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A couple of years ago i was really into the 'Sharpe' series by Bernard Cornwell and decided to write my own "spin off". When i first wrote it ( changing all the names due to leagl mumbo jumbo) i entered and won a competition for it, i was dead chuffed because it was published in a book dedicated to short stories. Anyway, i found the story not so long ago and i can't decide whether i should carry on with it.
Any advice or suggestions would be great.
N.B Please note, the following writing is loosely based on the work by Bernard Cornwell. And is not intended to be repoduced anywhere else or discredit Bernard Cornwell.
There i think i've covered my bases, but just to be sure... "Please dont sue me!!!"
------------
Chapter 1
The tall dark, haired man ducked into a small billet in the town of Oporto. It was raining quite hard when he got into the billet and his clothes were soaked right through. He wore a dark green rifle jacket and black French cavalry boots which he took off the corpse of a colonel of the Hussars. On his shoulder he slung the heavy wood and metal of the baker rifle, its deadly range of 300 yards, much further than the standard British smooth bore musket. At his side he wore the unusual heavy cavalry sword instead of the light cavalry sabre that most officers wore. His face was scarred and battle hardened due to the many years of hardship and war.
He unslung his rifle and unslung his sword and propped them against the far wall and walked towards the fire. The tall man bent down and placed some damp kindling and some old newspaper dating back two years in the stone fireplace, he fished out his tinderbox and struck it on the stone, the spark flew but it didn’t catch anything so he tried it again, this time it caught the newspaper and set alight.
The man stood up and shuffled back over to the bed where he slumped onto the pillow. Just as he sat down there was a knock at the door, when he got to the door he found that Major Michael Saunders was waiting at his doorstep.
‘Evening Major Smith, is this a bad time?‘
Without waiting for an answer Major Saunders stepped inside.
Major Saunders and Richard Smith had been talking for a long time when Saunders finally interrupted.
‘What I actually came to talk to you about,’ Saunders pulled out his snuffbox, took a great big pinch and sniffed it. Moments later came a loud sneeze as loud as an eighteen-pounder cannon going off.
‘Is that you are needed at headquarters and the peer wants to talk to you.‘
‘The peer?‘
‘Yeah you’ve been chosen for a special mission,‘ then there was silence for a moment.
Smith broke that silence, knowing better than to ask Saunders of the nature of the mission, he just simply asked when he needed to be there.
‘ He’s expecting you, so you better get going. Do you know where headquarters is?'
And without letting Smith speak he started talking again.
‘Its down the hill, past the church and up towards the monastery, there you will meet two guards who will stop you, just tell them I sent you and that you are on important business,‘ and with that he left.
Major Smith stood up and walked towards the dying fire, he prodded the ashes with his boot, watching the embers glow brightly. After a few prods of the fire he walked over to the far wall and picked up his rifle and sword. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and put the sword in its slings and left.
*
Its was still raining when Smith got to headquarters, and as Saunders had said the two guards were there and they didn’t look at all happy, but why should they, they were in the freezing cold with the water pouring down their necks and filling their shakoes. Their muskets were so wet that the gunpowder had turned into a thick sludge that would take hours of hard cleaning to remove it.
Richard Smith entered the large double doors at the front of the monastary and was greeted by what Smith could only assume was one of his aides. He was quite short, at about 5'7 and obviously well fed due to his rather fat belly. 'Ah, good morning...' he paused momentarily, quite unsure of how to address this fellow seeing as he was carrying both a long arm and a sword. In the end he decided it would be safer to address him as an officer. '...Sir. How can i be of service?'
'I've been told i have to see the Duke of Wellington, he's expecting me'
' Mister Smith i presume? Yes his is indeed expecting you. Wait here please' Motioning towards a rather hard looking bench outside the Dukes make shift office, which was once happened to be the monastery’s library. In front of Smith was a great wooden door made of strong oak, it was stained so it looked as dark as leather. To his right was another door, which he presumed it led to the monastery’s kitchen.
Suddenly the great door creaked open and one of Wellington’s aides appeared from around the door, different from the first. ‘Lord Wellington is ready to see you now,’ and as Smith past the aide he lowered his voice ‘and be careful, his a bit p**sed off.’
‘Thanks,’ and he walked on in.
‘Morning Major Smith,’ Wellington said dryly, as he walked through the door. The aide was right, Smith thought, but said nothing. ‘I take it you know why you are here Major?’ Wellington spoke less agitatedly this time.
‘No my lord,’
‘What? I specifically told Saunders to tell…’ and he stopped in mid-sentence before starting again. ‘Oh, never mind, you are here because I need some ruthless officer that is careless of his own life.’
Smith said nothing.
‘There is a French battalion close to the hills of leça do Bailio and we don’t want it finding out we have an extra five thousand Portuguese allies. Your job is to get rid of those damn frogs, I don’t care how you do it, just do it,’ he paused for a second, ‘you and your light company are the only ones to allowed to know about this mission, if anyone asks, your going to scout the area. At the moment only you, Saunders and me know about our new Portuguese allies, and I want to keep it that way. You got that? Good. You and your company leave at dawn.’ Wellington picked up his pen and started writing. ‘Good day mister Smith.’
‘Yes sir!’ Smith saluted and left the way he came, thinking about how little he actually found out and why this mission was so darn secret.
*
The rain had stopped when Smith got outside, but the guards outside were still grumpy, their shakoes still soaked and the hours of scrubbing their muskets; until their hands are sore with blisters, still loomed ahead.
Smith walked back up the rough and rocky hill thinking about what the Peer had said. On his left was an old church with a small spire on the right hand side, on top of the spire was a small golden eagle. This eagle looked nothing like the eagles on top of the black staves, which march into battle, held by the tough veterans of France.
