This time he was the one who would have to run.

 

[Steiner]

Christ, but those guns were accurate! The Infantry had ceased their useless firing, but the casualties hadn't slackened. Most of A company was gone now - having taken the brunt of the shelling. The good news was that the South Essex had reached a depression in the hill that brought them under the declination of the French guns. They couldn't shoot back from here, but they had a moment to regroup and catch their breath.

Down the hill, Sharpe heard trumpets. "The bloody Portugeuse are back then?" he said derisively - even though he could sympathise with the Cavalry captain's decision - but instead of the small squadron of Portugeuse cavalry, a whole troop of Spanish cavalry cantered up the hill, straight for the guns.

"Look at those bastards ride!" Sharpe said with admiration, knowing that at any moment the French gunners could shift their aim from the hidden British onto the advancing horses and inflict terrible losses.

He heard a female voice screaming orders from the wall of the redoubt and once more shouted for Rifles to put the bitch down - but then something magical happened. The shelling stopped as the guns shifted their aim onto the Spanish. Now Sharpe was just facing French Infantry again - and that wasn't a battle he'd EVER lost.

"South Essex! Forward!! Rifles, stay back under RSM Harper and shoot the bastards for me! Pat - bring the lads up when we make contact."

And the long red lines stretched out for the fort again, as the men of the South Essex left cover and marched towards the grey stone, light flickering off their bayonets. At their front and centre a single Green Jacketed figure urged them on, carrying them with him towards the decisive engagement.

 

[Britwitch]

Susannah

The noise within the medical tent was appalling. It had taken several attempts for Susannah to actually manage to step inside, her arms laden with freshly rolled bandages. Cries and screams tore the air over and over again. Beside her Miss Kate looked even paler than some of those wounded they were tending to. Every yelp seemed to make her jump and tense. This was no place for a Lady, Susannah was certain of it. She took her mistress’ elbow and guided her out of the tent as soon as her bandages had been taken off of her.
“Miss…Miss…” Susannah said softly once they were back in the fresh air, the rumbles from the battlefield swirling around them, smiling softly as soon as their eyes met. “Miss, why don’t you go and get some more bandages…?” She suggested, knowing that way Miss Savage should avoid the new casualties being brought into the tent and would be able to help without being…distracted. “I’ll stay here, Miss, I’ll…I’ll be alright…”

Susannah tried hard not to look at any of the faces on the stretchers, men and boys barely older than she, many even younger, pale and fighting to stay clear from death’s tempting grip. Part of her was terrified she would turn around to see Mister Harper on one of them, or even her mistress’ favourite Mister Sharpe. This was a horrible way to die, in amongst such chaos. Susannah ran back and forth as directed, fetching and carrying water, blankets, anything and everything that was needed. Her long skirts tied up slightly to aid her movements, allowing her to run unhindered. She’d pulled her hair back with a strip of spare bandage although long auburn strands had already worked free and hung around her flushed face. There was a smudge of blood across one cheek and her eyes were bright with tears of anger and fear that constantly threatened to fall.

“You…you there…” A sharp voice called out as Susannah re-entered the main tent.
A tall, wiry looking man with eye-glasses was gesturing for her to come to him.
“Yes, Sir…?” She asked once at his side. Swallowing nervously as she caught sight of the man beside him. Most of his right side was missing, clearly having fallen foul of the cannon fire booming in the distance.
“There’s nothing more I can do for him but he’s afraid, he’s…just…just hold his hand…” The thin Doctor said after taking her away slightly.
“But I…” Before Susannah could complain the Doctor was gone, dealing with another inury. Biting her lower lip, she sat on the low stool beside the stretcher, taking the young soldier’s clammy hand in hers.
“I…I want my mother…” He whimpered, his eyes on fire with obvious agony.
“What…what’s your name…?” Susannah asked, her voice suddenly trembling as she struggled not to burst into tears, a painful lump having risen in her throat.
“T-Tim…” His voice was fading fast and shaking.
“You’ll…you’ll be home soon, Tim…” Susannah whispered softly, holding his hand tight in hers. “You’ll…you’ll be with those that you love…”
“It’s…i-it’s cold…” He frowned, his body tensing for a moment before it relaxed, his eyes now fixed on a sight that Susannah couldn’t see.