In front of Smith now was the higher part of town, where his company and regiment; the South Essex, were billeting. Smith walked on and from behind him he heard a familiar voice. ‘Sir!’ It was Sergeant Patrick Connolly, Smith’s best friend in the army. The sergeant was a huge and bulking man who towered over most people in the British army, he was only just taller than Smith, on his shoulder was a terrifying weapon, it had seven barrels, which took half-inch pistol bullets. The weapon was a gift from his Major.
The Sergeant was from the Irish town of Donegal. His Irish accent, standing out in the cold, damp air in the town of Oporto. ‘Me and the lads were just wondering where you got to.’ By ‘Lads’ he meant the light company. ‘The peer wanted to see me,’ Smith replied. ‘He wants us, to clear some “Frogs” out of some hills near here. So I need you to get the light company ready to leave at dawn. Make sure they have enough rations for at least three days; I don’t know how long were going to be gone. Oh and make sure everyone has enough bullets and an extra two flints.’ Smith said, and set off up the hill to get himself ready for battle.
Chapter 2
The light company was made up of red coats and a few green jackets, most of the light company carried the common smooth bore musket, but a handful carried the deadly baker rifle. All the green coats carried rifles, and also a few red coats were trained to use them. The green coats were in a red-coated battalion because the famous regiment of the 95th had slowly been eroded away until they were placed into another regiment; the south Essex. And now that regiment’s light company march to the hills of leça do Bailio to get rid of some intruding French men.
It was just after dawn and still when the light company left, they were surrounded in a thick blanket of fog. They had been marching for hours, watching the sunrise and now the same sun was on their backs. ‘Halt,’ came a voice from the front. It was one of the other sergeants that Smith ordered around. ‘Okay, ten minute break, nobody goes out of my sight, understand?’ Smith said loud enough for the soldiers at the back of the column to hear.
Nearly instantly, all the soldiers split into different groups and sat down. Some soldiers made small fires to make tea in their tin mugs. Smith walked over to one of the small groups. ‘Tea sir?’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Please,’ Smith replied. The soldier passed him up a steaming tin mug. ‘Delicious,’ Smith lied, the tea had been made from a few leaves stuffed in their pockets, along with some of their spare ammo and whatever other rubbish was stored there too. ‘I needed that, thanks.’ And then carried on.
When the ten-minute break was over they started marching again, not too long after they left one of the sergeants pointed out that there was smoke as dark as tar on the horizon. ‘Looks like something’s burning, barn maybe? Its nothing for us to worry about.’ Smith replied.
‘Sir,’ the sergeant sounded concerned. ‘That’s too much smoke to be a barn.’
‘It could be a big barn.’
‘Or a village?’ Connolly butt in.
Collin Price, one of Smith’s lieutenants was listening in when he heard a strange sound, ‘Listen Sir.’ It was the distant sound of screams and torture.
Smith, on hearing this instantly ran up the small hill, and at the top he could see the small gully in which French troops were burning, raping and plundering the small village. It seemed that they had found the French battalion.
The light company were crouched at the base of the hill, covered by the surrounding trees and shrubs. Their weapons were loaded and primed, bayonets fixed and ready. In front of them was the half burned village, and inside the village were the unprepared French.
Smith scrambled down the small embankment to where Connolly was hid. Connolly had seven of Smith’s most trusted riflemen. There were no redcoats in Connollys chosen squad because the red of the coats stood out. The green however, did not show against the dark trees.
Connolly’s squad, in the cover of night would enter the village and cause havoc while; the rest of the light company would wait in the darkness and cover of the woods. When the French had been woken the rest of the light company would come to finish them off.
‘Are you ready?’ Smith asked.
‘Yes Sir.’ Connolly whispered. ‘The boys can’t wait.’
Just before dawn Connolly’s squad left the safe embankment to wreak havoc upon the French. It took them five minutes to reach the edge of the village and it took them another two minutes to re-group. Connolly’s squad was crouched behind a small stonewall at the edge of the village. As Connolly peered over the top of the wall he could see two French pickets, they were looking towards the wall but obviously didn’t see Connolly because they then turned round to look at a drunken couple skip merrily past.
In a flash, Connolly gave his men a silent signal and the riflemen rose and leaped over the small wall. They ran silently over the grass towards the pickets. As the pair danced off the Frenchmen turned round only to be attacked by eight riflemen. Their screams were cut off as long, twenty- three inch blades sliced into their stomachs and throats. As the blades were ripped out a gush of blood sprayed a nearby wall. All that could be heard were the dull thumps as the French bodies hit the ground and the scraping sound of them being dragged into the darkness.
The next victims were the drunken couple. They were silenced by more blades. Around the corner came the sound of laughter, but to Connollys relief the sound came from inside the village inn. ‘Well at least most of them are drunk.’ One of the riflemen whispered to Connolly.
‘ If we attack now they will be disorientated and confused.’ Connolly replied.
‘Ah but if we make one big attack at sunrise, we’ll catch them when they are sleeping, and they have one big headache to help us out.’
‘Good idea, Cooper come here.’ Cooper popped out from one of the nearby shadows. ‘Sir?’
‘Find major Smith and tell him that the frogs are drunk out of their bloody French heads, and also tell him that I advise him to attack them in the morning when they will be fast asleep.’ As soon as Connolly had finished, Cooper slipped back into the shadows and he was gone.
Seven minutes later Cooper was back at the embankment where the rest of the light company rested. He emerged from the shadows right next to Smith. Smith jumped reached for his sword and before he could draw it he heard a friendly voice. ‘Sir, its me, Cooper.’
‘Cooper? God you terrified me, what’s happened? Where’s Connolly?’ Smith bombarded Cooper with questions. ‘He’s alright, Connolly sent me to tell you that the french are drunk and he advises that we attack tomorrow morning when they are asleep. Smith thought for a while, and then replied. ‘Tell Connolly to pull back and meet me at the embankment.’
‘Yes sir.’ And with that Cooper slipped into the shadows a second time.
Any advice or suggestions would be great.
N.B Please note, the following writing is loosely based on the work by Bernard Cornwell. And is not intended to be repoduced anywhere else or discredit Bernard Cornwell.
There i think i've covered my bases, but just to be sure... "Please dont sue me!!!"
------------
Chapter 1
The tall dark, haired man ducked into a small billet in the town of Oporto. It was raining quite hard when he got into the billet and his clothes were soaked right through. He wore a dark green rifle jacket and black French cavalry boots which he took off the corpse of a colonel of the Hussars. On his shoulder he slung the heavy wood and metal of the baker rifle, its deadly range of 300 yards, much further than the standard British smooth bore musket. At his side he wore the unusual heavy cavalry sword instead of the light cavalry sabre that most officers wore. His face was scarred and battle hardened due to the many years of hardship and war.
He unslung his rifle and unslung his sword and propped them against the far wall and walked towards the fire. The tall man bent down and placed some damp kindling and some old newspaper dating back two years in the stone fireplace, he fished out his tinderbox and struck it on the stone, the spark flew but it didn’t catch anything so he tried it again, this time it caught the newspaper and set alight.
The man stood up and shuffled back over to the bed where he slumped onto the pillow. Just as he sat down there was a knock at the door, when he got to the door he found that Major Michael Saunders was waiting at his doorstep.
‘Evening Major Smith, is this a bad time?‘
Without waiting for an answer Major Saunders stepped inside.
Major Saunders and Richard Smith had been talking for a long time when Saunders finally interrupted.
‘What I actually came to talk to you about,’ Saunders pulled out his snuffbox, took a great big pinch and sniffed it. Moments later came a loud sneeze as loud as an eighteen-pounder cannon going off.
‘Is that you are needed at headquarters and the peer wants to talk to you.‘
‘The peer?‘
‘Yeah you’ve been chosen for a special mission,‘ then there was silence for a moment.
Smith broke that silence, knowing better than to ask Saunders of the nature of the mission, he just simply asked when he needed to be there.
‘ He’s expecting you, so you better get going. Do you know where headquarters is?'
And without letting Smith speak he started talking again.
‘Its down the hill, past the church and up towards the monastery, there you will meet two guards who will stop you, just tell them I sent you and that you are on important business,‘ and with that he left.
Major Smith stood up and walked towards the dying fire, he prodded the ashes with his boot, watching the embers glow brightly. After a few prods of the fire he walked over to the far wall and picked up his rifle and sword. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and put the sword in its slings and left.
*
Its was still raining when Smith got to headquarters, and as Saunders had said the two guards were there and they didn’t look at all happy, but why should they, they were in the freezing cold with the water pouring down their necks and filling their shakoes. Their muskets were so wet that the gunpowder had turned into a thick sludge that would take hours of hard cleaning to remove it.
Richard Smith entered the large double doors at the front of the monastary and was greeted by what Smith could only assume was one of his aides. He was quite short, at about 5'7 and obviously well fed due to his rather fat belly. 'Ah, good morning...' he paused momentarily, quite unsure of how to address this fellow seeing as he was carrying both a long arm and a sword. In the end he decided it would be safer to address him as an officer. '...Sir. How can i be of service?'
'I've been told i have to see the Duke of Wellington, he's expecting me'
' Mister Smith i presume? Yes his is indeed expecting you. Wait here please' Motioning towards a rather hard looking bench outside the Dukes make shift office, which was once happened to be the monastery’s library. In front of Smith was a great wooden door made of strong oak, it was stained so it looked as dark as leather. To his right was another door, which he presumed it led to the monastery’s kitchen.
Suddenly the great door creaked open and one of Wellington’s aides appeared from around the door, different from the first. ‘Lord Wellington is ready to see you now,’ and as Smith past the aide he lowered his voice ‘and be careful, his a bit p**sed off.’
‘Thanks,’ and he walked on in.
‘Morning Major Smith,’ Wellington said dryly, as he walked through the door. The aide was right, Smith thought, but said nothing. ‘I take it you know why you are here Major?’ Wellington spoke less agitatedly this time.
‘No my lord,’
‘What? I specifically told Saunders to tell…’ and he stopped in mid-sentence before starting again. ‘Oh, never mind, you are here because I need some ruthless officer that is careless of his own life.’
Smith said nothing.
‘There is a French battalion close to the hills of leça do Bailio and we don’t want it finding out we have an extra five thousand Portuguese allies. Your job is to get rid of those damn frogs, I don’t care how you do it, just do it,’ he paused for a second, ‘you and your light company are the only ones to allowed to know about this mission, if anyone asks, your going to scout the area. At the moment only you, Saunders and me know about our new Portuguese allies, and I want to keep it that way. You got that? Good. You and your company leave at dawn.’ Wellington picked up his pen and started writing. ‘Good day mister Smith.’
‘Yes sir!’ Smith saluted and left the way he came, thinking about how little he actually found out and why this mission was so darn secret.
*
The rain had stopped when Smith got outside, but the guards outside were still grumpy, their shakoes still soaked and the hours of scrubbing their muskets; until their hands are sore with blisters, still loomed ahead.
Smith walked back up the rough and rocky hill thinking about what the Peer had said. On his left was an old church with a small spire on the right hand side, on top of the spire was a small golden eagle. This eagle looked nothing like the eagles on top of the black staves, which march into battle, held by the tough veterans of France.
In front of Smith now was the higher part of town, where his company and regiment; the South Essex, were billeting. Smith walked on and from behind him he heard a familiar voice. ‘Sir!’ It was Sergeant Patrick Connolly, Smith’s best friend in the army. The sergeant was a huge and bulking man who towered over most people in the British army, he was only just taller than Smith, on his shoulder was a terrifying weapon, it had seven barrels, which took half-inch pistol bullets. The weapon was a gift from his Major.