Releasing her hand from his, Susannah felt a surge of anger and resentment that life could be taken so quickly and with such little thought. Wiping roughly at her tears, she set her jaw and made her way outside. Another would be taking Tim’s place, and likely more after him. She knew she had little experience to go on, but Susannah was certain of one thing. She hated war.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Alfonso opened his eyes wide when he saw the guns. In the split of a second, there was a steel barrel aiming down at him. There had to be more, but Alfonso didn't even think as far as that. He simply gritted his teeth, and let the heat in his Spanish blood take over. Dying here would be glorious, a testament to his courage and service to his homeland. His father, mother and sister would be proud of him, and his men would remember him too and honour his memory when they fell drunk in some tavern.

The guns fired, but alfonso heard them as dull, not as a roar or even a bark. A dull thud, and he saw tiny black dots approaching, blurred like a fly in a hot summer evening.

The dots disappeared, and he heard a great noise behind him and to his sides. Bones breaking, horses whining, but not one man screamed. Not one man screamed, and Alfonso was still alive. He roared like a lion with the sheer joy of not being one of the poor souls caught by the cruel lead, who honored their country falling without opening their mouths. Seventy more lions roared, leaving no man in pain behind.

"¡España, cierra! ¡Cierra!"

Spain, close. Close. The formation of cavalry closed their ranks, and the green phantoms glided above the blood and the corpses, ahead of the red-clothed men and the British skirmishers. Alfonso's eyes were fixed upon the guns, but they still wandered up at the banner held by the blonde-haired officer. The devil itself seemed to please himself in torturing him with the image of that woman now that he was so close to death. With a snarl, Alfonso unsaddled his carbine, and letting go of his horses' reins, aimed with both hands on his weapon.

Now, now he heard a weapon's bark. The projectile shrieked through the air, and made a good hole in the banner. He cursed. He had missed the woman.

"¡¡A LA CARGAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

Again the Spanish lions roared, this time with fury and courage fueling their voices and arms. A volley of carbine fired crashed into the redoubts, letting the French know that, despite the early defeats and the guerrilla tactics, Spain still had someone fighting face to face with the enemy. And those lions bared their teeth, seventy one sabres shrieking as they left their sheathes, and gleaming under the sunlight.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Justine de Villiers

"Milles diables! Major Benoit! Get half the grenadiers out of the redoubt. You'll stay with the rest and hold the British and Spaniards as long as you can. We'll regroup on the crest and push them back!"

They both knew that Justine had condemned Benoit and the grenadiers to death. Benoit saluted, Kill the green-jacketed man for me Ma Colonel, and with that he gathered the three companies of grenadiers. Arranging them behind the walls of the redoubts.

"I will but the insolent Spaniard dies first."

She shot Captain Alfonso de Avellanos y Marca a scornful glance before retreating in good orders with the remaining three companies of grenadiers. Heading up the crest and sending runners to alert Calvet to move the main force up behind it in order to repell the Allied advance. She sheated her sabre and strode up the hill, her back straight, seemingly not caring about the deadly projectiles buzzing through the air around her. She was a French Colonel, the daughter of a General and as such she'd never bend for the enemies of her country.

Seeing the courier return, whipping of a salute and quickly summarising the situation

"General Calvet's compliments Ma Colonel. The General regretfully informs that he has no way of moving troops to this part of the battlefield. Marshal Soult himself has declared that the main body of our army is to be deployed further north..."

Justine swore again and lashed out, connecting her palm with the young ensign's face. How dare he. Marshal Soult has just pissed away what chance there was of victory. She strode on, ordering her men to pull back further. Pox-ridden son of a whore that's what he is. Knowing she'd been bested, not by the riflemen nor the Spaniards but by the sheer cowardice of her own countrymen.

"Allez! Get a move on or do you want to be cut down by vengeful Spaniards!"

She shouted her orders as she moved on, hand held on the handle of her pistol, praying that the Spanish officer would again dare to challenge her. The war might be lost but she was damned if she let the bastard live to see victory.

 

[Longleg]

He had his job to do , thou Harper would have been happier advancing with Sharpe, he saw the Regimental Standard fall and then re-appear, that meant Hanson had most likely been hit.

Harper kept that to the back of his mind , so many had already suffered that fate proved by the red caoted bodies that lay on the ground behind the advancing South Essex.

One pretty dressed Frenchie showed a little too much of his uniform, Pat lined him up and fired, the man disappearred. He saw a man barely in sight that had been commanding a cannon

"Hagman that feathered bastard by the cannon second to the left"

The old englishmen lined him up and fired , the shot ran true less than half a minute later three rifle men now armed at the cannon crew and fired.

Ahead Harper ajudged that contact had been made "Rifles" and with that the chosen men advanced.