The Sergeant was from the Irish town of Donegal. His Irish accent, standing out in the cold, damp air in the town of Oporto. ‘Me and the lads were just wondering where you got to.’ By ‘Lads’ he meant the light company. ‘The peer wanted to see me,’ Smith replied. ‘He wants us, to clear some “Frogs” out of some hills near here. So I need you to get the light company ready to leave at dawn. Make sure they have enough rations for at least three days; I don’t know how long were going to be gone. Oh and make sure everyone has enough bullets and an extra two flints.’ Smith said, and set off up the hill to get himself ready for battle.
Chapter 2
The light company was made up of red coats and a few green jackets, most of the light company carried the common smooth bore musket, but a handful carried the deadly baker rifle. All the green coats carried rifles, and also a few red coats were trained to use them. The green coats were in a red-coated battalion because the famous regiment of the 95th had slowly been eroded away until they were placed into another regiment; the south Essex. And now that regiment’s light company march to the hills of leça do Bailio to get rid of some intruding French men.
It was just after dawn and still when the light company left, they were surrounded in a thick blanket of fog. They had been marching for hours, watching the sunrise and now the same sun was on their backs. ‘Halt,’ came a voice from the front. It was one of the other sergeants that Smith ordered around. ‘Okay, ten minute break, nobody goes out of my sight, understand?’ Smith said loud enough for the soldiers at the back of the column to hear.
Nearly instantly, all the soldiers split into different groups and sat down. Some soldiers made small fires to make tea in their tin mugs. Smith walked over to one of the small groups. ‘Tea sir?’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Please,’ Smith replied. The soldier passed him up a steaming tin mug. ‘Delicious,’ Smith lied, the tea had been made from a few leaves stuffed in their pockets, along with some of their spare ammo and whatever other rubbish was stored there too. ‘I needed that, thanks.’ And then carried on.
When the ten-minute break was over they started marching again, not too long after they left one of the sergeants pointed out that there was smoke as dark as tar on the horizon. ‘Looks like something’s burning, barn maybe? Its nothing for us to worry about.’ Smith replied.
‘Sir,’ the sergeant sounded concerned. ‘That’s too much smoke to be a barn.’
‘It could be a big barn.’
‘Or a village?’ Connolly butt in.
Collin Price, one of Smith’s lieutenants was listening in when he heard a strange sound, ‘Listen Sir.’ It was the distant sound of screams and torture.
Smith, on hearing this instantly ran up the small hill, and at the top he could see the small gully in which French troops were burning, raping and plundering the small village. It seemed that they had found the French battalion.
The light company were crouched at the base of the hill, covered by the surrounding trees and shrubs. Their weapons were loaded and primed, bayonets fixed and ready. In front of them was the half burned village, and inside the village were the unprepared French.
Smith scrambled down the small embankment to where Connolly was hid. Connolly had seven of Smith’s most trusted riflemen. There were no redcoats in Connollys chosen squad because the red of the coats stood out. The green however, did not show against the dark trees.
Connolly’s squad, in the cover of night would enter the village and cause havoc while; the rest of the light company would wait in the darkness and cover of the woods. When the French had been woken the rest of the light company would come to finish them off.
‘Are you ready?’ Smith asked.
‘Yes Sir.’ Connolly whispered. ‘The boys can’t wait.’
Just before dawn Connolly’s squad left the safe embankment to wreak havoc upon the French. It took them five minutes to reach the edge of the village and it took them another two minutes to re-group. Connolly’s squad was crouched behind a small stonewall at the edge of the village. As Connolly peered over the top of the wall he could see two French pickets, they were looking towards the wall but obviously didn’t see Connolly because they then turned round to look at a drunken couple skip merrily past.
In a flash, Connolly gave his men a silent signal and the riflemen rose and leaped over the small wall. They ran silently over the grass towards the pickets. As the pair danced off the Frenchmen turned round only to be attacked by eight riflemen. Their screams were cut off as long, twenty- three inch blades sliced into their stomachs and throats. As the blades were ripped out a gush of blood sprayed a nearby wall. All that could be heard were the dull thumps as the French bodies hit the ground and the scraping sound of them being dragged into the darkness.
The next victims were the drunken couple. They were silenced by more blades. Around the corner came the sound of laughter, but to Connollys relief the sound came from inside the village inn. ‘Well at least most of them are drunk.’ One of the riflemen whispered to Connolly.
‘ If we attack now they will be disorientated and confused.’ Connolly replied.
‘Ah but if we make one big attack at sunrise, we’ll catch them when they are sleeping, and they have one big headache to help us out.’
‘Good idea, Cooper come here.’ Cooper popped out from one of the nearby shadows. ‘Sir?’
‘Find major Smith and tell him that the frogs are drunk out of their bloody French heads, and also tell him that I advise him to attack them in the morning when they will be fast asleep.’ As soon as Connolly had finished, Cooper slipped back into the shadows and he was gone.
Seven minutes later Cooper was back at the embankment where the rest of the light company rested. He emerged from the shadows right next to Smith. Smith jumped reached for his sword and before he could draw it he heard a friendly voice. ‘Sir, its me, Cooper.’
‘Cooper? God you terrified me, what’s happened? Where’s Connolly?’ Smith bombarded Cooper with questions. ‘He’s alright, Connolly sent me to tell you that the french are drunk and he advises that we attack tomorrow morning when they are asleep. Smith thought for a while, and then replied. ‘Tell Connolly to pull back and meet me at the embankment.’
‘Yes sir.’ And with that Cooper slipped into the shadows a second time.
There have been no replies to this thread yet.
A couple of years ago i was really into the 'Sharpe' series by Bernard Cornwell and decided to write my own "spin off". When i first wrote it ( changing all the names due to leagl mumbo jumbo) i entered and won a competition for it, i was dead chuffed because it was published in a book dedicated to short stories. Anyway, i found the story not so long ago and i can't decide whether i should carry on with it.
Any advice or suggestions would be great.
N.B Please note, the following writing is loosely based on the work by Bernard Cornwell. And is not intended to be repoduced anywhere else or discredit Bernard Cornwell.
There i think i've covered my bases, but just to be sure... "Please dont sue me!!!"
------------
Chapter 1
The tall dark, haired man ducked into a small billet in the town of Oporto. It was raining quite hard when he got into the billet and his clothes were soaked right through. He wore a dark green rifle jacket and black French cavalry boots which he took off the corpse of a colonel of the Hussars. On his shoulder he slung the heavy wood and metal of the baker rifle, its deadly range of 300 yards, much further than the standard British smooth bore musket. At his side he wore the unusual heavy cavalry sword instead of the light cavalry sabre that most officers wore. His face was scarred and battle hardened due to the many years of hardship and war.
He unslung his rifle and unslung his sword and propped them against the far wall and walked towards the fire. The tall man bent down and placed some damp kindling and some old newspaper dating back two years in the stone fireplace, he fished out his tinderbox and struck it on the stone, the spark flew but it didn’t catch anything so he tried it again, this time it caught the newspaper and set alight.
The man stood up and shuffled back over to the bed where he slumped onto the pillow. Just as he sat down there was a knock at the door, when he got to the door he found that Major Michael Saunders was waiting at his doorstep.
‘Evening Major Smith, is this a bad time?‘
Without waiting for an answer Major Saunders stepped inside.
Major Saunders and Richard Smith had been talking for a long time when Saunders finally interrupted.
‘What I actually came to talk to you about,’ Saunders pulled out his snuffbox, took a great big pinch and sniffed it. Moments later came a loud sneeze as loud as an eighteen-pounder cannon going off.
‘Is that you are needed at headquarters and the peer wants to talk to you.‘
‘The peer?‘
‘Yeah you’ve been chosen for a special mission,‘ then there was silence for a moment.
Smith broke that silence, knowing better than to ask Saunders of the nature of the mission, he just simply asked when he needed to be there.
‘ He’s expecting you, so you better get going. Do you know where headquarters is?'
And without letting Smith speak he started talking again.
‘Its down the hill, past the church and up towards the monastery, there you will meet two guards who will stop you, just tell them I sent you and that you are on important business,‘ and with that he left.
Major Smith stood up and walked towards the dying fire, he prodded the ashes with his boot, watching the embers glow brightly. After a few prods of the fire he walked over to the far wall and picked up his rifle and sword. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and put the sword in its slings and left.
*
Its was still raining when Smith got to headquarters, and as Saunders had said the two guards were there and they didn’t look at all happy, but why should they, they were in the freezing cold with the water pouring down their necks and filling their shakoes. Their muskets were so wet that the gunpowder had turned into a thick sludge that would take hours of hard cleaning to remove it.
Richard Smith entered the large double doors at the front of the monastary and was greeted by what Smith could only assume was one of his aides. He was quite short, at about 5'7 and obviously well fed due to his rather fat belly. 'Ah, good morning...' he paused momentarily, quite unsure of how to address this fellow seeing as he was carrying both a long arm and a sword. In the end he decided it would be safer to address him as an officer. '...Sir. How can i be of service?'
'I've been told i have to see the Duke of Wellington, he's expecting me'
' Mister Smith i presume? Yes his is indeed expecting you. Wait here please' Motioning towards a rather hard looking bench outside the Dukes make shift office, which was once happened to be the monastery’s library. In front of Smith was a great wooden door made of strong oak, it was stained so it looked as dark as leather. To his right was another door, which he presumed it led to the monastery’s kitchen.
Suddenly the great door creaked open and one of Wellington’s aides appeared from around the door, different from the first. ‘Lord Wellington is ready to see you now,’ and as Smith past the aide he lowered his voice ‘and be careful, his a bit p**sed off.’
‘Thanks,’ and he walked on in.
‘Morning Major Smith,’ Wellington said dryly, as he walked through the door. The aide was right, Smith thought, but said nothing. ‘I take it you know why you are here Major?’ Wellington spoke less agitatedly this time.
‘No my lord,’
‘What? I specifically told Saunders to tell…’ and he stopped in mid-sentence before starting again. ‘Oh, never mind, you are here because I need some ruthless officer that is careless of his own life.’
Smith said nothing.
‘There is a French battalion close to the hills of leça do Bailio and we don’t want it finding out we have an extra five thousand Portuguese allies. Your job is to get rid of those damn frogs, I don’t care how you do it, just do it,’ he paused for a second, ‘you and your light company are the only ones to allowed to know about this mission, if anyone asks, your going to scout the area. At the moment only you, Saunders and me know about our new Portuguese allies, and I want to keep it that way. You got that? Good. You and your company leave at dawn.’ Wellington picked up his pen and started writing. ‘Good day mister Smith.’
‘Yes sir!’ Smith saluted and left the way he came, thinking about how little he actually found out and why this mission was so darn secret.
*
The rain had stopped when Smith got outside, but the guards outside were still grumpy, their shakoes still soaked and the hours of scrubbing their muskets; until their hands are sore with blisters, still loomed ahead.
Smith walked back up the rough and rocky hill thinking about what the Peer had said. On his left was an old church with a small spire on the right hand side, on top of the spire was a small golden eagle. This eagle looked nothing like the eagles on top of the black staves, which march into battle, held by the tough veterans of France.
In front of Smith now was the higher part of town, where his company and regiment; the South Essex, were billeting. Smith walked on and from behind him he heard a familiar voice. ‘Sir!’ It was Sergeant Patrick Connolly, Smith’s best friend in the army. The sergeant was a huge and bulking man who towered over most people in the British army, he was only just taller than Smith, on his shoulder was a terrifying weapon, it had seven barrels, which took half-inch pistol bullets. The weapon was a gift from his Major.
The Sergeant was from the Irish town of Donegal. His Irish accent, standing out in the cold, damp air in the town of Oporto. ‘Me and the lads were just wondering where you got to.’ By ‘Lads’ he meant the light company. ‘The peer wanted to see me,’ Smith replied. ‘He wants us, to clear some “Frogs” out of some hills near here. So I need you to get the light company ready to leave at dawn. Make sure they have enough rations for at least three days; I don’t know how long were going to be gone. Oh and make sure everyone has enough bullets and an extra two flints.’ Smith said, and set off up the hill to get himself ready for battle.
Chapter 2
The light company was made up of red coats and a few green jackets, most of the light company carried the common smooth bore musket, but a handful carried the deadly baker rifle. All the green coats carried rifles, and also a few red coats were trained to use them. The green coats were in a red-coated battalion because the famous regiment of the 95th had slowly been eroded away until they were placed into another regiment; the south Essex. And now that regiment’s light company march to the hills of leça do Bailio to get rid of some intruding French men.
It was just after dawn and still when the light company left, they were surrounded in a thick blanket of fog. They had been marching for hours, watching the sunrise and now the same sun was on their backs. ‘Halt,’ came a voice from the front. It was one of the other sergeants that Smith ordered around. ‘Okay, ten minute break, nobody goes out of my sight, understand?’ Smith said loud enough for the soldiers at the back of the column to hear.
Nearly instantly, all the soldiers split into different groups and sat down. Some soldiers made small fires to make tea in their tin mugs. Smith walked over to one of the small groups. ‘Tea sir?’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Please,’ Smith replied. The soldier passed him up a steaming tin mug. ‘Delicious,’ Smith lied, the tea had been made from a few leaves stuffed in their pockets, along with some of their spare ammo and whatever other rubbish was stored there too. ‘I needed that, thanks.’ And then carried on.
When the ten-minute break was over they started marching again, not too long after they left one of the sergeants pointed out that there was smoke as dark as tar on the horizon. ‘Looks like something’s burning, barn maybe? Its nothing for us to worry about.’ Smith replied.
‘Sir,’ the sergeant sounded concerned. ‘That’s too much smoke to be a barn.’
‘It could be a big barn.’
‘Or a village?’ Connolly butt in.
Collin Price, one of Smith’s lieutenants was listening in when he heard a strange sound, ‘Listen Sir.’ It was the distant sound of screams and torture.
Smith, on hearing this instantly ran up the small hill, and at the top he could see the small gully in which French troops were burning, raping and plundering the small village. It seemed that they had found the French battalion.
The light company were crouched at the base of the hill, covered by the surrounding trees and shrubs. Their weapons were loaded and primed, bayonets fixed and ready. In front of them was the half burned village, and inside the village were the unprepared French.
Smith scrambled down the small embankment to where Connolly was hid. Connolly had seven of Smith’s most trusted riflemen. There were no redcoats in Connollys chosen squad because the red of the coats stood out. The green however, did not show against the dark trees.
Connolly’s squad, in the cover of night would enter the village and cause havoc while; the rest of the light company would wait in the darkness and cover of the woods. When the French had been woken the rest of the light company would come to finish them off.
‘Are you ready?’ Smith asked.
‘Yes Sir.’ Connolly whispered. ‘The boys can’t wait.’
Just before dawn Connolly’s squad left the safe embankment to wreak havoc upon the French. It took them five minutes to reach the edge of the village and it took them another two minutes to re-group. Connolly’s squad was crouched behind a small stonewall at the edge of the village. As Connolly peered over the top of the wall he could see two French pickets, they were looking towards the wall but obviously didn’t see Connolly because they then turned round to look at a drunken couple skip merrily past.
In a flash, Connolly gave his men a silent signal and the riflemen rose and leaped over the small wall. They ran silently over the grass towards the pickets. As the pair danced off the Frenchmen turned round only to be attacked by eight riflemen. Their screams were cut off as long, twenty- three inch blades sliced into their stomachs and throats. As the blades were ripped out a gush of blood sprayed a nearby wall. All that could be heard were the dull thumps as the French bodies hit the ground and the scraping sound of them being dragged into the darkness.
The next victims were the drunken couple. They were silenced by more blades. Around the corner came the sound of laughter, but to Connollys relief the sound came from inside the village inn. ‘Well at least most of them are drunk.’ One of the riflemen whispered to Connolly.
‘ If we attack now they will be disorientated and confused.’ Connolly replied.
‘Ah but if we make one big attack at sunrise, we’ll catch them when they are sleeping, and they have one big headache to help us out.’
‘Good idea, Cooper come here.’ Cooper popped out from one of the nearby shadows. ‘Sir?’
‘Find major Smith and tell him that the frogs are drunk out of their bloody French heads, and also tell him that I advise him to attack them in the morning when they will be fast asleep.’ As soon as Connolly had finished, Cooper slipped back into the shadows and he was gone.
Seven minutes later Cooper was back at the embankment where the rest of the light company rested. He emerged from the shadows right next to Smith. Smith jumped reached for his sword and before he could draw it he heard a friendly voice. ‘Sir, its me, Cooper.’
‘Cooper? God you terrified me, what’s happened? Where’s Connolly?’ Smith bombarded Cooper with questions. ‘He’s alright, Connolly sent me to tell you that the french are drunk and he advises that we attack tomorrow morning when they are asleep. Smith thought for a while, and then replied. ‘Tell Connolly to pull back and meet me at the embankment.’
‘Yes sir.’ And with that Cooper slipped into the shadows a second time.
Any advice or suggestions would be great.
N.B Please note, the following writing is loosely based on the work by Bernard Cornwell. And is not intended to be repoduced anywhere else or discredit Bernard Cornwell.
There i think i've covered my bases, but just to be sure... "Please dont sue me!!!"
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Chapter 1
The tall dark, haired man ducked into a small billet in the town of Oporto. It was raining quite hard when he got into the billet and his clothes were soaked right through. He wore a dark green rifle jacket and black French cavalry boots which he took off the corpse of a colonel of the Hussars. On his shoulder he slung the heavy wood and metal of the baker rifle, its deadly range of 300 yards, much further than the standard British smooth bore musket. At his side he wore the unusual heavy cavalry sword instead of the light cavalry sabre that most officers wore. His face was scarred and battle hardened due to the many years of hardship and war.
He unslung his rifle and unslung his sword and propped them against the far wall and walked towards the fire. The tall man bent down and placed some damp kindling and some old newspaper dating back two years in the stone fireplace, he fished out his tinderbox and struck it on the stone, the spark flew but it didn’t catch anything so he tried it again, this time it caught the newspaper and set alight.
The man stood up and shuffled back over to the bed where he slumped onto the pillow. Just as he sat down there was a knock at the door, when he got to the door he found that Major Michael Saunders was waiting at his doorstep.
‘Evening Major Smith, is this a bad time?‘
Without waiting for an answer Major Saunders stepped inside.
Major Saunders and Richard Smith had been talking for a long time when Saunders finally interrupted.
‘What I actually came to talk to you about,’ Saunders pulled out his snuffbox, took a great big pinch and sniffed it. Moments later came a loud sneeze as loud as an eighteen-pounder cannon going off.
‘Is that you are needed at headquarters and the peer wants to talk to you.‘
‘The peer?‘
‘Yeah you’ve been chosen for a special mission,‘ then there was silence for a moment.
Smith broke that silence, knowing better than to ask Saunders of the nature of the mission, he just simply asked when he needed to be there.
‘ He’s expecting you, so you better get going. Do you know where headquarters is?'
And without letting Smith speak he started talking again.
‘Its down the hill, past the church and up towards the monastery, there you will meet two guards who will stop you, just tell them I sent you and that you are on important business,‘ and with that he left.
Major Smith stood up and walked towards the dying fire, he prodded the ashes with his boot, watching the embers glow brightly. After a few prods of the fire he walked over to the far wall and picked up his rifle and sword. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and put the sword in its slings and left.
*
Its was still raining when Smith got to headquarters, and as Saunders had said the two guards were there and they didn’t look at all happy, but why should they, they were in the freezing cold with the water pouring down their necks and filling their shakoes. Their muskets were so wet that the gunpowder had turned into a thick sludge that would take hours of hard cleaning to remove it.
Richard Smith entered the large double doors at the front of the monastary and was greeted by what Smith could only assume was one of his aides. He was quite short, at about 5'7 and obviously well fed due to his rather fat belly. 'Ah, good morning...' he paused momentarily, quite unsure of how to address this fellow seeing as he was carrying both a long arm and a sword. In the end he decided it would be safer to address him as an officer. '...Sir. How can i be of service?'
'I've been told i have to see the Duke of Wellington, he's expecting me'
' Mister Smith i presume? Yes his is indeed expecting you. Wait here please' Motioning towards a rather hard looking bench outside the Dukes make shift office, which was once happened to be the monastery’s library. In front of Smith was a great wooden door made of strong oak, it was stained so it looked as dark as leather. To his right was another door, which he presumed it led to the monastery’s kitchen.
Suddenly the great door creaked open and one of Wellington’s aides appeared from around the door, different from the first. ‘Lord Wellington is ready to see you now,’ and as Smith past the aide he lowered his voice ‘and be careful, his a bit p**sed off.’
‘Thanks,’ and he walked on in.
‘Morning Major Smith,’ Wellington said dryly, as he walked through the door. The aide was right, Smith thought, but said nothing. ‘I take it you know why you are here Major?’ Wellington spoke less agitatedly this time.
‘No my lord,’
‘What? I specifically told Saunders to tell…’ and he stopped in mid-sentence before starting again. ‘Oh, never mind, you are here because I need some ruthless officer that is careless of his own life.’
Smith said nothing.
‘There is a French battalion close to the hills of leça do Bailio and we don’t want it finding out we have an extra five thousand Portuguese allies. Your job is to get rid of those damn frogs, I don’t care how you do it, just do it,’ he paused for a second, ‘you and your light company are the only ones to allowed to know about this mission, if anyone asks, your going to scout the area. At the moment only you, Saunders and me know about our new Portuguese allies, and I want to keep it that way. You got that? Good. You and your company leave at dawn.’ Wellington picked up his pen and started writing. ‘Good day mister Smith.’
‘Yes sir!’ Smith saluted and left the way he came, thinking about how little he actually found out and why this mission was so darn secret.
*
The rain had stopped when Smith got outside, but the guards outside were still grumpy, their shakoes still soaked and the hours of scrubbing their muskets; until their hands are sore with blisters, still loomed ahead.
Smith walked back up the rough and rocky hill thinking about what the Peer had said. On his left was an old church with a small spire on the right hand side, on top of the spire was a small golden eagle. This eagle looked nothing like the eagles on top of the black staves, which march into battle, held by the tough veterans of France.
In front of Smith now was the higher part of town, where his company and regiment; the South Essex, were billeting. Smith walked on and from behind him he heard a familiar voice. ‘Sir!’ It was Sergeant Patrick Connolly, Smith’s best friend in the army. The sergeant was a huge and bulking man who towered over most people in the British army, he was only just taller than Smith, on his shoulder was a terrifying weapon, it had seven barrels, which took half-inch pistol bullets. The weapon was a gift from his Major.
The Sergeant was from the Irish town of Donegal. His Irish accent, standing out in the cold, damp air in the town of Oporto. ‘Me and the lads were just wondering where you got to.’ By ‘Lads’ he meant the light company. ‘The peer wanted to see me,’ Smith replied. ‘He wants us, to clear some “Frogs” out of some hills near here. So I need you to get the light company ready to leave at dawn. Make sure they have enough rations for at least three days; I don’t know how long were going to be gone. Oh and make sure everyone has enough bullets and an extra two flints.’ Smith said, and set off up the hill to get himself ready for battle.
Chapter 2
The light company was made up of red coats and a few green jackets, most of the light company carried the common smooth bore musket, but a handful carried the deadly baker rifle. All the green coats carried rifles, and also a few red coats were trained to use them. The green coats were in a red-coated battalion because the famous regiment of the 95th had slowly been eroded away until they were placed into another regiment; the south Essex. And now that regiment’s light company march to the hills of leça do Bailio to get rid of some intruding French men.
It was just after dawn and still when the light company left, they were surrounded in a thick blanket of fog. They had been marching for hours, watching the sunrise and now the same sun was on their backs. ‘Halt,’ came a voice from the front. It was one of the other sergeants that Smith ordered around. ‘Okay, ten minute break, nobody goes out of my sight, understand?’ Smith said loud enough for the soldiers at the back of the column to hear.
Nearly instantly, all the soldiers split into different groups and sat down. Some soldiers made small fires to make tea in their tin mugs. Smith walked over to one of the small groups. ‘Tea sir?’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Please,’ Smith replied. The soldier passed him up a steaming tin mug. ‘Delicious,’ Smith lied, the tea had been made from a few leaves stuffed in their pockets, along with some of their spare ammo and whatever other rubbish was stored there too. ‘I needed that, thanks.’ And then carried on.
When the ten-minute break was over they started marching again, not too long after they left one of the sergeants pointed out that there was smoke as dark as tar on the horizon. ‘Looks like something’s burning, barn maybe? Its nothing for us to worry about.’ Smith replied.
‘Sir,’ the sergeant sounded concerned. ‘That’s too much smoke to be a barn.’
‘It could be a big barn.’
‘Or a village?’ Connolly butt in.
Collin Price, one of Smith’s lieutenants was listening in when he heard a strange sound, ‘Listen Sir.’ It was the distant sound of screams and torture.
Smith, on hearing this instantly ran up the small hill, and at the top he could see the small gully in which French troops were burning, raping and plundering the small village. It seemed that they had found the French battalion.
The light company were crouched at the base of the hill, covered by the surrounding trees and shrubs. Their weapons were loaded and primed, bayonets fixed and ready. In front of them was the half burned village, and inside the village were the unprepared French.
Smith scrambled down the small embankment to where Connolly was hid. Connolly had seven of Smith’s most trusted riflemen. There were no redcoats in Connollys chosen squad because the red of the coats stood out. The green however, did not show against the dark trees.
Connolly’s squad, in the cover of night would enter the village and cause havoc while; the rest of the light company would wait in the darkness and cover of the woods. When the French had been woken the rest of the light company would come to finish them off.
‘Are you ready?’ Smith asked.
‘Yes Sir.’ Connolly whispered. ‘The boys can’t wait.’
Just before dawn Connolly’s squad left the safe embankment to wreak havoc upon the French. It took them five minutes to reach the edge of the village and it took them another two minutes to re-group. Connolly’s squad was crouched behind a small stonewall at the edge of the village. As Connolly peered over the top of the wall he could see two French pickets, they were looking towards the wall but obviously didn’t see Connolly because they then turned round to look at a drunken couple skip merrily past.
In a flash, Connolly gave his men a silent signal and the riflemen rose and leaped over the small wall. They ran silently over the grass towards the pickets. As the pair danced off the Frenchmen turned round only to be attacked by eight riflemen. Their screams were cut off as long, twenty- three inch blades sliced into their stomachs and throats. As the blades were ripped out a gush of blood sprayed a nearby wall. All that could be heard were the dull thumps as the French bodies hit the ground and the scraping sound of them being dragged into the darkness.
The next victims were the drunken couple. They were silenced by more blades. Around the corner came the sound of laughter, but to Connollys relief the sound came from inside the village inn. ‘Well at least most of them are drunk.’ One of the riflemen whispered to Connolly.
‘ If we attack now they will be disorientated and confused.’ Connolly replied.
‘Ah but if we make one big attack at sunrise, we’ll catch them when they are sleeping, and they have one big headache to help us out.’
‘Good idea, Cooper come here.’ Cooper popped out from one of the nearby shadows. ‘Sir?’
‘Find major Smith and tell him that the frogs are drunk out of their bloody French heads, and also tell him that I advise him to attack them in the morning when they will be fast asleep.’ As soon as Connolly had finished, Cooper slipped back into the shadows and he was gone.
Seven minutes later Cooper was back at the embankment where the rest of the light company rested. He emerged from the shadows right next to Smith. Smith jumped reached for his sword and before he could draw it he heard a friendly voice. ‘Sir, its me, Cooper.’
‘Cooper? God you terrified me, what’s happened? Where’s Connolly?’ Smith bombarded Cooper with questions. ‘He’s alright, Connolly sent me to tell you that the french are drunk and he advises that we attack tomorrow morning when they are asleep. Smith thought for a while, and then replied. ‘Tell Connolly to pull back and meet me at the embankment.’
‘Yes sir.’ And with that Cooper slipped into the shadows a second time.